Document - The Journey of Buck and Sally Hinton Home

A JOURNEY TO TREASURE
Buck and Sally Hinton
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
Beginning Memoirs
Millard LeRoy Hinton, Jr. (Buck)
4
CHAPTER TWO
Beginning Memoirs
17
Sarah Ellen Lomison Hinton (Sally)
CHAPTER THREE
A Magic Kingdom
Ragged Island
27
CHAPTER FOUR
When Do You Want Me To Pack?
Israel ~ 1966-1967
32
CHAPTER FIVE
Expanded Horizons
Israel ~ 1969-1971
44
CHAPTER SIX
Faithful Protection for a Tough Assignment
Nigeria ~ 1973
64
CHAPTER SEVEN
Well, the US Could Do It!
Israel ~ 1979-1981
77
CHAPTER EIGHT
A Decision Based on Love
Life in Florida
86
CHAPTER NINE
Praise God for Stinkin’ Cats
Life in New Jersey
93
CHAPTER TEN
Our Hilltop Retreat
Adventures with Wilderness Log Homes
96
CHAPTER ELEVEN
What an Awesome Father!
God Had a Plan ~ 1999-2003
103
CHAPTER TWELVE
“ . . . Never Say No”
Camp Epacheseca
110
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Even Old Timers
Let God Lead and Enjoy Your Journey
114
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Are You Going to Take Us to Israel?
Israel Tour 2005
118
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A Journey to Treasure ~ The Blessing
The Blessing
133
FAMILY ALBUM
139
CHAPTER ONE
Beginning Memoirs
Millard LeRoy Hinton, Jr. (Buck)
Several have asked me recently to write the story of my life because of all the interesting experiences I have had. A short time ago, our son John expressed a desire to have me especially
write an account of my Army experiences during World War II, since our schools don’t teach
anything about what led up to the war or the war itself. So, here goes…
I feel very fortunate to have grown up in the small rural town of Howard, Pennsylvania, in
Centre County. Howard was, and still is, a quiet town out of the main stream, where most
people cared little about what was going on in the rest of the world. The town has changed
very little since my boyhood days, except for the lake that was created by the dam on Bald
Eagle Creek, the lake area now known as “Bald Eagle State Park” – more about that later.
My parents were Roy (Millard LeRoy, Sr.) and Josephine Hinton. Roy was raised along the
base of Bald Eagle Mountain just one mile west of town. His parents were Samuel and Rebecca, also natives of the area. In fact, they were direct descendents of an Indian tribe, not
sure which tribe, but possibly Seneca or Delaware.
My mother’s maiden name was Graeff, and her parents were of German descent. She was
one of four children, raised in New York City by their mother, whose husband had a drinking
problem and had left her. At an early age the children were taken from their mother and
placed in an orphanage. My mother was brought by the Spigelmeyer family to Howard,
Pennsylvania when she was a young teen, working as a housekeeper for them until she married.
I had two sisters, Evelyn and Mabel, both born to my parents before me. Since they were
considerably older than me, it would be in our adult years that we really bonded as siblings
and would develop a close family relationship.
My dad was a skilled bridge builder for the Pennsylvania Railroad. He enlisted in the army
during World War I, ending up in Europe where he suffered a serious bullet wound in the
ankle during a battle at Flanders field. Dad was charging a German position when a machine
gun opened up on his squad of men. The wound left him with a permanent limp, and
through the years, the wound would open up with bone infections. He suffered silently with
this during the rest of his life, but I never heard him complain.
After the war, Dad was unable to work on bridges again, so he spent the rest of his working
days with a track maintenance crew for Pennsylvania Railroad Company. He was a very
quiet man who enjoyed gardening. Every summer he created a beautiful vegetable garden,
priding himself in “no weeds”, and on having the largest tomatoes in the valley.
Mother spent her summers in her rock gardens, always a thing of beauty that today would
take the “grand prize” in any garden competition. She was a wonderful cook, though by today’s standards would run the cholesterol count off the charts! Through both of my parents,
I learned to love anything that grew, knowing the names of most of the plants and trees that
grew wild in Pennsylvania. This would help me a lot in my adult years.
I grew up in a little three-bedroom home that my dad built just across the railroad from the
high school. The grade school on Main Street where I attended first grade was two blocks
from our home. It burned down that year, and then the school took over a large warehouse,
which they renovated and used for several years. A new high school was built adjacent to the
present high school, making it the elementary school when I started third grade. I finished
my school years on this campus. I can’t say that I liked school, but I did enjoy learning, especially all math subjects, which I excelled in. Since Howard was a small high school, trigonometry, solid geometry, and calculus were not part of the curriculum. I tried to persuade
them to add calculus, but to no avail, and I found out later that Mr. Weikert, the math
teacher, couldn’t teach it. I couldn’t even get them to add trig, but Jake Weikert did lend me
a trig book, which I used to teach myself.
I enjoyed sports, but was never very good, although I played on the baseball and basketball
teams. Football was cut from the program during my sophomore year, which was during the
Second World War, due to gas rationing. It was too hard to get to out-of-town games because
of the gas rationing. There was an extreme shortage of gas during the war so everyone was
restricted pretty much to travel just to and from work.
Howard’s population was about 700 and everyone knew everyone else in town. I had about
seven or eight friends that I traveled with all through my growing-up years. Bald Eagle
Creek was one of our favorite places to swim, which had two swimming holes, “the Willows”
and “the Rafting Hole.” The Willows had a depth of 10 or 12 feet, and was about 50 feet
across. Both swimming holes had tall trees where we jumped or dived from the branches
twenty or thirty feet above the water, daring FUN! Along the one bank of the Willows, there
were large boulders we carried as weights so we could walk across the bottom of the
creek. Not many of us were able to hold our breath long enough to make it all the way
across. I was the champion, which won me a hearing loss problem because of the water
pressure over a long period of time. Later in life, I had my hearing checked and was told that
I could not hear high-pitched sounds. The doctor commented, after the examination, “You
were a real water-dog when you were a kid, weren’t you?”
We also fished and boated a lot on Bald Eagle Creek, and ice-skated in the winter. The old
Erie Canal ran along the creek - parts of it were good for fishing and skating as well. In addition to the creeks, Bald Eagle Mountain was an exciting and educational place for boyhood
adventure, spending entire days throughout the summer in the woods. We would leave in
the early morning, with whatever food we could gather, stop in Lick Run to catch fish for our
lunch, steal a watermelon from a farmer’s field, and off we went. We would build a small
shelter, play cowboys and Indians, cook our lunch over a campfire, losing all track of time
until hunger would call us home. We roamed over a five-mile radius up in those hills. My
parents never knew where I was or what I was doing from about 8:00 in the morning until
6:00 or 7:00 in the evening. If that happened today, parents would have police out searching
for their kids. I am so glad that I grew up when and where I did. I believe my memory of the
things I did as a kid made me a more understanding parent.
Perhaps it was my Indian blood that gave me a fascination for Indian artifacts. There was evidence of many Indian villages in Bald Eagle Valley where I spent those growing-up years. I
always imagined that the trails we walked and skied on were some of those original
trails. Arrowheads and Indian tools were often plowed up in the farmers’ fields in the
area. These treasures would surface in plowed fields after a rain, and then we would spend
hours searching for more relics. I had several cigar boxes filled with these treasures that
would be worth some money had I kept them.
Girls didn’t interest me much until I was about fourteen years old. Since our swimming was
done in the nude, and we often shed our clothes in the meadows along Lick Run, and wore
little while on the mountain, girls would have cramped our style big time!
It was Sally Lomison that sparked an interest in girls for me. Her family moved to town about
the time I turned fourteen, living in a double house about two blocks from our home with her
Mom and Dad, four girls, and two boys. On the other side of this double house lived their
Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Mary Lomison, along with two sons and two daughters. All had a keen
desire to make beautiful music and all were musically talented. Every Friday evening found
them on their adjoining front porches, with stringed instruments in hand, and voices joined
in harmony. They drew the neighbors out to their porches all along the block to enjoy those
old hymns and folk songs of long ago. I set out one night, drawn to the sounds of music from
the Lomison porch; and there began a change in my life - “a girl” became something new
and special in my life.
The attraction was two-fold, and there was opposition from her parents – “much too young
to be interested in boys.” However, we persevered, and the time would come when we were
permitted to dance together at school dances. I was two years ahead of Sally in school, but
we managed to find time for contact during the day, even if only passing in the hall. Later,
we were allowed to be together in a group for Sunday afternoon walks, a favorite pastime for
teens in our day. There were many beautiful country roads and lanes or mountain trails for
walking. By the time I was a senior and she was a sophomore, real dates were permitted by
her parents - mostly school activities and a Saturday night movie in Lock Haven, twelve miles
away, which was the closest movie theater.
As I write this, I can’t believe that only 21 years passed from the end of the First World War
to the beginning of the Second World War. The first one that ended in 1918 was referred to
as “the war to end all wars,” but that proved not to be true. No sooner had the war ended
until the Germans, who started the war, began planning for the next war. The Germans
were convinced that they were a superior race and the day should come when they would
rule the entire world. I have learned that people’s pride is severely hurt when they are
beaten in a war, especially when they really believed they could beat anyone and bragged
about it. This is partly the reason for repeated wars between certain countries.
The peace treaty signed with Germany was so flawed that it allowed Germany to begin building a strong army with factories turning out planes, tanks, guns and everything else required
for an all out effort to conquer the world. They began their preparations for World War II as
early as the late 1920’s. Because the Nazis believed they were superior to other races, especially the Jews they began systematically eliminating the European Jews by arresting them
and putting them in concentration camps, starving them to death, and cremating them in
furnaces constructed for that purpose. Millions of Jews were disposed of that way throughout Europe. This became known as the “Holocaust,” known but ignored by most of the rest
of the world.
Under Adolph Hitler, Germany finally began the conquest of Europe in 1939 by invading
their neighboring countries. France, Austria, Belgium, and Holland fell, with England being
bombed relentlessly. England and France plead with America to come to their rescue. As
long as the US was not affected, we were not going to get involved. Eventually German submarines (known as U-boats) began harassing our ships in the Atlantic. Several of our ships
were sunk, which forced the United States to declare war on Germany. Italy and Turkey
joined Germany, and before long the war covered all of Europe and most of North Africa. Many of the Arab Countries backed Germany, but I don’t believe they did any of the
fighting, which is typical of the Arabs.
With the US involved in an all-out war in Europe, Japan decided they could get away with
destroying the US in the Pacific. They began with a sneak attack on our navy fleet stationed
in Pearl Harbor, almost destroying every ship and aircraft we had there, with a terrific loss of
life. We declared war on Japan immediately, but by the time we were prepared to fight the
Pacific war, Japan had already taken control of most of the Pacific Islands. For a country that
was totally unprepared for war, it did not take long for us to gear up for an all-out effort on
two fronts. The primary reason for our unpreparedness was our isolationism policy. The US
believed that, because we had the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans separating us from the rest of
the world, we were safe from war. How dumb can you be?
World War II began when I was in ninth grade. Television had not been invented yet so everyone followed the war in the newspapers and by radio. By the time I began my senior year,
most of my classmates had already reported for military duty. During my senior year at the
age of seventeen, I enlisted in the Army Reserve Training Program.
In May of 1944, just after graduation from high school, I was sent to Virginia Military Institute (VMI), spending six months there in Lexington, Virginia, a very enjoyable experience. In
addition to the usual college classes, we were taught how to fight a war and learned more
than we wanted to know about marching! During this time away from home, I really missed
Sally. My parents were pleased that I was homesick, but I never told them it was Sally that I
missed so much.
After my 18th birthday in November that year, I had to go for Army basic training at Camp
Blanding, Florida. The time I had spent on the mountain as a kid paid off. I did well during
this training period. I had learned to shoot a rifle and shotgun at the age of twelve when I
began to hunt, I could read signs in the woods like an Indian, and marching for miles was a
“piece of cake” during training.
With basic training completed, my orders were to be part of the invading force to fly over the
“hump” from India into China, where we would launch an invasion of the Japanese
mainland. We sailed out of New York, across the Atlantic Ocean, through the Straits of Gibraltar, the Mediterranean Sea, the Suez Canal, the Red Sea, and the Indian Ocean to Calcutta, India. En route by ship, the war ended with “VJ Day” just two days out of Calcutta, India. I would spend over a year in Calcutta, assigned to a replacement depot, processing
American soldiers who were returning to the USA from the China, Burma, India (CBI) theater. I was so thankful that I did not have to participate in the invasion of Japan, since I was
trained as a rifleman. My job would have been to shoot as many of the enemy as I could before they shot me.
My job in India was easy and fun, as we provided recreational equipment for soldiers passing
through, en route to the USA. We had a lot of free time, plus an army vehicle that allowed us
to see a lot of Calcutta and surrounding areas. I had the privilege of visiting in the homes of
several local British families, going on a tiger hunt with two buddies for a man-eating tiger
that had been harassing the natives in a nearby village. I passed up a wonderful opportunity
to fly up to New Delhi to see the Taj Mahal with American flyers trying to get in their flight
time to receive flight pay. Every time I received an invitation to go along, I kept putting them
off until the next time, which was a big mistake since the next time never came. Because of
my very small contribution to the war effort, I am almost embarrassed to tell about my war
experiences, but I thank our Almighty God that I cannot feel proud about shooting and being
shot at.
While there, I had three “small world” experiences. I met Sam Kunes, Lowell
Daughenbaugh, and Charles Foreman, all cousins from my hometown of Howard, Pennsylvania. I met one in my camp mess hall, one in the Dum-Dum Airbase mess hall, and the other
onboard ship. En route home, we sailed from Calcutta through the Indonesian Islands to Singapore, where we stopped for several days to refuel. From Singapore, we sailed to the west of
Hawaii, east of the island of Japan, picking up the Japanese current that took us almost up to
the Aleutian Islands, then on to San Francisco where we landed. I spent a week there before a
cross-country trip by train to the east coast. I regret the fact that I never got to see San Francisco because of fog every day, even though I spent a whole day in the city. I can say that I
have traveled around the world - 3,000 miles of the trip over land and the rest by sea.
In early summer of 1946, I returned home to the States, processing out of the military at
Camp Lee, Virginia. I was able to travel home most weekends until I was discharged late that
summer. When I got home, I found my Sally waiting for me. I recall feeling like a stranger
in my parents’ home, probably because we never did have a real open line of communication. They wanted to be with me, but conversation seemed strained. With Sally it was so different - seemed like we had never been apart. I think I shared more with her parents than
with mine in the weeks to come, as there seemed to be a lot more thought content in my conversations with Sally’s family than with mine. The big Lomison family allowed for a lot of
ongoing activity.
I had worked at Piper Aircraft Company in Lock Haven over two summers before I left for
Army life, and was able to hire on there for a while after discharge from the service. Work
was slow in our area, and I worked several factory jobs, then on a construction project,
building a sewing factory in Howard. When that job finished, I got a job on the railroad,
working with my dad’s crew in track maintenance. Finding this job to be extremely hard
work, I decided that I would have to go to college or be content as a laborer the rest of my
life.
Sally and I were married shortly before the railroad job, in January of 1947. Her mother died
a month before in December at the age of forty-three, leaving three children at home – ten,
twelve, and fourteen years old. She had gotten very ill suddenly, was misdiagnosed at the
hospital, and died less than a week later from internal infection. Sally was a senior in high
school at the time of her mother’s death and she did not return to school afterward. We lived
with her dad and siblings from the day we were married. They lived in a large house with
many bedrooms, with a small apartment on one side of the house. Betty (Sally’s oldest sister)
and her husband, Robert (Ick) Yearick, bought the house at this time. Bet and Ick moved into
the small apartment, living there until our first child was born. Shortly after Melanie’s birth,
We took the small apartment and Sally and Bet shared household duties. Bet and Ick had
three children at that time. It was sometimes difficult trying to mesh three families together,
while still going through the shock and grief of their mother’s death, plus the new marriage
adjustments, but we all tried our best to stay in harmony.
When Melanie was almost seven months old, my parents invited us to move in with them until we could make other arrangements. My sister and her husband, with two little children,
were living in an attached apartment in this house, Mabel’s baby just a month older than
Melanie. We soon found this arrangement too difficult for all of us. At the same time, I realized working on the railroad was not what I wanted, so I began to think seriously about college. My choice was Williamsport Technical Institute in Williamsport, Pennsylvania, because
of the cost and the fact that I could finish in two years. I selected a topographical drafting
and surveying course because it involved a lot of math, which I always enjoyed.
We moved into a little second-floor apartment across the river from the school. Our landlady lived upstairs and was a real mother-type friend to Sally and Melanie. Leaving Howard
and our families was a real adjustment for her, but it certainly was great for our marriage!
Under the G.I. Bill of Rights, all of my educational costs were covered, and we received $120
each month for living expenses. I still don’t know how we did it, but we managed to meet all
expenses. The landlady allowed Sally to use her washer, and even to do laundry for wealthy
Jewish families from uptown Williamsport who brought and picked up their laundry each
week from Sally.
After living in the apartment for a year, we were able to buy a modest little home on Wilson
Street in south Williamsport. It was a duplex, and my sister Evelyn, divorced and mother of
four-year old Alex (Butch), moved into the second-floor apartment. Evelyn worked at a
nearby factory on the second shift, and Sally cared for Butch while she was gone. Evelyn
paid rent for her apartment, which helped a lot. It was still difficult to keep up financially
with the higher mortgage payment, as Sally could no longer do the laundry for her customers. Our mortgage payment was $75, not leaving much of the $120 for living expenses. We
didn’t have a car so I took a city bus to school. I had all-day classes from eight in the morning to three in the afternoon.
It was then that I took a job with a lumberyard, working the evening shift. I would go there
straight from school every afternoon, working until 10:00 at night, or until I was too tired to
work any longer. I then walked the one mile to our house from the lumberyard. My job was
making wooden pallets, which paid a fourth of a penny for every nail I pounded into the pallets. Some required three-inch nails, some inch-and-a-half. The pay was the same for both,
so naturally I liked pounding the smaller nails because I could earn more during my shift.
I also joined the Naval Reserves, encouraged by a buddy of mine who belonged. The extra
$30 each month made it possible to finish school without going into debt to do so. At the end
of the first year of tech school, I had learned about all they had to offer, finding sometimes
that I was teaching the teacher. In 1949, I took a job as a draftsman for Gannett, Fleming,
Corddry, and Carpenter, Inc. Engineers (GFC&C) in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Within a few
years, I managed to work in every department and was on first-name basis with all the company partners, even Farley Gannett, the founder of the company. They were very good to me
and I advanced beyond any of the other young men in the firm, five of whom had started
with me from the same tech school.
I never knew I had a gift for getting along with people and having them like me. As I look
back now, I was never guilty of “brown nosing” anyone, but I did seem to have made friends
with Farley Gannett, the President of the company, and all of the senior partners. I remember
the day Farley asked Joe Kantner, my immediate boss, about me. That conversation resulted
in my getting a mid-year bonus of $1000 and a substantial raise. The mid-year bonus was
never received by anyone but key personnel. I never felt like a key person, but I just chalked
it up to the fact that Farley liked me for some reason.
I was never afraid to tackle new assignments, or to go wherever the company asked me to
go. GFC&C really encouraged me to continue college classes to get an engineering degree. I
always told them that I was too busy being an engineer to learn how to be one. Under their
continuing educational program, I took courses over the next several years at the University
Center in uptown Harrisburg. Penn State and Temple University offered engineering courses
designed to prepare you for the professional engineer’s exam, which GFC&C was most anxious for me to take. Going out of the country three times over the next several years prevented me from getting my professional engineer’s license until mid-1970.
When I first started at GFC&C I was assigned to the transportation division, the office located
on Seventh Street in uptown Harrisburg. Gannett’s main office was located at 600 North
Second Street, where the company had its beginning back in 1905. When I first started
working for the company, it was still rather small, although they had branch offices in both
Pittsburgh and Philadelphia. When I retired in 1986, they had grown from 250 employees to
2,500, with over forty branches in the USA and in foreign countries. They are still growing
and are a top-notch engineering firm. At this writing, they are ranked in the top twenty engineering companies in the world.
About two years after I started with GFC&C, the main drafting room in the Second Street
building needed to complete a highway design project assigned to them during a slow period. They requested that a man from the transportation division on Seventh Street be sent to
help with this project. I was the one selected and felt very honored, although I knew that
Lew Harvey didn’t like me and wanted to get me out of his hair. This turned out to be a real
blessing for me on down the road.
The main drafting room knew little about highway design, and since I transferred from the
transportation division, I was looked upon as someone who knew. They considered me to be
a design expert, and I had to work very hard to keep them thinking that. We were almost
finished with the project when Joe Kantner, the drafting room boss, got a frantic call from the
Philadelphia branch office. He was to send the best men available for several weeks to complete the New Jersey Turnpike design they were working on. Since I was still considered to
be the design expert, I was selected to go, along with men from my old transportation division and several others from the Pittsburgh office. There were eight of us who worked together to finish the turnpike project, then close up this temporary office set up in Barrington,
NJ. Some of these men later moved to administrative positions, several becoming partners in
the company, so you can see the caliber of people I was made a part of.
From New Jersey, I returned to the main drafting room in Harrisburg, working on several
non-transportation type projects that looked interesting. Johnny Paxton headed a survey
party in the field, working in the office several days, then going out with a survey crew other
days. Working with the survey crew looked like something I would enjoy, so I asked for a
permanent transfer from the transportation division to the main drafting room. I knew Lew
Harvey would be glad to give the transfer. Not long after the transfer, Johnny Paxton was
sick when some survey work had to be done. In a panic to cover the job, Joe Kantner seemed
real pleased when I told him that I was trained in survey work and was willing to
go. Though I was not a licensed surveyor, he let me go, and over the next several years I was
responsible for a number of major surveys. I also spent a lot of time on a diverse number of
projects for the mechanical/electrical division, and the environmental and hydraulic divisions.
Due to an overload in the transportation division, the main drafting room was given another
highway design project to do. The project was about half completed when Joe Kantner was
sent to Florida to open a new office to design a portion of the Florida Turnpike. It was decided to send the half-completed highway project we were working on back to the transportation division to complete.
By this time Lew Harvey was no longer with the company. The transportation division had
moved into new quarters on Forester Street, just a block north of the main office building. Red Hempfield, Lew Harvey’s replacement, all but begged me to come back to the department with the project, being familiar with the work that had already been done. I was
coming back to the group I had started with six or eight years earlier, and was considered to
be a highway design expert with a salary increase that I could not refuse.
Over the next few years, I had the responsibility for the design of numerous highways, including I-83 from York, PA south, a section of the northeastern extension of the PA Turnpike
near Scranton, I-283, bypassing Middletown and Elizabethtown, and a lot of smaller projects. Probably the most exciting one was a feasibility study and preliminary design of I-81,
from Carlisle to Scranton, PA. This was nearly a 200-mile section of I-81 through very
mountainous terrain. We did a reconnaissance study of every conceivable route, and recommended the route that I-81 follows today.
Following approval of this route, we had an aerial survey conducted, the entire route photographed and mapping prepared at a scale of 1”=200’. Preliminary plan and profile drawings were prepared, estimated costs, and a breakdown of construction sections prepared. By
the end of the preliminary design, I was an expert in every phase of highway design, equipping me for some very exciting future projects. I can honestly say that, when you drive over
I-81 from Carlisle to Scranton, I am responsible for the location and design of the highway
you are driving on.
Next on the agenda was a design contract for a dam on the west branch of the Susquehanna
River, just upstream from Curwensville, PA. The lake created by the dam forced the relocation of the railroad, and highway Route 969 around the north side of the lake. This design
and construction project was done under the supervision of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. The Corps also had a very similar project on Bald Eagle Creek, my favorite boyhood
creek in my hometown of Howard. I wanted so much to be assigned to this project, but it
was not to be. It was probably best because of the strong negative feelings of my friends back
home against the project. Many knew my association with GFC&C, the company that was
about to ruin their town. I was victim of much negative conversation when I returned to visit
family. Now the townspeople don’t know what they would do without their beautiful recreational lake. Most of the people have boats on the lake and spend much of their summers
boating and fishing.
Gannett Fleming was a pioneer in the use of computers to solve engineering problems. In the
early 1960’s, we changed from the old vacuum tube IBM 650 computer to the next generation, advancing to the IBM 1620. This required rewriting every engineering program that
had been running on the IBM 650. I was asked to be part of the computer programming effort that would be required, and so began a brand new challenge as I attended IBM classes to
become a programmer. I feel compelled to tell you that I flunked the programming aptitude
test to determine if I was suited for computer programming. It was the kind of test where
you black in the correct answer to each question. I was not sure of the answer to a question
at the beginning of the test, so I skipped the answer until I was finished and I would come
back to it. The only problem was that from that point on none of my answers matched up
with the questions. You guessed it, all my answers were wrong but they still selected me over
the other twenty guys who took the test.
With the increased capacity of the 1620 over the 650 computer, I found a lot of additional
applications GFC&C had not pursued before. I found myself a pioneer, using the computer to
do complicated, repetitive analysis of the terrain traversed by a highway, to adjust it to fit the
cross slope of the ground, and calculate the volume of earth to be moved to construct the
highway. It would also calculate and record the horizontal and vertical distances of each
cross-sectional change to be used for construction stakeout.
Programming was so challenging and so much fun. When in the “debugging stage” the program would sometimes hang up, and I often woke in the middle of the night with inspiration
into what needed to be changed to get the program to run until it reached the next glitch. I
would get up and rush to the office to see if it would work. I would still be there when it was
time to begin my regular working day, staying right through to quitting time, never charging
for those night hours. However, after conquering computer programming, like always before, I was ready to move on to something else that would be more challenging.
That “something else” was not long in coming, a “something” that would really be life
changing. For you see, during these twenty years at Gannett Fleming, I had also learned
something much more important than engineering, something even more life changing. The
two would blend together for good, changing the lives of Sally, me, our children, and the
lives of many others in our life’s journey. I think now is the time to reflect on that
“something.”
In my life as a child, and on through my teen years, my parents were never involved in a
church, though they claimed membership in the Methodist Church in Howard. They were
pretty faithful in getting me out of bed and on my way to Sunday School most Sundays
throughout my childhood years. I didn’t resist because I could join my friends there.
The times I questioned my mother, or if God’s name ever surfaced in conversation, Mother’s
answer was always the same, “Honey, you have to believe in God.” At Christmas time, I got
the same answer about Santa Claus, “You have to believe in Santa Claus.” Santa was seemingly a much bigger deal at Christmas than Baby Jesus at church. My parents were morally
good people, respected in the community, and good neighbors who cared about others. But
in our home, I can’t remember an example of God being a relational part of their lives. I remember when the day came that I realized Santa was “make-believe,” so I reasoned in my
heart then God must not be real either. By this time, I no longer got up on Sunday morning
to go to Sunday School. That is where I stood with God when I met Sally.
From the time I met Sally back in high school, I found her to have something that had never
touched my life – a faith in God that was just a natural part of her life and the lives of her
family. This faith rubbed off as our lives meshed, but even long after our marriage, my faith
was very superficial. Sally’s dad had a rule that his daughters could not date boys who were
not Christians, and come any weekend, their family was at the Christian Church any time the
doors were open. When I realized this, I met Sally there anytime there was opportunity – sitting in church with her was better than not seeing her at all. I think the “church going”
helped my chances of getting in good graces with her parents. As I learned more about the
“God” I didn’t know, I became more open to Him, even though I wasn’t there to learn about
Him. When our relationship got serious, and our intent was to spend the rest of our lives together, I even consented to be baptized. My baptism was not for the forgiveness of sins or to
please God, but to be accepted by Roy Lomison, whom I respected greatly, so that he would
approve of me for his daughter.
When I look back now, I believe this was all part of God’s plan, and He would be patient
enough to wait to make further changes in my life. It was not until Sally was pregnant with
our third child that this would change. For those first few years of our marriage, Sally struggled with her faith because we were not involved with any church, and went through dry
periods where she had little contact with other Christians.
After we moved to Williamsport, we did go together to church, not with any regularity and
always with Sally’s prodding. I still continued to keep my distance from God, while doing
what I could for my wife for it was my “duty” as a husband and father. It was especially
hard for her since we still had not owned a car. In early 1952, long after we moved to the
Harrisburg area and after three more house moves, Sally decided she would find a church
nearby and take the children to church within walking distance. I opted to stay at
home. After trying several churches nearby, she found there was a Christian Church in Lemoyne across the river on the west shore. (We were living in Paxtang east of Harrisburg.) She left each Sunday morning, taking two buses to get there. After months of watching her go each week, my guilt got the best of me and I joined the family. Later we found a
little group of Christians meeting in a fire hall just a couple blocks away, joining their fellowship and eliminating the bus travel each Sunday.
One of the greatest blessings in the time we were still attending the Christian Church in Lemoyne was a Bible class taught by Jack Conley. I attribute Jack’s encouragement and excitement about the Bible to how I later responded to God’s Word. Jack’s advice one day, “Junior
(always called me that because he was ten years older), when anyone asks you to do something for the Lord, never say no.” I thought that sounded like good advice so I decided I
would try to follow it the rest of my life. After we made the move to the little Church of
Christ group in the fire hall, it would only be a short time before I heeded Jack’s advice.
My excitement and drive to learn about God and how to live the Christian life was just as it
had been with engineering. The Bible became exciting and I willed myself to grow in this
new life. We made loving friendships, we belonged, and our life took on new meaning. The
church was very legalistic in their teaching, and we learned more about what they thought
we had to do than who this loving Father was. They were so sure they were doctrinally correct in everything, and every church group who was not exactly like them was hopelessly
lost. This was a result of misunderstanding Bible passages like I Corinthians 1:10 that reads,
“I appeal to you, brothers, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree with one
another so there may be no divisions among you and that you may be perfectly united in
mind and thought.” They insisted that we all have to use the same vocabulary, do things the
same way, etc. One of their favorite books was, Does and Don’ts for the Christian, which is
indicative of their understanding of what it takes to please God.
In the course of the next fourteen years, the legalism became a stumbling block in restrictions
we placed on our relationship with Sally’s family, in the way we judged other believers, and
in the restrictions we placed on others who claimed to follow the same Lord we did. We
drew a very small circle to fit those we thought God would allow in that circle, and we broke
hearts of those we believed did not belong in our circle. Among those we excluded was
Sally’s family, and it would be years before we sought their forgiveness and they granted it.
What we weren’t realizing was how God was blessing us, in spite of our judgmental attitudes
and the restrictions we placed on ourselves and on others. We knew the Biblical facts, all the
rules to live by, and learned what God wanted of us, both in monetary ways and in giving of
our time. We were there only a short time until we were involved in every facet of the
church. However, we were sadly lacking in the wisdom of knowing that God really wanted
us to have a personal relationship with Him, learning to live in freedom and joy, and recognizing the blessings He freely gives.
Not long after we started at the fire hall, the minister asked me to preach for him one Sunday.
Hubert had to be away, and remembering Jack Conley’s words, to “never say no,” my answer
was “yes.” I died a thousand deaths until I stood before the group to “preach,” but like engineering, when I lost myself in what I was prepared to do, I found enjoyment and a sense of
accomplishment. I didn’t realize then that the power of accomplishment came from a higher
power than mine. God would give me many opportunities in the years to come to once again
say “yes” when opportunity came to teach in any capacity.
Another blessing that came as a result of our experience in the Church of Christ was the realization of change that my parents saw in our lives. I was able to witness to them of the faith
I had learned, teaching them about salvation through Jesus. They lived just next door to the
church where I went with Sally at the beginning of this faith journey for me. Although they
did not choose to go there to learn for themselves, they began attending the Methodist
Church, and later asked the minister to baptize them. They were immersed for the remission
of their sins in the Bald Eagle Creek one Sunday afternoon, even though that was not the
teaching of that denomination.
I am so thankful for their salvation, for neither Dad nor Mother lived too many years after
that. Dad died just a few months before he was sixty-five, and ready to retire from the railroad. He came home from work one day in terrible pain from bee stings all over his
body. He had stirred up a hornets’ nest along the railroad that day and finished out his day’s
work before coming home. Suffering intense pain all night and not going to a doctor, he returned to work the next day. About 9:00 AM, he died of heart failure. That was my dad. He
never complained and had a very high tolerance for pain, a trait I later found was passed on
to me. My mother never got over his death, spending most of her time alone, for both of my
sisters and our family lived two to four hours away. She had a very faithful friend, also a
widow, who came daily to visit. It was Annie Heverly who found her the morning she suffered a fatal heart attack less than a year after Dad’s death. I’m so thankful that they have
their rest with the Lord today, that they learned of God’s love and accepted it into eternity.
There were two different times during the years after we left Howard that Sally returned with
the children to care for Mother. She broke an ankle one time and another time she was just
very ill. They got to know the children, and a bond of friendship developed between my parents and Sally. She was especially drawn to “Pappy,” and Sally’s words for him were “a
quiet, gentle, loving man, hard to get to know, but when you knew him, you loved him.”
They lived long enough for all of our children to know them except Mark, our youngest. Mother died when Sally was pregnant with him. Their fondest memories of “Pappy and
Gurney” were the Christmas morning experiences at their house. Pappy was just as he had
been when I was a kid, up at 4:00 AM, furnace cranked up, fire in the fireplace, Christmas
tree lights lit, then pacing the floor until the first sound from grandchildren upstairs. He
would have the broadest grin and the happiest chuckle when the kids descended those stairs
and beheld the magic! That’s the favorite memory that our kids hold dear.
I think I digressed a little from the story of my first sermon, in not realizing that my success
in getting through that experience did not come from me. That power of accomplishment
came from God, through the Holy Spirit dwelling in me. Even though I did not know the
depth of that power, God was still using it, teaching me a lesson I would look back on in
years to come. I think Charles Swindoll’s words from a little book about wisdom explain it
best. “We have not even begun to live if we lack the wisdom God wants to give us. That wisdom is ours, simply for the asking, and it brings us into a whole new and exciting
world! Like birth, it will take time and it may be a painful process. But when it comes, you’ll
be amazed how clearly things will come into focus. You’ll begin to feel like a new creature. No wonder Jesus referred to it as being ‘born again.’ The good news is that such wisdom is ours to claim through an intimate relationship with God’s Son, Jesus. He is the channel through which wisdom comes to us. In coming by faith to the Lord Jesus Christ, we are
given open access to the wisdom of God. With the Son of God comes this wisdom of God. It’s
all part of the package.”
It would take Sally and I a while before we accepted the package, for God would let us get
little-by-little glimpses of what was available through Him. During those years with the
Church of Christ in Paxtang, we got involved in building a new church facility on land purchased in Camp Hill. I did the design of this modest little building (seating capacity was
250), getting a licensed architect to sign the building plans. A contractor did most of the
framing, roof, outside brickwork, plus plumbing and dry-walled partitions inside. The entire
congregation worked together to finish the interior work, a sacrificial giving of time and
money as we worked towards completion of the building. We grew to between 150 to 200
people in attendance, and soon the building had to be expanded. It was once again a labor of
love by the brethren. We had two ministers, Ken Franklin and Paul Hall (by this time Hubert
had moved on), and Paul did a half-hour live television program weekly. I was thrilled to be
with Paul at every live broadcast to handle all his charts (which I prepared). We attributed
much of the growth of the church at this time to this outreach.
We were a very close fellowship, and our lives revolved around this little group of people. Our children grew with us in a knowledge of God’s love and provision. They were active in all the programs of fellowship for young people in sister congregations – camp in the
summer, youth retreats, and many other youth-related programs. They would eventually attend Church of Christ colleges. John, our eldest son, would meet his future wife at college his
freshman year, going into full-time ministry when he graduated.
There were many blessings as a result of those years in the church in Camp Hill, many of
them not acknowledged until much later in our life. For a period of six months we were
without a minister so I did the preaching, both Sunday mornings and Sunday nights. I was
forced to dig into God’s Word all week in order to be prepared each Sunday. One very positive thing about the Church of Christ is their faithful teaching of the Bible, being very careful
to make sure that what is being taught is the truth. I learned more Bible than I could have
possibly learned anywhere else in such a short time. Unfortunately, they believed that we are
living entirely under the New Testament, and consequently spent little or no time trying to
understand Judaism and how the Old Testament Law is linked to the rest of God’s Word. It
was not until we lived in Israel that we became immersed in Old Testament studies, the land
where it all took place.
We moved to the west shore town of New Cumberland shortly after the birth of Lora, our
third child, at first living on Ninth Street across the street from the junior high school, then
buying a house at the opposite end of town – 800 Coolidge Street. We also became proud
owners of our first car just before we moved to New Cumberland. We were a contented family, our home always open to others for fellowship, a lot of pleasant memories to reflect on
through the years.
There was still that underlying element of legalism that held us back from the growing that
God wanted for us, but we were unable to see this. We still limited those who could be in
God’s circle to just those in the Church of Christ. We excluded even Sally’s family, who in
spite of our attitude still loved us and continued to try to understand. In many ways those
years held our children back in the same way it did us, taking a long time to erase the
scars. God would take the matter into His hands, taking us half way around the world to
meet a fellowship of Christians who would show us “joy in the Lord,” breaking the bonds of
legalism. They would lead us on a never-ending journey to recognize the “Godhappenings” (blessings) in everyday life, to look back and see that He had been there for us
all along but we just weren’t seeing Him. There would be a day when God would help us
draw our circle as big as He wanted it to be. We would go to Sally’s family seeking forgiveness, and it would be granted with understanding.
CHAPTER TWO
Beginning Memoirs
Sarah Ellen Lomison Hinton (Sally)
On December 23, 1928 in Orviston, Pennsylvania, a tiny brickyard town in Centre County, I
was the third daughter born to Roy and Relda Lomison. My older sisters were Rebecca and
Betty, eighteen and thirty-six months older than me. Jacob was born three years after me and
Donald followed three years later than Jake. A sister, Martha Ann, followed Don, but died
right after birth. Another boy, Lester, died also at birth – the only one delivered at a hospital. My sister Josephine (Jo) was eight years younger than me and she was the last child in
the family.
Growing up, I have pleasant memories of a close-knit, contented family, provided for with
the important things in life - loving care and a strong faith in God, always taught self-worth,
and challenged to be positive in all circumstances. Mother and Dad radiated a genuine love
for each other and from the time we were little, we were taught good moral values.
Our maternal grandparents, Jacob and Rebecca Nyman Heaton, lived in close proximity to us
during our early years and they had a steady, positive influence on our lives. Pappy had a
keen sense of humor and a gentle spirit, and he taught me to love God’s creation and music. Grammy constantly reinforced the importance of looking for the best in people and not
dwelling on the negative about others. Her wise advice, “If you can’t think of something
good to say about someone, keep your mouth shut.” This was advice I’d often pass on to my
own children later.
A little history about Grammy and Pappy Heaton: In the early years of their marriage, Pappy
was a miner and Grammy cooked for the miners in a “cook shack” at the mines. I’m not sure
how long they lived and worked in this mining town, but at least some of their children were
born there. In addition to my mother, Relda Lora Heaton, they had a daughter Myrtle (the
oldest), and Orie (the youngest), and two children who died during the time that they lived
there. Pappy lost an eye in a mining accident when he was very young, an accident that
caused him great pain and serious health problems in later years. I never heard him complain and never recall him discussing that accident.
By the time I was born, they were living in Orviston. There were two streets in this town –
Front and Second, one street facing the creek and the other facing the mountains. As a child,
I can remember thinking I lived at the end of the world, as there was only one road in and
out of the town. Grammy and Pappy’s house faced the mountains and our house overlooked
the creek. The alley between served as the path for us kids as we traveled back and forth to
their house. The brickyard was the only workplace in town.
My Dad also lived in Orviston as a young boy. His father, Lester Gurtin Lomison, died when
he was a young teen, leaving his mother Mary alone to raise eight or nine
children. My Dad was a twin but his twin brother died as a boy. The older boys dropped out
of school when their dad died. I believe my Dad was in sixth grade at that time. He persuaded the owner of the brickyard to hire him. He was hired after agreeing that he would
come to his boss’s home every week, borrow and read a book from his library, then give a
report about what he had read to his boss. Dad shared with us that he credited this man with
helping him become a self-educated adult, developing a keen sense of interest and love for
reading. He was always interested in learning about things and people in other places. Until
the day he died at eighty-nine years of age, he could always be found with a book in hand,
often alternating between several books at the same time.
We were never close to Dad’s mother in our growing-up years. Grandmother married again
to John Pettingill, but I’m not sure when. My first memory of an occasional visit to their
home was in Lock Haven. I remember she had canaries, real songbirds. We were always instructed ahead of time, “Be good, and be quiet.” We listened, but I don’t have many fond
memories of those visits. I can remember of one occasion when Dad’s sister and her husband
brought them to our house for dinner, and once again the boys and I were on our good behavior. As adults many years later, my sisters and brothers got to know Dad’s brothers and
sisters and their children much better, but this was after I married and moved to the Harrisburg area. I returned for several Lomison reunions, but never really felt close to any of
them. Aunt Dot’s son, Dave Gilbreath, was just out of high school and attending barber
school in Harrisburg, and he lived with us for a while during his schooling. We got to know
and appreciate Aunt Dot and Uncle Don during this time and visited in their home a few
times.
Now back to my childhood years. Mom and Dad met and married in Orviston. I was five
years old when we moved from Orviston to Milesburg, which was still in Centre County. I
believe it was here that Dad began selling Metropolitan Life insurance, having left the brickyard when it closed. During the years to follow, Dad would pursue sales as a career: insurance, kitchen appliances, and then automobiles. The auto business allowed him to advance to
management and he enjoyed many successful years of working for several dealerships. Wherever he served in different auto dealerships, many customers followed him to
buy a car, saying it was because of Roy Lomison’s honesty and integrity.
During the Depression in the 30’s, Dad worked on the WPA project, a road construction job,
which provided state-funded jobs to men during that time period. During the World War
years, he went in another direction, working as a supervisor in a war plant, which made
some kind of electronic gadgets for airplanes. Our mother was a stay-at-home mom, except
during the war years when she worked at the war plant as a machine operator. Dad was her
supervisor.
Our first home in Milesburg was an old brick home along the Pennsy Railroad. It had an
open, winding stairway and a railing from the third floor down to the first floor. A forbidden
but fun and challenging feat was to slide down the entire rail without falling off. Amazingly,
there was never a broken bone, but surely God reached out a few times to spare a mother
some frightening moments! I remember big brick fireplaces in most of the rooms, along with
a wood-burning cook stove in the kitchen. I don’t remember that there was any other source
of heat. Living along the railroad brought strange visitors. Hobos stopped regularly and we
watched in awe as they ate their meal on the back porch steps. My mother always had a loving and generous heart, always finding good in everyone.
Our next move took us to a house along a creek, and we lived there during the 1936
flood. We were taken by boat from our flooded home after watching the water flood the
basement and first floor. There were no signs of streets anywhere as we were rescued. Another home in Milesburg brings only one memory to me – the night the house across the
street burned while the family and all the neighbors watched firemen try in vain to save the
home.
We moved from Milesburg to Buffalo Run Valley, outside of Bellefonte where we lived on a
farm as tenant farmers. I believe it was at that time that Dad was selling Metropolitan Life
insurance. Uncle Bill (Grammy Heaton’s bachelor brother) came to live with us and helped
with the dairy farm. Uncle Bill was a mild-mannered man, endearing himself to us kids. He
was a hard worker who strongly urged us to be a part of the work crew. We had a long walk
to school each day to a one-room schoolhouse with eight grades under the supervision of one
teacher, with the older kids helping the younger ones. There was an old pot-bellied, wood
burning stove that served as heat for the building. We all carried our lunches in old metal
molasses buckets and cuddled around the stove to keep warm. Warm weather took us outdoors, sometimes staying way beyond the lunch hour. I guess that was our Physical Education.
I remember it was at that home that Dad acquired two dogs for us, a shepherd and a white
Eskimo spitz that we named Fluffy. I vaguely remember it was some kind of deal where he
took the dogs for pay for something he had done for another man. We kept the spitz when
we moved again, for Fluffy had endeared himself to all of us.
Next we moved across the valley to Valley View, living in the home of an elderly Italian
man. I only remember of him answering to the name of “Patsy.” We lived in all but two
rooms of the house and Patsy claimed those two rooms as his. He had beautiful fruit-bearing
grapevines and made his own wine, which he referred to as “Diego Red.” Watching the
winemaking process was an experience. A large metal tub held the grapes and Patsy stomped
them into juice in his bare feet. The magic of fermenting followed. Patsy and his buddy,
Tony, who lived nearby ended many an evening sharing the finished product. Tony played
an accordion, and many early mornings we awoke to his beautiful music. I can still remember the peaceful feeling.
School there was also a large one-room schoolhouse with eight grades, and was a close walk
from our house. The church was just up the street and it was at that little United Brethren
Church during a “hell’s fire and damnation” revival one week that I made my decision to be
God’s obedient child. I was eleven years old at the time, and I remember crying for hours one
night of the revival until Mom heard me and took away the fear, replacing it with calm assurance. I was baptized the following Sunday along with a group of other kids, including
Becky and Betty, my sisters. I remember two ladies sang “Softly and Tenderly Jesus Is Calling” as we were baptized in the creek on Sunday afternoon, and their singing seemed like the
voices of angels to me. Wherever we lived, we always found a church where we could grow
and serve. In Milesburg, it was at a Baptist church, but it was at Valley View that I recall
coming to the realization that I was responsible for my own walk with the Lord.
We moved next about three miles up the road to an old house nestled against the mountain. It had a long, long lane down to the road, with the nearest neighbors about a mile
away. We had no electricity. Water was carried from a mountain spring nearby, and the
privy (outhouse) was a distance from the house. Mom washed the clothes in a big tub with
water that was heated in a big metal container on the wood burning stove. When we had
lived there for a couple of years, Dad purchased a gasoline-fired washing machine that could
be heard all over the mountain, but Mom was blissful over this purchase. Our job was to
man the wringer, a handle that we cranked to wring the water out of the clothes. Some of
my happiest memories are from that time in our family life, although times were hard in
many ways since we lived there during the depression years. We had a big garden and we all
knew what to do with a hoe and shovel. Those long rows of vegetables looked endless on a
hot summer day! We had a cow and chickens and at one time some pigs that Uncle Milford
purchased. We fed them, cared for them and butchered them, sharing the meat.
At that time, Uncle Milford and Aunt Mamie (Mom’s sister Myrtle) lived in Bellefonte and
managed a restaurant. A highlight for any of us kids was a visit there, especially when one of
us was invited to stay overnight and “help” in the restaurant. This usually meant we were
allowed to go to a movie up the street, which was a big event!
One of the most precious things about that mountain home were the Friday nights that the
Ebeling brothers would come down to our house. They lived up the lane from us on top of
the mountain. We would sit on the porch and sing. They played the guitar and banjo, and
we all sang, harmony that even brought the whippoorwills out to join their voices with
ours. I can still recall the sweet memories. There were nine of the Ebeling boys who were
raised by their widowed mother, but only three of them came down to sing.
Mom and Dad were always singing. For many years, we had no car; but after we got a car,
we sang wherever we went in it. It was during those car trips that I learned to harmonize. I
picked up alto from Mom and tenor from Dad. Mom also sang a lot at home, usually the old
hymns. We could read her mood by what she sang, and looking back, I believe a lot of her
songs were prayers to God. As a mother later in life, I found myself doing the same thing and
would remember her fondly, understanding the deeper meaning of her singing her prayers to
the Lord who sustains.
We were pretty much isolated on the mountain, but our land bordered the land belonging to
the Watkins family. One winter, Jake, Don, and I trapped with their two boys who were
close to our ages. We set traps all over that mountain, going out early in the morning before
school to check them. I always had a problem knowing where I belonged with my siblings
since I was stuck between two older sisters and two younger brothers. I guess I got less resistance from the boys and they accepted me. What finally changed the picture of “us buddies”
was the morning we were checking our traps and Kenny Watkins pulled out a beautiful red,
shiny apple from his pocket and handed it to me. In big letters, Kenny had carved “KJW loves
SEL.” That event changed my destiny! When Mom saw the apple, she decided it wouldn’t be
good for a “girl” to trap with the boys. I was probably about eleven years old at the
time. Kenny began meeting me at the bottom of our lane, carrying my books or lunch bucket
to school, I was no longer his “buddy.”
The school we attended was another one-room schoolhouse with six grades. The walk was a
long one, but by this time, there were several families whose kids traveled the same
route. We all met at the end of our lane, and friendships deepened as we made our way to
and from school each day. I remember one friend, Sarah, who was my age, and the teacher
called us Sarah #1 and Sarah# 2. She was in no way the tomboy I was, and it was then that I
realized it would be better for me to act like a girl. I came to this conclusion after I wrecked a
boy’s bike at recess when I challenged him to let me ride his bike (my first time on a two-
wheeler). I didn’t remember what he told me about applying the brakes as I was rolling
rather swiftly down the hill with a barnyard gate getting closer and closer. A somersault over
a barnyard gate and a bent front wheel was hard to explain when I walked the bike back to
its owner. He never treated me quite like he did Sarah #1.
Looking back, I believe those years our family lived on the mountain are the most memorable
ones of my childhood. Both Mom and Dad were so generous with the things that mattered to
us. Although we had little materially, their strong faith and love of God, their love for music,
and their determination to find joy in the little things were all such wonderful lessons as we
grew up. We continued to be part of the little church in Valley View. It was at this little
church that I memorized enough scripture to earn my first Bible, and I wish I had been a
keeper of such treasures. By this time in my life, Betty and Becky lived in Bellefonte so they
could attend high school. Both lived with families where they served as helpers (I guess now
they are called “nannies”). Dad bought his first car during this time while working in Bellefonte at a car dealership. Sometimes he would bring the girls home for the weekend if they
were not needed by their employers.
One other memory from our mountain home is worth sharing with you. We were helping
Mom process green beans, and Becky and Bet were washing and breaking the beans into
bite-sized pieces. The boys and I were packing them into Mason jars. Mom was adding the
salt and water needed to process, then placing them in the canner for the water bath to cook
and seal the beans. The last step was removing the finished product from the water bath, and
placing them in long rows to admire. Don was the one who spied his treasure. This was the
year Wendell Wilkie was running for President and Don had his “Wilkie badge” pinned on
his shirt. I can still remember his loud exclamation, “Oh, look, I canned Wilkie!” There in a
jar of beans was his Wilkie badge. That story went round and round for a while, and you
might recall that Wilkie did not make it for President.
We moved to Howard in 1942 when I was 13 years old. Howard was a big city compared to
Valley View, and even had a school that included first through twelfth grades all in the same
building. The older girls came home to live, both finishing school at Howard High. We first
lived in town, in a double house on Walnut Street. Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Mary Lomison lived
on the other side of us. Uncle Lloyd and his sons, Lloyd Jr. and Pete were miners, away at the
mines all week. They returned home Friday evening through Sunday night. They also had a
daughter Mary and they all were musically talented.
Mary and her mother played piano, and the boys and their dad played banjo, fiddle, and guitar. All had beautiful voices. Friday evenings were the highlight of the week when we would
all meet together on the adjoining porches for our weekly “sing.” They knew all the old folk
and World War I songs, plus some that Dad hadn’t taught us. We never ran out of old
hymns to sing, and the harmony of all our voices was so beautiful to me. To this day, I can
still recall a lot of the words to those old songs of yesteryear like “The Old Family
Toothbrush,” “Just A Mother’s Prayer At Twilight,” “Sierra Sue,” “There’s A Long, Long, Trail
A Winding,” and “Danny Boy.” On many evenings, our music brought neighbors out on
their porches to listen. This was how I came to know the one I would one day marry. Buck
and his parents lived several blocks away, but somehow he heard and came our way to listen. Later he found out that there were three teenage girls in that song group. He first came
to know Bet and Becky, one three years older and the other eighteen months older. It wasn’t
until later that he settled on their little sister.
I began my seventh year of school in Howard, entering that Fall with great anxiety, the fear
of separated classes, and being so sure I could never measure up to the “town kids” or that I
would surely be seen as the country bumpkin I was. It didn’t take me long to see that I was
on a par academically, and learning became a real challenge. The library became my favorite haunt, and I was encouraged both at home and at school to read. History and English
Composition became my favorite subjects. I read books and wrote book reports for kids who
hated to read. Math was my downer. How I struggled with numbers. It never got easier in
high school, but I made the honor roll all through high school.
My favorite teacher was Betty Lou Smith who taught Social Studies in eighth through twelfth
grades. She also coached Drama as an extra-curricular activity. In my ninth grade year, the
eleventh and twelfth grades were doing a drama, which would be presented to the whole
school and then later to the public. Students in the lower grades were not permitted to try
out for parts. By this time in my life, I had already made myself known to a “Buck Hinton” in
the junior class, and he had been selected for the leading male role, a Civil War Lieutenant
just back from the war. Somehow he persuaded Mrs. Smith to let me try out to play Camille,
the Lieutenant’s sweetheart waiting back home for his return, and I was chosen for the
part. The make-believe romance heightened the feelings that were already developing between us, and there began the lifetime commitment we would later make to each other. At
sixteen, I was permitted to be his date for the junior prom at the end of the year, but this date
required some pretty stiff rules from home.
Shortly after that time, we moved to a big house on the edge of town, a home that Bet and her
husband bought when he returned from the military after the war. The war years brought
some changes in our lives. Dad was still working at Sylvania, the plant that produced the
parts for military planes, having worked there from 1943 through 1946. After Pearl Harbor,
more and more young men were in the military, and many men were leaving even before
high school graduation.
The highlight of our school week was the faculty-sponsored dances each Friday evening. One of the faculty sponsors was Mr. Wiekert, our school principal. He was a proficient ballroom dancer and enjoyed serving as a sponsor for the dances. It was from him that
I learned the waltz, and vied for the turn to be his partner. Until your dad left for the military at the end of my sophomore year, we made a pretty good twosome on the dance floor
also. Jitterbugging was not his fancy, and most of the girls were left to partner with each
other for those numbers. The music of that day included Benny Goodman, Guy Lombardo,
Sammy Kay, and the Glen Miller orchestras. Some of the big singers were Bing Crosby, Perry
Como, Frank Sinatra, and the Mills Brothers.
That year, my sweetheart joined the Army, ending up at ROTC School at Virginia Military Institute. Later he went through basic training and was put on a ship for active duty, headed
for Japan. While en route, the Enola Gay B-25 military plane and its crew dropped the
atomic bomb on the Japanese city of Hiroshima. Three days later, another bomb was dropped
on Nagasaki, Japan, and the second bomb ended the war. The troop ship Buck was on landed
in Calcutta, India, where he would spend two Christmases awaiting new orders, returning to
the States in the spring of 1946. If you ever have an opportunity to read the book, Duty, by
Bob Greene, it will help you to see how something so horrible as a bomb could be a good
thing at this time in history.
My sweetheart returned to the States in early summer of 1946, and was discharged from the
Army late summer, coming home many weekends during those months. I worked that summer at Sylvania, the plant where Mom and Dad worked. My free time was never my own, by
choice. By this time I had established a pretty good friendship with Roy and Josephine Hinton, soon to become my second family. I shared many of my letters with them, stopping after
going to the post office for my daily letter. Their letters were very sparse from that same soldier. They lived in town and along the way home.
On one very important day during this time, I was told by the post-mistress one morning that
a young soldier, with a CBI (China, Burma, India) patch on his uniform, got off the Greyhound bus early that morning on Main Street! I bounded for the Hinton home, and after being let in, I made a beeline to a bedroom holding a sleeping soldier, much to the dismay of a
startled and horrified mother downstairs! I don’t think she ever got over that.
The end of the war brought many young men home with dreams and determination to pick
up the pieces and start a life with real meaning. Your dad was one of those, and though my
senior year of high school loomed in the future for me, my heart was swayed to a soldier’s
desire for marriage and commitment. That summer, prior to my senior year was one of many
emotions, and I felt constantly torn between the desires and teaching of my parents, and desires and emotions of a soldier who had spent a long time longing for a sense of belonging. Love became real for both of us, and with it came the temptations of a relationship that
went too far. We were not alone, for many young couples were experiencing the same
thing. I had never defied my parents’ rules before, and it was still their belief that I was far
too young to think of any future other than high school graduation. Your dad and I were
separated in how we viewed the stand my parents took. Although church became a regular
part of our time together, we did not understand where each of us was coming from with this
“obedience & commitment” thing to my parents, and to God.
I soon realized, along with many girls who had waited for sweethearts to return from war,
that their feelings of loneliness and fear, longing for home, love, security and stability made
life and commitment to someone else the most important thing on earth to them. Buck’s
thoughts and feelings were only on the two of us becoming as “one” - husband and wife. In
November of that year in 1946, the passion of the moment surpassed all that I had been
taught from little up about keeping myself pure until marriage, and I became pregnant. Sharing this with my mother and dad was very difficult, but they remained very supportive and loving, yet doubtful that we were mature enough to take on the responsibility
that we had placed upon ourselves.
After the war ended, my sister Betty’s husband had also returned home, having served in the
Navy Seabees, stationed in Okinawa. They already had two little daughters before Ick left for
the military, and Betty was pregnant with their third child. My sister Becky’s sweetheart had
returned from the war also, having served in the infantry in Germany and Italy, and was to
be sent to Japan when the war ended. Becky and Bud were married and expecting their first
child at this time.
My parents came through for us, and though I now understand their torn emotions, they
supported our choice. We were planning a small, quiet wedding at our home, which was
scheduled for Christmas Eve. Mother suddenly became very ill at this time. We came home
from a Friday night date finding Mother doubled over in abdominal pain. My dad still
worked night shift at the plant, so he was not home. We got the doctor to come (the only
after tracking him down at someone’s house playing cards. He decided that she must go to
the hospital, and he diagnosed her as suffering a bowel obstruction. Dad came home to take
her to the hospital. Later that night, he came home from the hospital, saying that the emergency room doctor thought it was gallstones. She was kept in the hospital over the weekend
without taking x-rays, and by Monday when they did do an x-ray, it showed a bowel obstruction. She died December 20th, unable to fight the infection. This was a long time before
infection-fighting drugs were discovered, and Mother was only forty-three years old. My
sister Jo was ten years old at the time and my brothers were young teens. Dad, at forty-one
years of age, though heart-broken and devastated, was a rock of faith for all of us, insisting
that Mother was with the Lord, and we would get through this together. She was buried the
day before my 18th birthday, just two days before Christmas. Our little town was in shock
along with us.
Buck and I were quietly married on January 10, 1947, and we lived with Dad and my
younger siblings. I was not permitted to finish school, as there were no exceptions to the
rules regarding a married or pregnant student finishing school in that day. I found my new
role of wife, mother-to-be, homemaker and chief cook of a family of seven a mix of happiness, remorse, grief, frustration, failure, and inability in many areas, yet I was determined to
meet the challenge and to do the best I could in all roles. I’m afraid my little sister, Jo, fared
the worst during this time. She was so confused and lost with her main source of stability,
our mother, gone. It would be many years before the scars surfaced and she would work her
way through them. It was hard for all of us, and the boys, in their crucial teen years, could
not find anyone to help them cope or understand, yet they both seemed determined not to let
it show. Dad was lost. He found himself alone, his very dearest friend gone, yet still trying to
stand strong for us kids, going on with the responsibilities of work and fatherhood. Buck and
I were in a sense happy, growing in a new depth of love we had never experienced, yet at
times confused by what we felt was our responsibility in this family life which was new to all
of us. I was feeling a deep sense of guilt that perhaps it was my fault that my mother had
been taken from us, something I would suffer through alone for many years. Buck was very
supportive, but certainly didn’t understand what I was feeling. Even my faith wavered, and I
wondered if God would ever forgive me or be pleased with me again.
Bet and her husband Ick and their kids came to live in a little apartment that was part of our
home several months after Mom died. Bet was wonderful in helping me in the homemaker
role, for I had never taken any interest in cooking. Cleaning had always been my chore at
home. With much patience on her part, and the understanding (sometimes) of the family, I
did learn to put a pretty decent meal on the table.
When Melanie was born, the three of us lived with your Hinton grandparents for two weeks.
Then Bet and Ick moved into the big part of the house with Dad and the kids. Dad and Mom
had rented the house for several years, but then Bet and Ick bought the house when Ick came
home from the military. That left the little apartment in the house free for us, our first home
with just the three of us. Melanie was a few weeks old, and it was there that we really came
to know what married life as a couple was all about, and the scars from our beginning began
to fade. I still recall the “storybook” feeling of the role of wife and mother, as our marriage
began to take on more stability in that little home. Bet continued to help me through some
tough spots, especially with the mother role. We still did not share a faith in God together,
although Buck went to church faithfully with my family. He was baptized before we were
married, but it would be many years before he found a personal relationship with the Savior.
Before Melanie’s first birthday, we moved into a couple of rooms in Gurney and Pappy Hinton’s house. My family really needed more room and the little apartment was put to use for
Bet and Ick's expanding family. Aunt Mabel, Uncle Glen, Gwen, and Eddie, just a few months
older than Melanie, lived in an apartment that was part of the Hinton house. We had a bedroom, living room, and later a makeshift kitchen on the second floor. Together we became a
family, a mix of varied personalities and backgrounds, sometimes struggling to keep harmony in that home.
By the time Melanie was one year old, we moved again, this time to Duboistown, a suburb of
Williamsport, where Buck was attending college. We lived in a little apartment and the
landlady, who was a very understanding widow, lived downstairs. She became a “motherlike” friend for me and helped me through the “first time away from home” blues. Buck was
a full-time college student. Under the GI Bill, his school expenses were paid. Additionally, he
received $167 per month for living expenses. He walked across the river to school each day,
which was a rather long hike. I took in laundry for several families from a prominent Jewish
neighborhood in uptown Williamsport, and used Mrs. Armagast’s (the landlady’s) washing
machine. I remember one Jewish woman had the most beautiful lingerie, like nothing I had
never seen. I washed these garments by hand, in awe of their delicate beauty.
Becoming pregnant for the second time, it was necessary to move again; and we purchased
our first home in Williamsport. Buck’s sister Evelyn, a single mom with a four-year old
named Butch, needed a home also. We were able to secure a loan through the GI Bill and
bought a duplex on Wilson Street in the east end of town. We worked to make it livable, using scraps from the lumberyard to put in a new kitchen floor, painting the boards in lieu of
floor covering. Evelyn lived upstairs with Butch, and we had the first floor. Butch stayed
with us during the day or night, depending on the shift Evelyn worked. Buck worked night
shift at the lumberyard to supplement our income. Having no washer now, I could no longer
do the laundry for others.
While at this location, John was born in August of 1949. We spent one day and night in the
hospital. Then we brought him home to his big sister, soon to be two years old. School finished that fall and Buck got a job with Gannett Fleming in Harrisburg. We turned the house
over to Evelyn, and she was able to rent out the one floor in order to continue making the
mortgage payments. We moved into a very small apartment on Forrester Street in Harrisburg, along with the cockroaches that had long been residents there. The bedroom was just
large enough for the bed, a crib, and John’s bassinet. The one who slept next to the wall had
to crawl over the other person in order to get out of bed. We lived close to the Capital, and
the three of us made our daily trek there to feed the squirrels, our “highlight of the
day!” Daddy was now working full time and going to college in the evenings. Weekends
were what we lived for. We spent them going for long walks as a car was not part of our
possessions, and church was not a part of our life at this time.
My dad and Mae Weaver, a nurse and widow with two children, met at church camp the
summer John was born. Their daughters were the same age and became friends that week at
camp. Patsy and Jo were twelve or thirteen years old. Mae’s son David was four years
old. Dad and Mae married in 1950 and moved to Jersey Shore in Lycoming County, buying
an old farmhouse there. This became “home” for all of us, and Mae endeared herself to us
all. Dad adopted David, who would eventually take over the Sporting Goods Store that Dad
bought when he retired from the auto business. I believe Jo profited the most from this union
since she gained a mother (and a wonderful mother she was), and a sister. Patsy and Jo were
inseparable until Patsy married and died shortly after the birth of her little boy. It was Mae
that helped Jo with healing from Mother’s death, and it was Jo’s love and understanding that
helped Mae through the grief of Patsy’s death.
We moved again in the fall of 1950, borrowing the $600 down payment from Pappy Hinton
to buy a house in Camp Hill, a little three-bedroom ranch on Chatham Drive in Highland Estates. School for Buck was put on hold for a while, and working all the overtime possible became the norm. Daddy became the most important thing in the lives of his two little ones.
We still did not own a car, so we wore the wheels off two baby carriages with long walks
each weekend. We also used the baby carriage for grocery shopping. The two little ones
would ride to the store in the stroller; but on the trip home, the groceries would ride in the
stroller, Melanie would ride on Daddy’s shoulders, and I’d carry John in my arms. It was at
this house that Aunt Becky, Uncle Bud, Kathy, Carolyn and Roy began to share their vacation
time with us, and the “ties that bind” began to unite us. We would spend many precious
weeks together throughout the coming summers. We still did not become involved with a
church at all at that time in our lives.
The Korean War surfaced, and while going to school in Williamsport, Buck joined the Navy
Reserves to earn additional income when money was really tight for us. Now the Navy
wanted Buck Hinton for active duty and he got his orders to report. Needing to work out a
plan for his family, he requested time to do this and was told to send his original orders,
along with a request for extension, and he would be sent new orders to report for active
duty. We sold our lovely little home and once again moved, this time to cheaper quarters,
awaiting Navy orders. We rented a two-story duplex on Rutherford Street in Paxtang. We
had the downstairs unit, and an elderly couple lived upstairs. News from the Navy finally
came, but not what we had expected. It was a discharge from the Navy due to lack of interest
since he had not attended reserve meetings for so long. Evidently the returned orders were
lost and they lost track of one seaman, Buck Hinton. Thus life resumed to normalcy with
Daddy still with us. At the same time, life took a turn for what changed our family life drastically.
It is here that I will close my rendition of our life’s journey since Buck’s saga would be a parallel to most of what I would share. I will be typing and editing his story, and when there is
something that I feel needs to be shared, I will just add it to his.
I do want you to know how very thankful I am that God brought your dad and me together. We now realize that what seemed like a difficult beginning in our union actually
worked to bind and strengthen our marriage in many ways, and we have no regrets. I am so
very thankful that we allowed God to become the center of our marriage, and that He has
been our Guide and strength ever since. I’m thankful also for the wonderful children He
placed in our care, and for all the beautiful memories you have given us. I know we made
lots of mistakes in our parenting role and that our decisions were not always wise ones; but
even in those mistakes, isn’t it wonderful how God took our blunders and used them to help
us grow a little? Thank you for understanding, for loving and honoring us as parents. Thank
you for your faith in God and the walk with Him that we share. We are indeed blessed by all
of you in so many ways, and our ongoing prayer is that we will all spend eternity together
with the Lord.
CHAPTER THREE
A Magic Kingdom
Ragged Island
Buck writing first about Ragged Island
In the early 1950s, Gannett Fleming Corddry and Carpenter, Inc. bought Ragged Island in the
Chesapeake Bay near Cambridge, Maryland, to entertain clients during duck and goose hunting seasons. The island was quite large, containing about 60 acres. There were four acres on
the mainland, connected to the island by a one-lane, dilapidated wooden bridge. Later, an
earthen causeway was constructed to replace the bridge. There was a house and garage on
the four acres where the caretaker, Wilson Fitzhugh, his wife Bertha, and their daughter
Joanne lived. About two miles before coming to the island area, there was a 110-acre plot
with frontage on the bay, which was not going to be used by the company.
Mr. Coorddry, a senior partner in the company, asked me if I would be willing to go down
and lay out streets and building lots which the company would sell off. Paul May went with
me to assist with the surveying. There was a large lodge on the island where Paul and I
stayed, and Bertha Fitzhugh fed us all our meals. At breakfast, she would ask us what we
wanted for dinner. Mostly, we asked for fish dinners, so Wilson would go out on the bay and
bring in fresh fish for us. Actually, it was easy at that time because it was still legal to use gill
nets. The nets remained set all the time and, when you wanted a fish, you just went out to
your nets and pulled loose the fish you wanted.
As you might guess, this was about the most enjoyable assignment Gannett Fleming had ever
given me. The nice thing was the fact that Paul May and I were the first employees to ever
see the island, except for the senior partners who were involved in purchasing the property.
Mr. Corddry came down about the second day to see how we were doing, and he agreed that
I could use the facility for my family’s vacations. I was the first employee to schedule the island for the week of July 4th, which was my week for the island from then on. When other
men learned that my family was using the island for our family vacation, they wanted to
know what the island was like. From then on, there was a scramble for a week’s family vacation there, but the week of July 4th was always set aside for my family.
During those first years, we could catch large stripers right off the bank, and blue crabs off
the dock. There was plenty of grass or seaweed growing in the bay to allow protection from
the marauding blue fish. Eventually, pollution coming down from upstream killed all the
grass and the fish had nowhere to hide from the blues. At this writing, good pollution control
has allowed the grass to grow once again and stripers have made a comeback. In the early
years, there were a lot of oysters all over the bay, but we were always at the island when oysters were out of season. I think it is still so that all the oysters taken in the bay are taken near
the mouth of the bay.
We used Ragged Island for vacations until I was sent to Israel with part of my family in 1969.
In the 80s, a number of companies were found guilty of bribing politicians through places
like Ragged Island. While Gannett Fleming was never guilty of misusing the island, they
wanted to avoid anything that competitors could accuse the company of, so they sold Ragged
Island to someone from Sweden. The new owners let the island go unused for years.
We drove back to Ragged Island in the early 90s to find windows broken out, the roof leaking, sumac and other brush growing everywhere, including inside the lodge. Several years
later, Becky was with us on the Eastern Shore and wanted to see the island one last time. By
that time, the new owner had torn down the lodge and built a larger home and an airstrip.
The boathouse and dock were also gone. We drove out on the island past the large house just
for one last look at the waterfront area. That was the end of a very pleasant vacation island
and lodge. I often wonder if Gannett Fleming ever knew how much our family appreciated
the company for such pleasant memories. Perhaps I will give a copy of this book to Bob
Dietz, who is presently President of Gannett Fleming, one of the greatest companies in the
world to work for.
Mark and I did get back to the bay once more in 1997. Our daughter Becky’s husband Sandy
had some extra money and took Mark, Stephen, Danny and me on a one-day fishing trip on
the bay. Stripers were not running at the time, but we did catch a few other fish and had a
really good time on the bay for one last time. Sandy paid for a boat owner to take us for the
day on his boat. We spent the night at a motel in Cambridge, Maryland, and drove out to the
dock about five miles south of Ragged Island the next morning. It was good to be on the bay
again after about twenty years. Thanks, Sandy, for your thoughtfulness and your generosity!
Sally’s turn to write about Ragged Island
Speaking of family vacations, our 4th of July weeks at Ragged Island, southwest of Cambridge,
Maryland, rank among the most precious memories for our family. Gannett Fleming owned
this island, with a large lodge that they let employees rent during the summer months at a
very reasonable cost of $28 per day. The island was located where Little Choptank River enters the Chesapeake Bay, a lovely private hideaway for a family vacation. A private road built
across to the mainland joined a property with a home that housed Wilson and Bertha Fitzhugh, caretakers for the island and lodge. The mainland property also belonged to Gannett.
Wilson did all the outside maintenance work, while Bertha tended to household chores at the
lodge. She also cooked for business clients that Gannett would bring to the lodge for duck
hunting season. The company provided a large yacht for the clients’ fishing trips on the bay,
with Wilson serving as captain. Prior to becoming caretaker, Wilson had been a bay fisherman for many years. During the years we spent there, we loved his fishing stories, and he
always managed to come up with stories we hadn’t heard. The company also provided motor
boats, canoes, and a twenty-one foot sailboat. There was also a variety of fishing and crabbing equipment available to us.
The lodge had a large, well-equipped kitchen, huge dining room with fireplace, a table that
seated 18-20 people, plus a smaller table. The main living room was also very spacious, with
a beautiful stone fireplace that extended from floor to ceiling. A smaller living room and full
bath were located between the living and dining rooms. A twelve-foot by thirty-foot
screened-in porch paralleled the two living rooms on the bay side of the house, and on the
these rooms was a large open porch. Another wrap-around porch paralleled the dining
room and kitchen on the bay side, plus another open porch off the kitchen on the dock side of
the house. During our weeks there, no one ever had to look far to find “alone space” at any
time.
A winding stairway led from the kitchen to one wing of the second floor, with two bedrooms
and a very large bath. An open stairway from the living room led to a front wing with two
bedrooms and another bath. Between the two wings was a large dormitory room that slept
six people, which fondly became the “girls’ dorm.” We have so many happy memories of
daughters who each year brought girlfriends and enjoyed hours of giggles and happy sharing
through the years. The boys always claimed the smaller living room downstairs, with easy
escape into adventures at night, many that were not shared until many years later during
reminiscing of family times.
The motorboats and canoes were ours to use, gasoline provided, and Wilson provided us with
fishing and crabbing bait at minimal cost. He also served as our captain the few times we
arranged for a yacht trip to fish on the open bay waters. It was a bit costly to make this an
all-day trip, and after the first trip we found the kids preferred to stay on the shore. Wilson
did own a speedboat and would bring his daughter and take the older kids water skiing. Jellyfish wrapped around legs didn’t feel very good, but some of them persevered and called it
“fun.”
Many impromptu trips were made to the little country store inland about four miles, and as
our vacations progressed through the years, we became endeared to the friendly local people
and to the Fitzhugh family, all very content with a lovely simple lifestyle.
From 1958 through 1968, we kept a standing reservation each year for the 4th of July week
at Ragged Island, always taking another family with us, plus the friends each of our older
kids took from year to year. Most years, it was Uncle Bud and Aunt Becky Kustanbauter who
shared our week. Kathy and Melanie were close in age, John and Roy fit together, and
though Lora was younger than Carolyn, these two tolerated each other. As Becky got older,
she would take a friend but her buddy was “Aunt Bud.” She never would call him “Uncle
Bud!” Mark’s first year to the island was when he was two years old. That summer, we took
Tom and Anita Roberts with us. Their Tommy fit with John, Liz was just nine months older
than Mark, and they were ferried around the island in strollers, life jackets on first thing in
the morning. The older girls took a friend that year, and Becky taxied the two little ones
around. In later years, Becky’s buddy was Shirley Sue Deitch, a close friend at church.
One summer, Pap and Mae with David, Jo, Patsy and the Yearick family joined us at the island, a full house with their six kids and Pap’s family. Another year, Everett and Mary Harwood and family were with us, along with Mary’s mother who was a wonderful cook and
loved to be in kitchen. We ate very well that week! Their kids fit with ours and we had a
great week. That was the first year we took the sailboat out (more about that in Lora’s
memories).
Our annual visits to the lodge were interrupted by our years living in Israel, but after returning late in 1971, the family again talked longingly of those summer vacations. In 1976, we
reserved the lodge again for the 4th of July week and returned as a family. Melanie and her
David were with us, along with Lora, Danny and Jeff. Becky and Sandy came with their two
kids (four-legged Yogi and Dog), John and Clara with Michelle and Mike. Jeff, David and
We would return again in 1977 with the married kids who could make it. Mark took Mike
Castleberry with him, and by this time those boys were “pros” with the motorboats, spending
most of their time on the water. Our last year at Ragged Island was the summer of 1978, just
before the company sold the property. By this time, Mark and his current buddy explored
the entire island. We saw little of them except when it was time to eat!
One more precious memory for me was the Sunday morning worship/sharing time on the
screened porch. Such a peace, surrounded by God’s beauty in nature, and the love and security of family, loving and caring and being loved by an Awesome Father. There were many
evenings spent on the porch singing and enjoying the impromptu sharing of the events of the
day. Each had a story to tell and it was a perfect and secure end to each wonderful day.
I do want to add some of the quotes written in letters that some of you wrote for our 50th
wedding anniversary scrapbook. I go there many times, as it warms my heart to look back
on your fond memories of those summer vacations. Looking back now on those precious
memories, your Dad and I realize more and more how God made this all possible, beginning
with the first time He arranged for Dad to make that trip to Ragged Island.
And now for your own memories.
Lora
Do you remember the year we sang Christmas carols in July traveling across the Bay Bridge,
and the goofy looks we got from the tollbooth person as she took our money? Or better yet,
the year we had to travel with Mark’s baby furniture strapped to the roof on our loaded station wagon, and the looks and laughs as we passed through the town of Cambridge on the
way out to the island? Or do you remember the year Everett introduced Dad to the sailboat,
and later Dad took Mom out to sail and got stuck coming in the channel at low tide? (Sally’s
note – Lora didn’t say how we got the boat in to the slip. Dad got out of the boat and pulled it
through the muck, with Everett laughing his silly head off on the dock!) Do you remember
the deer head in the living room whose eyes followed you no matter where you sat to get
away from it? Or the hours of crabbing from the dock, even though none of us kids ate the
finished product? (Sally – Many more hours were spent in the evenings picking the meat off
those crabs, but oh, the delicious crab cakes we enjoyed!) I just hope you both know how
grateful we are for the wonderful memories you have given us, and the future memories that
we will continue to enjoy together.
Becky
A special place I can go in my mind and be there. That place is, of course, the lodge. So
many times over the years I have gone there. I can smell the salt breeze and hear the waves
on the beach and the wind in the tall grasses beside the house. I can walk all over the island
and picture it as clearly as can be. I remember sitting on the back porch at the end of the day
as the sun is going down. The clips on the flag pole clank against the pole in the breeze. I
hear the geese and ducks talking softly in the pond by the dock. I smell the salt and hot sand
on the beach with the seaweed left behind by the tide rotting, along with the citronella candles that are burning on the porch. A few of the kids are playing cards behind us and the
ones on KP duty are clanking dishes in the kitchen. As the sun sets, everyone gravitates to the
screened porch, and pretty soon someone starts singing “Now the day is over, night is drawing near, shadows of the evening fall across the sky.” At the time those memories were
formed, I don’t think you realized how many times we kids would pull them out over the
years, or just how indelible they would be. Everyone should have a place of power like that,
so they can go there whenever they feel the need for renewal or a place to just be quiet in
themselves. Thank you for giving me that one. I use it often.
John
Like all of us kids, the fondest memories are those summer trips to Ragged Island. In looking
back, it wasn’t the fun activities or good food or boat trips, crabbing, etc. that are dearest to
me in my mind (although they rank high in pleasure). It was just the being together alone on
an island with no distractions in a serene, secure and loving atmosphere. We were totally
relaxed and at peace. And, please, don’t think we kids missed the fact that those annual trips
were a financial sacrifice for you two. I thank you so very much for those wonderful memories!
Mark
Ragged Island – what great memories! I recall a rope swing, maybe at a nearby state park. I
loved crabbing on the dock and running our trout lines. We spent so many great times
hanging out on the Nancy and special hours together on the big screened porch. I have
many memories of Ragged Island as a child, but even more when I got to return as a teen and
take a friend each summer – Grant, Mike and Wesley. We loved just setting out each day to
explore the island, to enjoy the bay, making up our own adventures. The motorboat was a
highlight and gave us countless hours of fun! I’m so glad we have pictures to remember
those vacations by but it’s too bad we don’t have any of the inside of the lodge. Thanks, Mom
and Dad, for providing such a great place for us all to enjoy and remember!
Melanie
A magic kingdom – that’s how I think of Ragged Island. How we looked forward with great
anticipation all year to that week in July when we left our ordinary lives behind, stuffed all
the necessities into the family car and set out for our very own magical kingdom for an entire
week! No matter who went with us to share the adventure, it was always a perfect week.
Each morning, the sun rose above the bay, the salty air wafted through our open windows,
and adventure beckoned to each of us. We contented ourselves alone or in little groups,
walking, fishing, swimming, floating in tubes, crabbing, swinging, playing board games and
cards, climbing trees, boating, water skiing, lying on our backs letting the fluffy clouds spark
our imaginations, lounging in the sun – endless possibilities from which to choose. As we got
older, we were allowed to pick a night where we could camp out on the yacht with the friend
we had brought. We sat up late eating snacks and playing cards or talking and then slept
down below. What an adventure! Food was always plentiful and it was even fun taking turns
with the chores each day. My favorite time of the day was when evening fell, chores were
done, and we gathered on the screened porch just to be together and share with each other
what we had enjoyed all day. I cherish the memories of singing and laughter and the total
peace that wrapped its arms around us in that magical place. It was as though God were sitting right there in our midst, blessing our day with His love. The sunsets and sunrises were
spectacular and an occasional rainstorm added extra mystery to the rising and falling tides.
The best show of all was when God treated us to a lightening and thunder display. Thanks,
Mom and Dad, for making that annual adventure possible. It was especially wonderful to be
able to take our own little ones there to enjoy the magic with us when we were grown.
CHAPTER FOUR
When Do You Want Me To Pack?
Israel ~ 1966-1967
Talk about how God works! In 1966, Frank Williams, President of Gannett Fleming Transportation Division at the time, stopped me at the drinking fountain to tell me that he had
been looking all over the country for a highway design engineer to send to Israel and I was
right under his nose all this time. He proceeded to tell me about an upcoming job, a preliminary and final design contract for an expressway project in Tel Aviv, Israel. I told him he was
out of his mind to think that I would consider going.
During my lunch hour, I called Sally and said, “Do you know what that crazy Frank Williams
said to me a while ago?” As I proceeded to tell her, her immediate response was, “When do
you want me to pack?” Since this was something that involved the entire family, we had a
long discussion at the dinner table. We had all five of our children by this time. Melanie was
a sophomore in college, John was a senior in high school, Lora was a high school sophomore,
Becky was in fourth grade, and Mark was four years old. Although the kids at home at the
time were not real positive about this idea, none of them were absolutely negative by the time
we weighed the pros and cons. I called Frank at home to see how serious he was. His answer, “Stop in my office first thing in the morning and you’ll how serious I am.” I did, and
he was serious, filling me in with all the details.
Frank had received a phone call “out of the blue” from the President of Tahal Engineering
Ltd. in Tel Aviv, Israel. Tahal had been the “Water Planners of Israel” for all of their history,
with almost no highway design experience. Israel wanted to build an expressway from Tel
Aviv to Ashdod, a distance of twenty miles through the coastal sand dunes, financing the cost
through World Bank. World Bank was insisting that an American engineering firm, experienced in that type of highway design, be involved in the project. A former Tahal employee
had worked for GFC&C several years before, and while visiting Israel one time was talking to
Mr. Balaban, the President of Tahal about him working for GFC&C. When Mr. Balaban suddenly had need of going into this joint venture with an American firm, he remembered the
name of Gannett Fleming. He was in the US when he called Frank Williams.
By the time Frank talked to me, Gannett already had John Paul in Israel to get the project
started. John was an older man, retired from public service, and a personal friend of Frank
Williams. The plan now was for me to go as Design Engineer, Bill Raymond (with whom I
had worked before) as Traffic Engineer, and Jim Thoma, Structural Engineer, to round out
the U.S. team. We would be going single status, that is without any of our families accompanying us, for the preliminary design, which was estimated to take six to eight months. When
the preliminary design was finished, it would be submitted to Israel Public Works
(PWD). We would return home until the design was reviewed and approved and then I
would return to Israel with my family to begin the final design stage of the Tel Aviv-Ashdod
Expressway.
This was a hard decision to make, for Sally and I had never been separated for more than a
week at any one time since we got married. The thought of being away from her and the
children was difficult. Weighing this against the opportunity for us as a family to live in the
land where Jesus had walked won out. We jointly made the decision that we could live
through this six to eight months apart. Little did I realize how very hard it would be, the
longest eight months I have ever endured. I vowed I would never be gone that long again
without my family, for it would take the full eight months to complete the preliminary design
for the project.
I left for Israel the end of August in 1966, flying TWA Airlines from JFK Airport to Rome and
Athens, then on to Ben Gurion Airport in Israel. John Paul, from Gannett, and Jacob Tsamir,
from the Tahal office, met my flight, taking me to the Sheraton Hotel in Tel Aviv. Tsamir told
me someone would pick me up in the morning to take me to the Tahal office on Ibn Gvirol
Street.
My time spent in Calcutta, India in 1945-46 prepared me to feel more at home in this
strange land. The sounds and smells were very similar, bringing a flood of memories of India
back to me. The time zone is seven hours ahead of New York time, so I went to bed with my
body clock saying it was 3:00 PM. I spent a sleepless night, excited about being in Israel, anticipating what was ahead, and already thinking of those I had left behind. The hotel was
located right on the Mediterranean Sea. I went out on my balcony, and just sat there drinking in the sound of the surf, looking out over the sea towards home. It was hard when I realized that I wouldn’t see my family for a long time.
The next morning I was hungry, my body clock telling me I had missed my evening meal, so I
hurried to get to the hotel dining room. Anticipating a good ham and eggs breakfast, I was
shocked at what I saw. With plate in hand I approached the huge buffet before me, and
there I saw sliced radishes, cucumbers, tomatoes, onions, along with pickled herring, an array of cheeses, hard boiled eggs, and hard rolls. Thinking this had to be a joke, yet still hungry, I filled my plate and “enjoyed” my first Israeli breakfast alone.
Promptly at 8:00 AM, Essa, an Israeli driver from Tahal, picked me up. I would see a lot of
Essa in the coming months and became very fond of him. The Tahal office building was only
ten blocks from the hotel. I was soon met by John Paul and Tsamir and introduced to all the
Israeli personnel already working on our project. Spending only an hour in the office, John
insisted I leave for the day, giving my body time to adjust to the seven-hour time difference.
Since our living expenses were to be paid as a lump sum amount, John suggested that I might
want to stay at the Samuel Hotel where he was. It was less expensive than the Sheraton Hotel
so I made my move to join him that same day. The Samuel Hotel was also on the beach, an
older hotel in a rather run-down area, an area that would be rebuilt in the next few years. It
was a clean, comfortable place, with good meals and a friendly atmosphere.
I spent a lot of time in the weeks to come at the U.S. Embassy just a block north of the hotel
on Ha Yarcon Street. To the east, three blocks away, was Dizzengoff Street, which was a
shopping street with shops in a circle around a nice park area. Along the approaching streets
were many other shops and little outdoor eating places. Another shopping street in the area
was Ben Yehuda, with more shops, eating-places, and bookstores. It seemed I must have purchased every history book on the Middle East I could find. I spent a lot of my evenings walking the Tel Aviv streets alone, never feeling unsafe, day or night.
The Israelis have an unusual custom in the afternoons, as all stores close between 2:00 and
4:00 for “siesta,” opening up around 4:00 PM and staying open to very late at night. Also,
when someone invites you for dinner or a social evening, the arrival time given can be anything from 7:00 to 10:00 PM, the evening lasting until the wee hours of the morning. It took
time to get used to this! I would be invited to come for cake and coffee around 9:00 PM, then
be served a full course dinner, ending at midnight or after.
I also learned about “Shabbat” the very first week. The Sabbath starts at sundown Friday and
ends Saturday at sundown. On Friday afternoon at 3:00 o’clock, the Tahal people put a quick
end to their working day. With the greeting from all over the office “Shabbat Shalom,” the
office emptied quickly. They were going home to prepare for their “family Shabbat,” which
included stopping at the grocery store to buy what was needed for Shabbat dinner before all
the stores closed. Shabbat means rest, so it was intended as a day of rest. God had a great
idea! Tahal worked a six-day week, including Sunday. From the first, John Paul insisted we
have Sunday for our “holy day,” so we ended up working a five-day week while all the Israelis had to work six days.
Most Saturdays were spent with Essa, who would pick us up at the hotel at 8:00 AM, and
we’d do an all-day tour around the country. This was very helpful for me, especially when I
returned with the family later. For those eight months, Essa showed us all the major historical spots, and I learned my way into every corner of the country. I shot roll after roll of slide
film, a wonderful selection of slides that I still show whenever someone asks me. It has given
me great joy to show the slides and share the journey in Israel with dozens of church and
civic groups. I had been teaching Bible classes for years, and showing the slides was another
method of teaching the Bible.
Shortly before leaving the states to go to Israel, I had learned about an American missionary
in Israel, and was able to get the address of Everett Huffard in Jerusalem. I wrote to him, telling him when I would arrive, and that I would be living in Tel Aviv. He wrote to me, telling
me he was in East Jerusalem, held by Jordon at that time, and I would not be able to cross
over to visit him. However, he gave me the name of Ernie Stewart, another American missionary living in the coastal town of Haifa. Ernie lived on Rehov Einstein (“rehov” is “street”
in Hebrew), located on the very top of Mt. Carmel. Essa picked us up on my second weekend
in Israel and took us up the coastal road to the ancient city of Acco, just north of Haifa. I told
Essa about the Stewarts and he asked me if I had their address. Fortunately, I had it in the
little address book I carried with me, and soon Essa had me in front of their door at 25 Rehov
Einstein. Opening their door that Saturday morning, Ernie and Mary Francis Stewart greeted
me very graciously, and this fine Christian couple would open their home to me many times
during the next eight months. In fact, they invited me to return the following weekend.
That day we went on to Akko (Acre, Akko or Ptolemais, depending on the historical era),
spending several hours (wonderful picture-taking place), going on north to the Lebanon border at Rosh-Hanikra. The cliffs there drop almost straight down into the Mediterranean Sea,
where the action of the sea has carved labyrinthine grottos out of the rock. The name “RoshHanikra” means “Cape of the Grotto.” They have a cable car that takes you to the bottom of
the cliff, where you can go into these grottos when the sea is not too rough. When the sea is
rough and you are in the caves, it is very likely that you will drown when the waves rush into
the caves. Rosh Hanikra is right on the Lebanese border, but a road continues on north to the
historical towns of Tyre and Sidon, and on to Beirut. Of course, we could not cross the border into Lebanon.
I should explain why we could not enter any of the Arab countries that border Israel. The
Arab-Muslim people have a great hatred for the Jewish people, considering them to be their
enemy. History shows that this enmity goes all the way back to around 2000 BC when Abraham cast out Ishmael and his mother, Hagar in Genesis 21. It’s doubtful that many Arabs
ever think of this, but rather dislike the fact that the Jews are living in what they consider to
be Arab land. Yet, when Jews first began immigrating to the land, then barren and desolate
through years of neglect, there were few Arabs living there. Turkey had ruled over that area
for several hundred years, during which time a railroad from Europe to Egypt was built. The
trains were fueled by wood-burning steam engines, resulting in cutting down all the trees of
the forests in the land for fuel. The land was so desolate, with nothing but huge rocks everywhere, and no one wanted to live there. It has only been in the last fifty years that Israel,
through reforestation, has replaced what was lost. In the Hula Lake region of the upper Jordan Valley, in the Jezreel Valley, and in much of the coastal plain, swamps were a breeding
ground for malaria-carrying mosquitoes, making parts of Israel uninhabitable. It wasn’t until the Jewish immigrants drained the swamps, planted forests, and developed profitable
farms in the land that it was possible to live in the area.
The Jews had created jobs for Arabs, still living in Israel and who were willing to work, and
they were offered a fair price for the Arab-owned land, after which it was developed by the
Jews. According to the Islamic Koran, once land is owned by a Muslim, the land remains his
forever. Even though these few Arabs sold their land, and many fled the country during the
war of independence, they have the mindset that the land still belongs to them. According to
their laws, if they sell their land, trees that they planted on the land will always be theirs. The
Arabs who returned, and those who immigrated for the first time to Israel, feel that the land
is Arab land. That is why they will not be satisfied until, as they say “we will push every Jew
into the sea,” or said in another way, the complete annihilation of every Jew.
Not all Arabs feel this way. When we returned to Israel in 1969, we were associated with
both Christian and non-Christian Arabs who felt very blessed to be living in a land developed
by the Jews, working side-by-side with them in a continued partnership maintaining the
land. We met Arab business people who attribute their livelihood to the Jewish nation of Israel. Arab shop keepers told us many times that the Arabs have it much better now than they
ever did under Arab rule. I’m sure they are appalled by what is happening at the hands of
hate-filled terrorists who do evil and justify it through their religion. Yasser Arafat is more to
blame than anyone for the deplorable conditions of the Arabs living in the area. Even the
neighboring Arab countries bear the blame for the bad refugee problems that have existed for
over fifty years because, first, they encouraged the people to flee and within days the Arab
armies would run the Jews out and they could return to their homes; and, secondly, the Arab
countries were in a position to absorb the refugees into their own society, but refused to help
them in any way, instead developing refugee camps.
When I was visiting with Bob and Jo Koho, an American family with the American Embassy
in Tel Aviv, Bob told me about the night he heard pounding in his backyard. He went to see
what was happening and found several Arab men pounding the branches of his olive trees,
collecting the fallen olives on a large canvas. Questioning them for this, they insisted they
were only taking what belonged to them, for these were their trees and their land. Apparently the Arabs had lived on that land and felt that it would always be theirs because that is
what the Koran teaches. Besides this, since they were the ones who planted the trees, they
would always belong to them regardless of who owns the land. This kind of thing happens
all the time all over Israel.
Often when Essa and I were together traveling, he would take us to a kibbutz in the area for
lunch. There are many of these communal agriculture settlements all over Israel. All members of the settlement live and work together on national land leased to them for development. Couples are given a small single dwelling, with bedroom/living room, while their
children, from infancy up, live in dormitories. The little children are cared for during the
day by scheduled adults, while the school children attend classes. All able-bodied adults and
young people have daily work schedules to maintain the kibbutz. They all eat their meals in
a huge common dining room, open to paying guests like Essa and me, although most of the
time they would not accept pay from us. Later, when we returned to Israel as a family, we
stopped often to eat at a kibbutz. There are several kibbutzim that offer lodging, making it
possible to stay overnight. Kibbutz Ginasar is one of them, located on the Sea of Galilee near
Biblical Magdala, home of one of the Marys. It was a favorite vacation spot for us, sometimes
just stopping for lunch, other times staying for the weekend so we could swim in the sea.
The following Saturday after the trip to Acco, I took the city bus to Haifa to visit Ernie and
Mary Francis Stewart. The bus trip was quite an adventure, and I found there was great bus
service to the remotest spot in the country. It was also extremely cheap because the bus company was subsidized by the government. Bus was a very common mode of travel, many using
this transportation on a daily basis because few people owned cars, which also meant a
crowded bus no matter where you were going. Like all larger cities, Tel Aviv has a central
bus station, with regular bus service running in all directions several times every hour. The
bus station was always very crowded, with dozens of buses coming and going throughout the
day, except on Shabbat.
Street vendors lined the approaching streets, selling thousands of different items, adding to
the congestion and confusion. The most popular vendors were those selling flowers, especially on Friday afternoon. Husbands stopped to buy flowers for their wives on their way
home from work, and flowers were another favorite hostess gift. A gift was always expected
when invited to dinner because that was the custom. A box of candy was acceptable also. I
often wondered if the same box of candy made its rounds until the box was worn out so that
it was no longer acceptable.
I found the right bus to take me to Haifa, among the many possibilities, and was surprised to
find the fare to be one and a half Israeli pounds, about fifty cents in US currency, for a trip of
60 miles. The trip to Haifa was interesting, jammed with passengers and standing room only
for many. By the time I reached my destination sixty miles later, the bus was almost empty,
with numerous stops all along the highway. The Stewarts made me feel right at home as
though I’d known them for years. There was also Brian, their teenager, and Joseph Shulam, a
young Jewish man from Jerusalem who visited them often on weekends. Arriving Friday afternoon, we talked through the evening, mostly about the ministry of the church in Israel. The Stewarts had been there for seven years after replacing Ralph Henley, who had
worked with the church for several years previously.
The Arab congregation where Ernie preached was located in Nazareth, about twenty miles
east of their home in Haifa, and averaged about 100 people on Sunday mornings. There was
also a small group that met in the Arab village of Elebun. They also had a Christian School
there, staffed mostly by local Arab Christians from Nazareth. Ernie and Mary Francis played
a very active role in both the church and school and were highly respected by the Arab people. There was also a Church of Christ in Arab East Jerusalem where Everett Huffard
preached. The only other church sponsored by American Churches of Christ was in Jewish
West Jerusalem, and young Joseph Shulam did most of the preaching there. The West Jerusalem congregation was a mixture of Jewish and Arab Israelis, most believers in Yeshua, the
Messiah. When I returned to Israel in 1969 with the family, we were closely associated with
Joseph and his wife, Marcia, and worshipped regularly at the West Jerusalem Church.
I spent many weekends with the Stewarts during the next few months. Ernie always showed
me places of Biblical significance that Essa didn’t know about. Ernie instilled in me a great
desire to know more and more Bible history and the geography of the land. I bought and
read a number of historical books, purchasing every map I could find. One weekend at their
house I met a man, the son of Eliezer Ben Yahuda, who had written the book, Tongue of the
Prophets. Eliezer was the man credited with restoring the Hebrew language to the people of
Israel. Hebrew had not been spoken on the streets for nearly two thousand years and had
been restricted for “holy use” only. Eliezer’s son gave me an autographed copy of the book
that day. It was a great story and needless to say, I cherished the book dearly. I lent it to
someone long after I returned home (can’t remember who that person was), and it was never
returned to me.
On my first visit to the Stewarts’ home, they told me about Bob Koho, the American Military
Attaché working with the American Embassy in Tel Aviv. I visited Bob at the Embassy, which
was just a block from my hotel; and he invited me to spend the next weekend with him and
his family. They were a very nice family, and the town of Savvyon appealed to me so much
that they offered to help me find housing when I returned with my family. I was invited back
for another weekend, and I asked if I could bring an American bridge engineer with me. By
this time, Jim Thoma and Bill Raymond had arrived to work with me at Tahal. Jim would be
returning with his family for final design and would also be looking for housing. Jim was not
a Christian and could not believe a family would invite strangers into their home for two
nights, take us with them to Jerusalem on Sunday, and treat us like family. Later Jim said to
me, “Buck, I don’t understand how you find people like the Kohos in a country you’ve never
been in before, and feel so at ease as if they have been friends for years.” They really had
been very gracious hosts and we had been treated like family. I explained to Jim that, when
you are part of the Lord’s family, you have close family ties with others everywhere that share
that same relationship with the Lord. Not long after I returned to the States, Bob Koho was
killed in a plane crash and I lost contact with his family.
I soon found myself going up to Jerusalem every Sunday evening to worship. It was so easy
for me to get there by bus or “sharout,” a large old-model Mercedes or other large American
car with a third seat installed between the front and rear seats. One shared the vehicle with
six others over a fixed route, hence the name “sharout.” Both bus and sharout left the Central Bus Station at regular intervals. The sharout would never leave until it was full, which
sometimes meant a little wait, but the buses kept to a rather loose schedule. I used the sharout often to Jerusalem and never tired of the trip. I was always thrilled at the first sight of
Jerusalem as we climbed closer and closer to that beautiful old city.
Joe Shulam, the young man I met at Ernie Stewart’s, did all the preaching for the church
meeting there. Previously, he had served as translator from English to Hebrew and back to
English when necessary for Ernie and was not a believer in “Yeshua Ha Mashia” (Jesus, the
Messiah). It did not take Joseph long to realize that this Jesus Ernie was teaching about was
the Messiah promised to the Jewish people in the Old Testament. Joseph had been a rabbinical student, knowing the Old Testament scriptures well. The church met in a rented building
in the Greek Colony in the southern section of Jewish Jerusalem. In 1949-67, the old city of
Jerusalem was held and governed by Jordon. From where I arrived in Jerusalem by public
transport to the Greek Colony was about a mile, taking me past the YMCA on the right, King
David Hotel on the left. For several blocks after passing the hotel, you could see across to "no
man’s land,” and to the old city. It was not possible to cross over though, for that part of the
city still belonged to Jordon until the Six-Day War in 1967.
Joseph was scheduled to leave the country over Easter, traveling to Athens for a Church of
Christ Conference. He asked me if I would preach for him Easter Sunday. Who in his right
mind would pass up the opportunity to preach about Jesus in the Holy City on Easter Sunday? When I arrived in Jerusalem that Sunday evening it was rainy, wet, and cold. I was
soaked and chilled by the time I had walked to the Greek Colony. While I was walking, it
had started to snow, along with lightning and thunder. Church attendance consisted of five
men. I guess the weather was too severe for the others. By the time we had finished our
worship service, there was three or four inches of slushy snow on the ground, and I could not
resist throwing snowballs. What a story to tell back home. “I threw snowballs in Jerusalem
on Easter Sunday.” I’ve shared that with many since when asked if it ever snows in Jerusalem.
It was difficult getting back to Tel Aviv that night, and my feet were soaked by the time I got
to the sharout station. I sat shivering in an empty sharout for several hours, the driver waiting for a full load before he would leave. Two other guys finally came, but one was another
driver just killing time until he got his passengers. Finally the driver announced he was going to stay in Jerusalem for the night. I had no choice but to walk the two additional miles to
the bus station, knowing buses would run whether they had a full load or not. I was told
that, even though it might snow in Jerusalem, it never snows on the coastal plain. During the
bus ride from Jerusalem that night, it snowed all the way to Tel Aviv. In the six or more years
we later lived in Israel, we never saw or heard that snow fell in Jerusalem on Easter, so I
guess I witnessed a weather phenomenon.
One rainy Saturday morning, I was waiting for Essa to pick us up at our hotel, not sure that
he would come because of the weather. When he came, I asked him where we would go on
such a rainy day. When it rains in the rainy season, it can rain hard all day. Essa said we
were going to Beersheva and the Dead Sea, for it never rains south of Beersheva. After snow
in Jerusalem and snow all the way to Tel Aviv, should I believe Essa now? I took a picture of
a beautiful rainbow over the ancient ruins of Arad, located at the beginning of the descent to
Soddom and the Dead Sea. I guess the God of lightning, thunder, and smoke on Mt Sinai
wanted to show me all the strange weather conditions of the Holy Land.
Back in Tel Aviv one morning, I looked out on the sea from my hotel room, and the Mediterranean was completely obscured by thick fog. I stepped out on my balcony, feeling a strong
wind blowing in from the sea. I wondered how there could possibly be thick fog in that kind
of wind. I learned later that it was dust blowing from the Sahara Desert over a thousand
miles away, across the Mediterranean Sea. With a sprinkling of rain mixed with this red dirt,
it settled on parked cars and on the streets like drops of blood. We would witness these
winds many times when we came back to live in Israel.
Two other strange weather conditions intrigued me, one called “sharav” in Hebrew, or
“hamsin” in Arabic. The weather would be pleasant, with a nice breeze blowing off the sea
at bedtime. In the morning a hot east wind would be blowing strong, coming from the Arabian Desert. It was difficult to breathe, burning your eyes, causing severe headache, and the
Another strange thing about Israel’s weather is the pattern of dry season and rainy season. When I arrived in August, everything was very dry and dead looking except for irrigated areas as it had not rained at all since April or May. Then in late October the rains
came, raining almost every day through to April. Israelis dance in the streets at the first rain
of the season. The Bible mentions the early and the late rains, which never meant much to
me. Prior to the rainy season the ground is so hard, it would be impossible to plow and
plant. Then early light rains begin and start to soften the sandy soil mixed with clay, and
planting begins. The heavier later rains keep coming and it seems like overnight crops come
in abundance. They actually get in two plantings and harvests during those four or five
months, absolutely beautiful vegetables and fruits. The hills and valleys are alive with an array of wildflowers, where there had been barren ground. The rains turn it into “a land flowing with milk and honey,” as the Bible says. Mark Murtha, a man in my Sunday Bible class
asked me once if there were a lot of bees and cows in Israel to make the land flow with milk
and honey. They do have bees and honey, and cows and dairy products, but the Bible used
that expression of milk and honey to suggest the fruitfulness of the land.
Because of a total lack of rainfall for five or six months every year, except for the Jordon
River and a few other small streams, their streams completely dry up. I was privileged to tour
the national water carrier, designed by Mekerot Water Planners, a division of Tahal in Israel. This is a super secret and secure site that almost no one ever gets even close to without
alarms going off. They distribute reliable potable water to almost all of Israel, water used for
both drinking and irrigation. The system begins with a huge underground pumping chamber along the Sea of Galilee, pumping tons of water from well over 600 feet below sea level to
over 800 feet above sea level. After reaching the 800-foot level, the water flows by gravity
through a series of closed conduits, including a giant inverted siphon across a very deep ravine or dry waddi. Then the water is carried through an open canal feeding into a large reservoir. A 104-inch pipe carries the water from the reservoir to all parts of Israel, including
parts of the Negev Desert almost 150 miles to the south.
During the eight months I spent in Israel, most of my weekend traveling was with the other
American members of our engineering team, with Essa as our driver and tour guide. He was
always careful to avoid all border areas, for during this period of time there were constant
threats from the surrounding countries of Lebanon, Syria, Jordon, and Egypt. Threats were
also made to Israel from Muslim countries like Iraq, Saudi Arabia, and Iran.
As we came closer to completion of the preliminary design phase of the project, tensions were
mounting, with the threats from these Muslim countries. Israelis carried transistor radios
with them everywhere to keep abreast of developments. When an Israeli man or woman
reached the age of eighteen, they were obligated to train and serve in the military for a certain period of time. After serving the required active duty time, they were still required to
serve in the reserves and could be called back to active duty at a moment’s notice. The call
could come by radio announcement during terrorist activity on the borders of Israel. The radio was the means to stay informed of such activity, or to listen for casualty lists when there
was terrorist activity. Radios were not carried in the pocket, but held to the ear almost
around the clock. What a way to have to live your lives!
One particular Saturday in April of 1967, I spent the day in the Tahal office doing some
catch-up work without interruptions. It was late that morning when Bill Raymond burst into
the office yelling, “Come on, Buck, we’ve got to get out of here now!” Bill was very frantic,
and it took a while to get him calmed down to a rational level. He told me that the Israeli Air
had just shot down three Syrian Mig Fighters over the Golan Heights, that war had already
begun. Bill left the office to try to get more information while I finished the work I had come
in to do.
As it turned out, things slowly escalated, with threats from all the countries bordering Israel. We completed the project, leaving the country in May, just a few weeks before the SixDay War in June. It seemed apparent that the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, was looking
after Israel. Otherwise, how could you account for all that tiny country was able to accomplish in six days against such odds? They completely destroyed the Egyptian air force before
they could get their planes off the ground. Hundreds of burned-out Russian tanks, katyusha
rocket launchers, armored personnel carriers, and supply trucks lined the road through the
Mitla Pass in the Sinai Desert, as well as other roads in the desert. In addition to Egypt, the
armies of Syria, Lebanon, Iraq, and Jordon were soundly defeated, all within a period of six
days. Only Jordon put up any kind of a fight. The others all ran when the fighting got
tough. Not only were all the Arab countries backed and armed by Russia, but twenty-one Islamic countries declared war on Israel, and Israel stood strong in their defense.
Returning home and listening to the American news media, I knew that most of what they
were reporting was anything but truth. Having lived in Israel the past eight months, and
watching the Arab conflict against them, I was convinced more than ever that the Arab nations were not above lying, and could not be trusted to be truthful. I see even today they have
not changed, and the disgusting American news media reports their lies as though it is
truth. There are still some great positive news stories all around the world worthy of being
reported, but the news media can’t seem to see them.
As I am editing this, I just finished a Sunday night series of lessons on Israel, the chosen people of God. I spent considerable time on the wars Israel fought which I should share with my
readers. Even before Ben Gurion declared their statehood, he said that for Israel to survive
they would have to develop the best military in the world. They would have to develop the
most excellent intelligence service in the world with agents in every country, including every
Arab country. One thing that has made them superior to all the Arab armies is the simple
fact that, if they lose a war, they have no place to run to, whereas, the Arabs ran every time
the fighting got tough. As the Israeli recruits are told, “We are good at what we do because
the alternative is so horrific you don’t ever want to face it.” Did you know that now in the
year 2006, the Israeli military is ranked third in the world in terms of wars won in relation to
wars fought? In the first twenty-five years of Israel’s existence, they fought five major wars
and were victorious in every one of them against unbelievable odds.
Before I leave this part of my life’s journey, I must tell you about some of the engineering staff
on the Tahal project because some of these wonderful Israeli friends will be with us again in
1969 and in 1979. First, here are the Americans who worked on the project. John Paul was
a man in his late 60’s from Lancaster, Pennsylvania, a retired Department of Transportation
worker and now Project Manager for the Tahal/Gannett project. Gib Reen was a retired civil
engineer and professor from Penn State University. Bill Raymond was a traffic engineer,
about five years older than me. Jim Thoma was my age, a bridge engineer and family
man. That rounded out the American team.
The Israeli staff included Jacob (Yaacov) Tsamir, co-project manager, Samuel (Shmuel) Lam,
Moses (Moshe), Monney Petranu, Adam, and Zipporah Bressler. The Israelis are a very hospitable people, and I had been invited to most of their homes. Zipporah especially was very
helpful to me in the office and in a social way. She and her husband Al invited me into their
home many times. Al was born in Florida, graduated from Florida University, and met Zipporah while visiting in Israel. They later were married and lived in Florida for a while. They
returned to Israel to stay, raising their three daughters in the town of Holon, south of Tel
Aviv. Al developed a pre-cast concrete plant in Israel, building up a very successful business. When we returned in 1969, they would play a very important part in our lives, and a
deep friendship would develop.
When the job was completed and I was ready to go back home in May of 1967, both Sally
and I realized the depth of our homesickness for one another. I made arrangements for her
to meet me at the airport in Newark, New Jersey, making reservations to spend the night before the trip home. Having made the reservations through an Israeli tour company, we found
the motel room to be one of the dirtiest we have ever stayed in. We couldn’t wait to check
out in the morning, then were charged a much higher price than had been arranged by the
tour agent. I refused to pay what he was asking but didn’t have the exact amount I had
agreed to pay. The manager refused to give me the several dollars change I had coming. We
didn’t fare any better when we decided to drive south to Atlantic City to spend another night
before going home. We checked into a motel there, later finding our room was directly over
a jumping nightclub. We packed up and left in the middle of the night for home.
We arrived in Pennsylvania just in time for the Sunday morning church service at the Camp
Hill Church of Christ, for we knew that’s where our kids would be. Even after thirty years, I
cry a little just remembering that homecoming with my family. Mark, our five-year old, had
the hardest time with Dad being gone so long. He fought a real emotional battle those eight
months. We didn’t realize what a “daddy’s boy” he had become. Seeing me that day, he
wasn’t sure how to react. I also felt real bad for our oldest son John, seventeen years old
when I returned. John matured a lot during that time, for the church had gone through a
bad split and John was very much aware of the hurt and bitterness that had transpired, and I
had not been there to go through it with him. The leaders of the church insisted that Haldon
Arnold, our minister, be fired. He left the ministry as a result of this, moving to Virginia and
becoming involved in the funeral business. A group of the members left after this, renting
space to meet across the river in the Colonial Park area, in a church that is still meeting today. Our family made the needed adjustments to restore our family life, and things pretty
much got back to normal.
Buck’s First Reactions To Israel –1966
(taken from my journal as written then)
♦
Hot for October, very dry and dusty; later learned it was nearing end of dry season. When I arrived, there had been no rain (literally not one drop) for seven
months. In Israel, their rainy season is from end of October to end of March, the
entire annual rainfall occurring during those months.
♦
Two men met me at the airport, one American and one Israeli whose English was
very hard to understand. I would be working with him for the duration of the
project, and it was a hard day’s work just understanding him and making him understand me.
♦
When we loaded my suitcases in the Israeli’s car trunk, I saw a beach chair with
sand on it. Inquiring about the beach, I learned the sea was nearby. Later, I realized I would be living right on the beach.
♦
It was dark as we drove to Tel Aviv from the airport – ten miles from the hotel
where I would be staying. The smells and sounds were strange – oriental spices
and onions as we passed by little roadside or sidewalk cafes, or kiosks as they are
called. After several miles, the smell changed as we passed near the Tel Aviv garbage dump. Of the many smells, were some pleasant, some were obnoxious, and
most were strange to my nose. Would I ever get used to them?
♦
There were also many strange sounds, some almost frightening because I could
not identify them. Israelis talk so loud to each other, giving the impression that
they are angry at each other. The first time I heard a Muslim muezzin calling
their people to prayer, the chills ran up my spine – a most eerie sound, especially
if you hear it for the first time after dark. The muezzin, or crier, climbs to the top
of a minaret attached to the mosque, then chants the call to prayer six times a day.
♦
I checked into the Hilton Hotel (would later transfer to the Samuel Hotel, one of
the Kosher hotels on the beach) and got settled into my room on the tenth
floor. The room had a balcony overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. By this time, it
was 10:00 PM local time, but 3:00 PM by USA time and by my body clock. Israel
is seven hours ahead of the US, depending on whether the US is on standard
time. I spent most of the night on the balcony, listening to the lapping of the
Mediterranean on the beach and thinking of my wife and children 7,000 miles
across that sea, plus the Atlantic Ocean. I thought a lot about the next day and
wondered what new things the day would bring.
♦
The next morning, I ate breakfast alone, which was a new experience for me. I
always ate breakfast with Sally and now realized that would not happen again for
six months (turned out to be eight months). Breakfast was served buffet style,
food that was familiar to me but not for breakfast – sliced cucumbers, radishes,
tomatoes, numerous cheeses, along with hard-boiled eggs, pickled herring, and
rolls – a typical Israeli breakfast, which I soon became used to and still enjoy occasionally. One of the biggest disappointments two weeks later, when spending a
weekend in Haifa at the Stewarts’ home (American missionary family), was having
an Israeli breakfast served to me, when I had anticipated a good old American
breakfast. Ernie and his family, living in Israel for the past seven years, were totally Israeli. I learned what the expression means, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”
♦
My first day in the office at Tahal was an experience. The 70 year-old man that
had picked me up at the airport was the only American in the office; however,
most of the people spoke enough English to get by. Hebrew is a very difficult language because of the totally different alphabet and because of several sounds the
American voice box just doesn’t seem equipped or trained to make.
♦
The phone rang near my desk and a man answered, “Shalom,” then kept repeating during the conversation “ken” or “ken-ken.” I wondered why Ken didn’t answer him. When I asked, he told me that “ken” means “yes” in Hebrew. I soon
up the meaning of many words and phrases in Hebrew, but never learned to speak
the language. We did work out a sense of communicating with one another, and
a friendship developed with a few who spoke English, Hebrew, and several other
languages.
♦
The Israeli pays a very high duty for anything imported, which is almost everything. A car that would sell for $10,000 in America costs the Israeli $30,000. For
this reason, you saw such a weird mix of vehicles on the streets. In 1966 (and
much later when we returned to Israel), people owned and drove the Americanmade Henry J or Kaiser, which had not been made for years. The Israeli has a way
of making things last because he cannot afford to buy another car or household
appliance. A 500-square foot apartment in Israel was costing the Israeli well over
$100,000 when in America it might cost $10,000-$20,000.
♦
The first time I told someone I was going up to Jerusalem to worship, what a
thrill! I was using the same expressions I had been reading in the Bible and now I
was actually living it. WOW!
♦
Can you imagine seeing a flock of sheep and goats mixed together on the hillside,
and the passage flashes through your mind when Jesus talked about separating the
sheep from the goats, with the sheep on the right and the goats on the left? Or
imagine as you are entering the gate to the temple mount in Jerusalem, you encounter a lame beggar asking for help, or you are walking up a Jerusalem street
and you pass an Arab shop with a big sign out front “money changer.” It does not
take long to realize that you are living the Bible.
♦
Names make a very big impression on me, recognizing where they came from. Familiar names are pronounced differently from what we are used to, but when the
syllables of these Bible words are sounded out, the English word comes through.
This was true of place names as well as people. Where, except for Israel, would
you expect to have very good friends named Zipporah, Ephraim, Moses, Meshullam, Schmuel, and Yaacov.
CHAPTER FIVE
Expanded Horizons
Israel ~ 1969-1971
At Gannett Fleming, the expressway project in Israel was on hold due to the Six-Day
War. We weren’t even sure if the project would ever be finished. In the interim, I was assigned the responsibility of designing a four-mile section of Route 283 from Middletown to
just east of Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania. The project was not quite finished when I had to
turn it over to Charlie Bingham to complete. I was going back to Israel!
In the spring of 1969, the Israeli government approved the Tel Aviv-Ashdod project for final
design, and Tahal was given the notice to proceed and to notify the joint venture in the
States. Tsamir was appointed co-project manager with instructions to select a manager from
Gannett Fleming. After discussing this with the feasibility study staff, they were all in agreement that they wanted Buck Hinton. The reason for this choice – “He will work right alongside the engineers here, training them as the project progresses just as he did with preliminary design.”
We had little time to prepare for our move. First thing on the agenda was to sell our home on
Coolidge Street in New Cumberland. We called a realtor to list the house. He came, made a
call from our phone, and a client came right over, looked at the house and signed a contract. Fifteen minutes later, our house was sold!
Melanie, our oldest daughter, was to be married the following Sunday. In that week, we sold
or gave away all of our furniture, except the living-room furniture that Melanie and Thom
would take to Houston, Texas, where Thom was in college and working. They packed the
furniture in a U-Haul the day before the wedding. Several young couples took our washer
and dryer, dining-room furniture, and furniture from four bedrooms. The day of the wedding, there was only a rocking chair in the living room (already promised), and the beds in
the bedrooms, to be picked up in two days. Sally’s sister had offered to keep her cedar chest
and what would fit inside until we returned from Israel. John would be headed back to
Philadelphia to finish his second year of college. The rest of us were headed for Israel, and
would be spending the last several days between the wedding and departure for us with
friends from church. It was a whirlwind few days. The hardest thing was saying “goodbye”
to our two adult children and our close church friends.
Lora, our middle daughter, had agreed to go with us but not without conditions. She was between her junior and senior year in high school, and had a very close friend dating back to
elementary school. Since Lora really wanted to graduate from Cedar Cliff High School and
Mary Beth’s family was eager for her to stay with them through to graduation, we compromised. Lora must go with us for the summer; then if she still felt she must graduate in the
states, and if she did not like Israel, she could return to New Cumberland the end of the summer and stay with the Ulsh family through her senior year. Needless to say, she did not like
Israel and she was on a plane to the States the end of August. She would return the following
June, be with us again for the summer, then return for her first year of college in Philadelphia. We had given our car to John, but he was willing to give it to Lora when she returned
to the States. That gave her wheels to travel to relatives from Sally’s family for holidays and a
little independence to get to church, for Mary Beth’s family went in a different direction to
church.
John spent the summer after we left with Tom and Anita Roberts in Summerdale, very dear
and faithful friends of ours. That’s also where we spent those last few days before we left for
Israel. Anita and Tom remained our main contact in the States while we were away the next
three years, and also filled in as proxy parents for both Lora and John, along with several
other couples.
Just before leaving the U.S., I went to the Israel Consulate in Philadelphia to get our visas. When in Israel in 1966/67, I had a lot of trouble with the Israeli government because of
working on a tourist visa; and the problem was made worse because of the language barrier. I figured that in Philadelphia, English would be the spoken language at the consulate,
and surely they would get everything right. However, our passports were stamped in Hebrew, “intending to stay,” like all new immigrants coming into Israel. Since we could not
read the Hebrew, I didn’t know this until after we were in Israel for a while.
In late June, we flew out of Harrisburg on a commuter flight to Newark, took a helicopter to
JFK Airport, and from there flew TransWorld Airlines to Tel Aviv, with a stop in Rome and
one in Athens, Greece. Mark, an adventurous eight-year old, had a wonderful time on the
flight, exploring every part of the plane permitted. He even met the captain before we
reached our destination. Not so with Lora, for she started early to convince us that she was
miserable and was not going to like Israel. Because of the mountains surrounding the Athens
airport, we had a rough landing. The take-off was no better, and Lora made the most of that
– flying was not for her! The flight for Becky was a wonderful opportunity to read for hours
without interruption as reading was always a favorite pastime for her.
I never expected to feel such emotion as we approached the Tel Aviv shoreline, feeling like I
was returning home after being gone a long time. I could pick out many familiar landmarks
that I was anxious to share with the family. Again, Yaacov Tsamir met our flight, driving us
to the Samuel Hotel that had been home to me in 1966/67. I had made previous reservations
to stay at the Samuel until we could find housing. The hotel personnel remembered me and
were very gracious to my family.
A few days later, we moved up the coastline about six or seven miles to the Teran Hotel in the
town of Hertzliya, Petuah. Some of the Tahal people had told me about this new apartment
hotel, and it did serve our needs much better and was considerably cheaper. We had adjoining bedrooms plus a kitchenette, and with the hotel located right down along the sea amid
many sand dunes, it was much nicer for Sally and the kids.
Our stay at this hotel lasted for three weeks, and we looked back on what happened next as a
“God-happening”, one of many to follow. The kids were so hungry for “American” food and
were asking for a spaghetti dinner. I ventured out to the supermarket (questionable by US
standards) to find the proper ingredients. Finding all labels in the store in Hebrew, I sud-
felt panic. Then I heard welcome voices in American English over in the next aisle and I
asked for their help. I felt a little foolish when they showed me that everything was labeled in
English on the backside of the product. I really appreciated the help and advice they gave
me, like the open bins along the aisle containing bread. The bread and rolls looked like they
had come out of someone’s kitchen, and were stacked in the bins without wrappers. Their
advice was to choose the bread from upper bins because dogs walk freely in the store, and the
bread bins were convenient places to lift their legs. After sharing this with Sally, she made it
a habit to hold the loaf of bread over the gas flame of the stove to “sterilize” the loaf. That
didn’t last too long for we soon adopted the rule, “When in Israel, do as the Israelis do.” The
bread was wonderful! The experience in the supermarket made it so obvious that God was
helping us in the little things that made the transition to life in this new place so good and
pleasant. Without His help, those little things would have seemed like trials. The spaghetti
dinner was wonderful, even though Sally had only one fry pan big enough to cook for a family of five hungry people. She used the teakettle to cook the pasta. Many substitutes would
follow in that little kitchen.
I was no more than back with the groceries that day when the phone rang, and the Georgian
voice of Chandler Lanier was offering to help us. He was the husband of one of the American
women who had helped me at the store. Chandler and Sally had been serving for many years
in Israel as Baptist missionaries, living just a few blocks from the hotel. Chandler wanted to
know if he could help us in any way since he spoke Hebrew and knew his way around the
country. I told him of our need for housing, that we were anxious to get out of the hotel and
settled. Chandler told me about a Mennonite missionary who was spending several months
in the States, who had a home in Ramat Gan not far away. He would try to arrange for us to
live there until we could find something more permanent, if we didn’t mind moving into
someone else’s home.
We moved the next day to Ramat Gan, a town two miles east of Tel Aviv, in a house located
on a nice quiet street. Since Paul and Bertha Swarr did not expect anyone would be living in
their home while they were gone, there were clothes in all the closets and food in the pantry. It felt a bit like we were intruding on their lives for a few days, but soon we knew we
were living in the home of fellow-Christians. To our surprise, we learned they were from
Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and we enjoyed the Christian publications that came by mail
throughout the next several months. The agreement Chandler had made for us was that we
would pay no rent, but would pay the wages of Hannah, their lovely housekeeper who was
taking care of the home in the Swarrs’ absence. She endeared herself to us in short order,
spoke English, and was a tremendous help to Sally as she learned to shop and cook in this
new land. Hannah came each morning, did what she was supposed to do, then left. With
Sally’s need to keep busy, there wasn’t a lot for Hannah to do, but her friendship meant a lot
to both Sally and the kids. As I look back now at how things kept happening that only our
God could have orchestrated, it is so great to know that God wanted us to be in Israel, for
some reason unknown to us at the time.
I was very uneasy about Sally and the kids wandering far from the house without me. The
company had given me a four-door Studebaker company car to use, all expenses covered. While I was at work, they had to depend on public transportation, taking a bus wherever they needed to go. Before I had an opportunity to show them how to do this, they
showed up at the office one day. I couldn’t believe my eyes! Sally wanted to surprise me and
to relieve my mind, knowing that she could make out on her own when necessary. From that
time on, they traveled wherever they wanted to go anywhere in the country.
The Baptist Church had numerous missions and had been serving for many years in Israel. I
mentioned earlier the agricultural farm in Petah Tiqwa where Arab boys received academic
learning, along with agriculture training. They worked with the missionaries in charge to
maintain a hundred-acre farm with citrus groves and a variety of vegetables. They had large
homes for the staff and motel-type buildings for the boys. There were also cabins that were
used for summer camp and adult retreats. A very large Quonset hut served as the worship
center each week. Baptist missionaries and many other denominational missionaries worshipped at the village. Also, expatriates like us found our way to the farm and were always
welcomed with open arms. We soon found our place with them, making a lot of wonderful
friends, some we’ve stayed in touch with all these years.
They had separate Bible classes for the men and women, and it wasn’t long before Sally was
teaching the women’s class and I was teaching the men’s class. In the men’s class, there were
three or four Baptist preachers, several Mennonite preachers, a primitive Methodist
preacher, and many of us from other denominations. Our Bible discussions were always
open and frank, very Bible-centered. A question was raised one day as to why in Israel we
could discuss Bible questions together in unity, when back in the States this would have been
impossible because of the various church doctrines. We decided it was only because we were
united in purpose – to take Jesus to the Arab and Jewish people, and the only way we could
appeal to them was through what the Bible teaches. Church doctrines had to be put aside in
order to do this in unity and to have any hope of leading the people to their Messiah.
Someone commented, “Wouldn’t it turn the US upside down if all the churches back home
started doing this? Wow! What a difference we could make as a united front in our society!” In America, I think this kind of thing is now slowly happening. This entire experience
at the Baptist Farm was a wonderful eye opener for Sally and me, for we had no idea just how
much our legalistic views of the Church of Christ had narrowed our standard of “saved people.” This was the beginning of our new freedom in Christ that I had mentioned earlier, and
a faith that would mature and take on new and wonderful meaning in the years ahead.
The end of the summer came and, at the end of August, we put Lora on a homeward-bound
flight, back to the Ulsh family in New Cumberland to finish her last year of high school. It
would be ten months before she returned to us for the summer before she started college. By
this time she had decided, “I love to fly!” She has a lot of funny stories to share about her
time spent in Israel and her trips back and forth across the ocean.
One of these stories is so outstanding that I feel compelled to share it here. Joe Shulam (that
Jewish evangelist I told you about earlier) was visiting at our home one day. He saw a little
blue booklet on the shelf and asked Lora how she happened to get an immigrant booklet. This was after she had come back to Israel the second time, and she told Joe the booklet
was given to her at the airport as she came through passport control. Joe told her this book
means that she is considered to be a new immigrant, an Israeli citizen, and that the government would require her to complete her military service before leaving the country. He said
we must go to the proper government ministry office in Tel Aviv to get her passport changed
in order for her to leave the country at the end of the summer. Lora and Sally made that trip
to the government agency and supposedly had her passport corrected. Several penciled notations were made in Hebrew, and they assured Lora that everything would be fine. She would
be free to leave the country. They also took the little blue book she had received at the airport.
The end of August, we took Lora to the airport, walked with her to the escalator as far as we
were allowed to accompany her, and watched her out of sight to the departure hall. We
found out weeks later the rest of the story. She was harassed over her citizenship status and
her failure to complete her military duty before trying to leave the country. She was told that
she would not be flying anywhere that day, while Lora was insisting just as emphatically that
she would be leaving today! After many strong words from both sides, they finally gave her
two choices: #1 - Go back and serve her army duty so she would be free to leave; or #2 - Her
passport would be stamped “army deserter,” and she could never enter the country
again. Lora opted for the second choice. From the time my daughter left Israel, she has been
officially listed as an army deserter. She has had some fun with that story several times, and
of course didn’t have to return in the time remaining for us to be there.
Now back to the Swarr home and our next move. We wanted to be settled somewhere near
the American International School before September of 1969 and found a nice apartment in
the town of Hertzliya the end of the summer. The apartment complex was in a nice section
at the edge of town, an all-Jewish neighborhood and us the only Gentile family. It seemed at
first that we were not trusted, people wondering about our presence in their neighborhood. Most of the expatriates lived in Hertzliya Petuah along the coastline or in Kfar Smaryahau where the American school was located. However, we chose to live where we could feel
a part of the Jewish community.
We lived in a second-floor apartment (referred to as a “flat”), in a complex of six buildings
with twelve apartments in each building. The buildings were uniquely laid out in such a way
that every apartment was entered from an outside walkway. The living area was very open,
with large patio doors opening out onto a large balcony. We ate most of our meals on the
balcony, with a view of open fields and citrus groves. It was possible to see all the way to the
coastline on a clear day. We had three bedrooms, a small but adequate kitchen, one bath,
and a back balcony that housed a washer and dryer. The front balcony was large enough for
a single-sized bed, plus the table and chairs that become our favorite eating place.
Becky and Mark had to take a city bus to school since they were outside the limits of school
bus transportation. This took some getting used to for the kids, and their mother agonized
about their travel for several weeks until Becky and Mark were taking it in stride. While we
were still living in Swarrs’ home, Sally and the kids had a scary experience one of the first
times they rode a city bus. It was possible to enter the bus either by the front or back door,
and there would always be a crowd waiting to enter. That day Becky was already on the bus
and Sally was on the steps at the back entrance holding Mark’s hand to step up into the bus
behind her. The driver closed the door, knocking Sally’s hand free of Mark’s, and the bus
started to move. Mark fell to the sidewalk outside the bus, Sally screaming at the bus driver
to “stop!” Several other people saw what happened and began to scream, “Rega, rega!” (In
Hebrew, this meant wait). The bus driver stopped and Becky and Sally got off the bus, running back to Mark, who by this time was running down the street after the bus. He wasn’t
hurt, but that’s why Sally and the kids were very apprehensive about their mode of transportation to school for a while.
Becky didn’t make any friends in the neighborhood, but soon had many school friends who
lived in the American communities. It didn’t take Mark long to become one of the
“neighborhood kids,” an eight-year old who soon blended with the Israeli kids. He taught
them how to play baseball, as he had brought gloves, balls and bat with him, having left pony
league behind in the States. Since soccer was the national sport in Israel, the boys learn
Mark’s sport. When a ball was thrown or hit, they tried to stop it with their feet. The hand
with the baseball glove was not used to catch, but rather the ball was caught barehanded in
the other hand. The language barrier made it much harder, for few boys spoke English,
though they did understand a few words spoken slowly. We would stand on the balcony listening to the exchange of directions – Mark speaking English, the other boys answering in
Hebrew. One of the boys, whose parents were from South Africa, spoke more English than
the rest. He and Mark become good buddies, and Elan taught Mark how to play chess. Elan’s
mother taught at the American School, but Elan attended Hebrew school.
Yigal and Eve Yardeni lived in the apartment beneath us on the first floor. Shortly after we
moved there, Sally heard a newborn baby crying for long periods of time day and night for a
couple of days. She finally mustered up the courage to go down to see if she could help. It
turned out that Eve had just arrived home from the hospital with newborn Sharon, an adorable baby girl. Three-year old Gideon answered the door at Sally’s knock, and she made several attempts to help him understand, “Where is Mommy?” He led her back the hall to
“Mommy” (“Emaw” in Hebrew), who was in bed with the screaming baby. Eve did speak
English, born and raised in England. Sally took over, tended to both mother and baby, with
little Gideon watching every move. Baby Sharon got her first bottle of watered-down and
boiled cow’s milk, mixed with the equivalent of Karo Syrup. Little Sharon gulped this down
like a starved little bird. Eve had been nursing the baby and had infection in her breasts, so
Sharon was hungry and her mother was hurting big-time. Soon the house was clean, laundry done, supper prepared, and a doctor called for Eve before Sally went home. A trip downstairs followed every day until all was well in the Yardeni household, and Eve and Sally became very close friends.
Eve wrote her parents, living in Boston where her father was serving for three years as Rabbi,
telling them about Sally’s friendship. Her mother wrote her, saying, “I know your new friend
is a Christian, for that’s the way they are.” Later, a family in one of the other buildings had
the death of a parent who lived with them. Sally fixed a meal as soon as she heard about it,
delivering the meal that same day. The family acted very shocked and confused when they
received the meal, and asked Eve why Sally did this. Eve came questioning Sally, who told
her that this was a custom back home where we came from. I really believe it was Sally’s little acts of kindness that opened the hearts of the neighbors to us and that led them to accept
us without wondering any longer why we were living among them. Mark’s Hebrew improved as a result of his friends and the beginner’s Hebrew class at school. Becky also had a
Hebrew class, and had we stayed in the neighborhood longer, probably all of us would have
understood the language better.
One other story worth recalling was our first Christmas in Israel. We were still living in the
Hertzliya apartment, and the Baptist missionaries made it possible for us to have a Christmas
tree, one of the ones ordered especially for them. We had brought no tree trimmings with us,
never thinking it would be possible to have a Christmas tree in Israel. Sally and the kids
made many trips to the beach to gather sea- shells, which they decorated with tempera
paints. They made colored paper chains, popcorn garlands, and gathered whatever else they
could find to decorate the tree. We found small lollipops in bright-colored wrappers, tied
them to the tree branches with string, along with several pairs of children’s scissors. Word
soon got around the neighborhood that the Hintons had a Christmas tree, as some of Mark’s
friends had seen it. Parents in the complex started to bring their kids, telling us that though
they had seen trimmed trees while living in Europe, their children never had. They asked if
they could please bring them to see it. Every day families came. The children were allowed
to cut lollipops from the branches, and we had to go back to the store to replenish them many
times. We had so much fun with the children, and the parents were so appreciative.
Becky and Mark still look back on that Christmas as the best one that they can remember. That decorated tree was the scrawniest, most poorly decorated tree we ever had, but it
sure was precious that year in Israel. The sharing of the season with those dear neighbors
was most special too. We moved the following summer, renting a lovely house over with the
other Americans in Hertzliya Petuah. The neighbors had a real send-off block party for us,
made us feel that God had used us in a special way the year we lived among them. Sally
stayed in touch with Eve and one day had an excited call from her. She told Sally, “You’ll
never believe what I did today!” Eve proceeded to tell Sally about a neighbor who was very
sick; and Eve went with scrub bucket and mop, cleaned her apartment and fixed a meal for
the family. Eve continued, “Sally you were right! It made me feel so good to be able to help
her. Now I know how you felt all those times you did for other people!”
Another beautiful memory while living in the apartment was the four months Joseph Shulam
and his new wife Marcia lived with us. You might recall the young man in Jerusalem who
translated for Ernie Stewart, the American missionary I visited in Haifa when I was in Israel
in 1966-67. When I was leaving Israel, Ernie asked me to call the elders at the Toledo, Ohio
church that had been supporting the Israel work and tell them how I thought they could best
help Joe to grow into a more effective evangelist. When I got home, I called them and told
them I thought they should bring Joe to the States for additional college education. The
church followed my advice and sent Joe to David Lipscomb Bible College in Nashville, although I did not know this until Joe had been in Nashville for some time.
In 1968, I was entering the Church of Christ in Camp Hill one Sunday morning when June
Saunders called to me. June and Horace, daughter Marcia, and three boys, were also members of the church there and very close friends of ours. June asked me if I had ever met a Joseph Shulam from Jerusalem when I was in Israel. Marcia had met Joe in the school cafe at
Lipscomb, where she was also a student. When she found out that Joe was from Jerusalem,
she told him that a man from her church had worked in Israel for a while. Joseph asked
Marcia, “That wouldn’t be Buck Hinton, would it?” And so began a friendship, then a romance that led to marriage in the fall of 1968 – little Marcia Saunders, almost like family to
us, joining her life with an Israeli believer. We often wondered if it was part of God’s plan
that we were there for Marcia less than a year later.
We met their ship in Haifa Port, along with Joseph’s parents and sister, Zelma. Zelma spoke
French and Hebrew, Mama spoke Hebrew, and Papa spoke both Hebrew and English, a bit
confusing for this new bride who would be making her home with them for the present. They were very gracious and soon Marcia was accepted as a daughter. However, she
had become pregnant en route on the ship and was very sick. Marcia was diabetic and experienced a very difficult pregnancy. In her seventh month, she and Joseph moved in with
us, to be closer to a South African doctor that had taken over her care. The baby was taking
insulin from Marcia, and many quick trips were made to Dr. Haskel’s office when her blood
sugar would go haywire. Both Marcia and baby Barry had a tough time for a few weeks after
birth. In fact, Barry went into insulin withdrawal at birth and almost died, and Dr. Haskel
worked hard to get Marcia’s blood sugar under control at the same time. When they were
ready to leave the hospital, they came home to us, and Barry was like our first grandchild. Several weeks later, they moved into an apartment in Bat Yam, south of Biblical Joppa,
or Yaffo, as it is called today in Hebrew.
They started meeting for worship/study in their apartment with a small group of Jewish believers, and Sally and the kids and I met with them each Saturday evening. Usually, there
were fourteen or fifteen of us each week, and sometimes American tourists would join
us. One American tourist questioned Joseph critically about worship on Saturday, and especially observing the Lord’s Supper on Saturday. What they did not realize is that a day in Israel runs from sundown to sundown, so we really were worshipping on the Lord’s Day. Another American was thrilled to be worshipping Saturday evening, just like the apostle Paul
did, as recorded in Acts 20.
Our family worked with Joe and the Jewish believers as much as possible, but we also fellowshipped on Saturday morning with the people at the Baptist Village in Petah Tiqua. The kids
had a lot of friends from school that attended there. After we made the move to Hertzliya
Petuah, Sally’s social life revolved mostly around the Baptist community and other neighbors
who were working in the country, though she still stayed in contact with Eve and several others of our old neighbors in Hertzliya Town.
Joseph later got a church fellowship started again in Jerusalem, as the church had scattered
after the Six-Day War, and it took time to get this congregation back together again. They
moved to Jerusalem in 1971, and we began making the trip to Jerusalem each Sunday morning. There were both Jewish and Arab believers, and though Joseph taught in Hebrew, we
still became very close to that little group. It was there that we realized there was no barrier
between Arab and Jewish Christians. They were real brothers and sisters in Christ. They still
made the trip to Bat Yam on Saturday evenings to teach and fellowship with the group there.
Joe’s sister Zelma and mother worshipped there. Zelma’s son later as an adult went to the
States to attend David Lipscomb Bible College in Nashville, married an American Gentile, and
returned as a missionary to his people.
We used the company car hard on weekends. All expenses were covered for us, including
gasoline (petrol in Israel). I had contacted the home office to make sure Gannett had no
problem with us using the car for personal use. Moe Wadsworth, Company President, said,
“Motor at will.” We did. We saw about all there was to see in that little country. I bought a
guidebook to Israel, written by a man named Vilnay, and it turned out to be a wonderful help
in planning trips around the country. It not only routed the trip, but also gave detailed historical information about the sites we would see along the route. Every Biblical site gave the
Bible passage of events that took place at a particular site. We carried our Bibles and read the
account while at the site, bringing Bible events alive with new meaning. We ate picnic
lunches in an ancient olive grove or sitting on a hill overlooking the Jezreel Valley, Mount
Gilboa, or the Sea of Galilee.
Two very favorite places for us were the Sea of Galilee and Jerusalem. Since I could not enter
the old city of Jerusalem in 1966/67 when it belonged to Jordon, it was very special to see
this old city a part of Israel now. With Joe and Marcia living in Jerusalem, Joe was always
willing to show us places most tourists didn’t even know about. We would also bring our
newfound American friends to Jerusalem, sharing a lot of what Joseph had shared with us.
Our son John and a college buddy came to Israel for a college semester, staying with us while
we were still in the apartment. John and Harold Shank covered every area of the country
possible in those three months, getting around by public transportation, hiking; and whenever possible to get away from the job, I took them by company car. They were quite the
twosome, and many times went beyond where a tourist would be permitted to go. Both were
preacher students and I imagine the knowledge gained was used in many ways in years to
come. I will never forget the time I took the boys on the road from Jerusalem to Gaza, the
road the Ethiopian eunuch took as recorded in Acts 8:26-39. As we rode along, suddenly
Harold yelled, “Stop the chariot!” So I stopped alongside a large pond of water, which had
been created by damming a dry waddi to catch the rainwater that falls in the Negev Desert
occasionally. John took Harold into the water and baptized him, while I took pictures of the
event for future example of baptism by immersion. Remember this was described as a desert
road, and many theologians have argued that there would not have been enough water at
this place to immerse a person. Thus, they surmise, Philip would only have had the water
carried in his canteen. Read the account in Acts 8 again like this, “and they both went down
into the canteen and after Philip baptized him, they both came up out of the canteen.”
Upon John’s return to the states, John and his Bible College sweetheart Clara got married,
with a beautiful garden wedding on campus at Northeastern Christian Junior College in
Philadelphia. Marcia’s mother, June Saunders, was proxy mother for them. She helped plan
the wedding, as well as custom designed and made Clara’s beautiful wedding gown. Sally
really struggled with not being able to be there, but June made it a lot easier. She was
“mother” for our kids and Sally was “mother” for her daughter in Jerusalem. Sally’s family
also was there for the wedding and attended Lora’s high school graduation in our
place. Those were two of the hardest things for us to get through, being so far from home.
My job with Tahal was extremely challenging. I was the only American engineer, charged
with the design of the Tel Aviv-Ashdod Expressway and training the Tahal engineers. It was
also my responsibility to work with the Israel Department of Public Works, that they might
learn how to design and construct an expressway like those in the United States, satisfying
World Bank. Israelis are a very proud people and they felt a sense of resentment against me.
Mr. Shohami, head of the Department of Transportation in the Public Works Department
(PWD), was a tough nut to crack, although a very likeable man. My being a civil engineer,
with little knowledge of bridge construction, I had quite a challenge dealing with Mr. Shohami’s bridge engineer. Their construction methods in building bridges were very primitive,
although most of the time they got the job done, even though several times they experienced
bridge collapse during construction. All their bridge decks were poured in place supporting
the deck forms with whatever scraps were available.
Since construction materials are scarce in Israel, they did not want to use any more concrete
than they could help. Their idea was to keep the bridge deck as shallow as possible, which
allowed them to design bridge decks that had an artistically pleasing line to them. I argued
that our pre-stressed/pre-cast beam construction was like painting with bold brush strokes,
instead of timid strokes with a thin brush. I felt it was a good argument since Israelis are all
into art. Our meetings with PWD almost always ended up in an argument over bridge design. It didn’t take long for me to yell, “Help,” and the home office sent a structural engineer
over to help me. Bill Seaman, along with his wife Lois and their two little boys, arrived early
in 1970, remaining with us less than a year.
The battles with PWD continued, and one day Mr. Shohami proudly announced that he had
brought an American structural engineer onboard to help them, a Dr. Kett from New York
City. Still there was tension, this time between Bill Seaman and Dr. Kett at every meeting. PWD made Dr. Kett chief engineer and he now conducted our meetings with PWD. I
walked into a meeting one day smiling, and Dr. Kett asked, “Is that a disarming smile? I hope
you can walk out of this meeting with a smile on your face.” Bill Seaman’s abrasive manner
did not help and only made our situation worse each week. When the bridge design had advanced far enough, Bill went back to the home office in Camp Hill, Pennsylvania. Shortly
after this, Dr. Kett and I developed a respect for each other and became good friends. He often called the office to ask if I would stay late to teach him how to design an interchange or
some other part of the design he was responsible for.
To this day, Tahal and PWD, or others I was associated with in the business world in Israel,
do not know that I never got a college degree of any kind. Even though I had continued
through the years to take night courses after we moved to Harrisburg, I never had the time to
earn a degree. In fact, while I worked on the Tahal project, I didn’t even have a professional
engineer’s license to practice engineering. Gannett knew this, but felt my experience outweighed the need for the degree or license. They also did not think the Israelis put any emphasis on degrees. It didn’t take long to see that my company was wrong. Having the proper
educational credentials was very important in Israel, and I soon found that I had three Israeli
engineers with doctoral degrees working under me. I lived in fear that someday someone
would ask me what college I graduated from, but that never happened. After working in Israel for seven years on two different projects with at least half a dozen doctors working under me, no one ever asked about my college or university.
Our Tel Aviv-Ashdod expressway ran through the sand dunes for most of the distance. With
prevailing winds blowing strong off the Mediterranean Sea, the shifting sand dunes would
soon be sitting on our road. It was necessary that we find a successful method of stabilizing
the shifting sand. They have a very unique tree in that part of the world known as “acacia”,
which is Biblical. The acacia is a member of the mimosa family with the unique ability to
raise its root system as sand or dirt piles up around the tree. Unlike other trees that die when
dirt is filled in around their trunks, the acacia tree thrives.
I had observed numerous acacia plantings in the sand dunes that prevented movement of the
sand, so we planned on using a belt of these trees along the seaside of the expressway. PWD
had a Dr. Tsuriel working for them who was from Holland with his doctorate in “sand dune
stabilization.” He preferred using beach grasses to stabilize the movement of dune sand, or
spraying a film of bituminous material on the sand’s surface. I felt more certain of the belt of
acacia trees, and Dr. Tsuriel felt more confidence in his beach grasses. I wrote a report on
various methods of sand dune stabilization and experiences with each method around the
world. Obviously, I was going to make my report favor the acacia method. Every time Dr.
Tsuriel and I were together, we argued the pros and cons of each method. One day, he
wanted me to go with him to see some areas of sand dunes where his methods were used, so I
arranged to pick him up the next day.
Dr. Tsuriel and I spent a whole day together, touring the sand dunes to observe the success of
his projects. I was impressed, but not convinced that we should depend on the vulnerability
of beach grass over the more imposing belt of acacia trees. I stopped at our home in Herzliya
for Sally to feed us lunch. I showed Dr. Tsuriel my slides of various kinds of vegetation I saw
in Israel for him to identify for me, because many were not native to Pennsylvania. By the
way, I mentioned earlier that my parents taught me to love anything that grows and the
names of all kinds of plants, which would be of great help later in life. This was one of these
later times. I rather cherish that day spent with a real gentleman. Dr. Tsuriel and I became
friends, with a great deal of respect for each other. After Dr. Tsuriel helped me identify the
various plants I had taken pictures of, he remarked about how good it was to see a man who
had not vegetated. The expressway was built in 1972, and I had the privilege of riding over
it in 1980. I was pleased to see my acacia plantings dong the job of protecting the road from
blowing sand.
We had sub-contracted the survey work for the expressway project to a local engineering
company in southern Tel Aviv. Nasim Berezeik was the owner of the company, and we continually argued over the surveying methods that they used, which I thought were very primitive compared to American standards. Well into the survey work, Berezeik and I got into a
very heated discussion. Nasim said to me, “Buck, I would like to take you down to Eliat and
show you the highway we designed and built from Eliat to Sharm El Sheik! You will see that
Israeli engineers know how to design highways just as well as Americans!” My reply was,
“Nasim, when can we go?”
Every time I saw him after this, I would ask when we were going to Eliat. One day he told me
it would be next week and that he wanted it to be a family vacation for his family and
mine. We were to fly down to Eliat the following Monday. That next week, we landed in
Eliat, and Nasim had two Jeeps waiting for us, one for his family and one for mine. We
checked into a brand new luxurious hotel in mid-morning, located right on the beach.
A short time later, we started south, with Nasim leading the way. We followed in the other
Jeep. About ten miles south of Eliat is a beautiful fjord off the Gulf of Aquaba, an arm of the
Red Sea. Nasim had arranged for the hotel to have a picnic lunch prepared for us, and had it
in his Jeep. Our two families shared our lunch in this beautiful area. Then Nasim and I
drove on south for another ten miles over the highway he had wanted me to see. Nasim’s
highway was built to provide Israel with a speedy access to the southern tip of the Sinai Peninsula in case of trouble with Egypt. The women and our children stayed at the fjord to swim
and had a nice visit together. That night at dinner, Nasim told me that he and his family
would be returning to Tel Aviv in the morning, but we were to stay on for as long as we
wanted to. We stayed another two days and had a wonderful time swimming in the Red Sea
and took a glass-bottomed boat tour of the coral reefs. The marine life was absolutely beautiful, and the day was perfect for the boat trip. When we checked out of the hotel to return
home, I found Nasim had already covered all of our expenses, even for the extra days we had
stayed.
Several months later, Nasim called me to come over to his office. When I arrived, he took me
to meet his two partners in the conference room. He said, “Buck, you don’t think I took you
to Eliat just because I’m a nice guy, do you? I wanted to see what you were really like before
I made this proposal to you. When the expressway project is finished, would you consider
staying in Israel and working for us?” I was flabbergasted and certainly needed some time to
think this proposition over and to pray about it. Again, it was assumed that I had a college
education that was required for the position offered. After Sally and I discussed the pros and
cons (it was a big decision), we determined it would not be good to stay in Israel. My decision to reject Nasim’s proposal was taken well, and we finished the project as friends.
One thing I have not mentioned much was Sally’s and my friendship with Al and Zipporah
Bressler. They had three lovely daughters, Varda, Edna, and Rina, and our family spent a lot
of time with them, either at their home or ours. They had a small sailboat, and we spent a lot
of days with them on the Mediterranean Sea on a Saturday afternoon. They were good
friends with Schmuel and Dina Lam. Schmuel was one of the engineers at Tahal. The six of
us spent a lot of social evenings together, mostly at Bresslers and often with other couples in
the party. Zipporah was especially encouraging to Sally, helping her a lot when we first arrived with shopping and cooking techniques, for cooking in Israel was a lot different from
cooking with American products.
had decided it would be an American meal – fried chicken and apple pie, and all that went
with it. Al was the only one who seemed to enjoy the meal, being an American far removed. Zipporah made a brave attempt to enjoy. The Israelis acted like they had never eaten
fried chicken or apple pie, and Sally had insisted we have pie-alamode. She found an icecream freezer in the closet, bought pure cream for the ice cream, and we hand-cranked
it. Oh, and finding and buying ice was an accomplishment all by itself! We found, not only
did they not recognize apple pie, Israelis don’t eat ice cream in the winter months. That was
the last American meal Sally ever served for Israelis, but she became a proficient cook of
some wonderful Israeli dishes, and continued to host many dinner parties. One meal Al often
asked for at our house was a “pork” dinner. We had a non-kosher butcher near where we
lived who had wonderful pork roasts. Bresslers would not cook pork in their home, but were
not above eating it at our house. When they were invited, Al would ask, “Have you had any
good pork roasts lately?” That was his way of deciding the dish for Sally to serve.
Insert from Sally – (Several things Buck omitted of life in Israel, plus trip through Europe)
Buck said little about Becky and Mark’s life in Israel. From the time we moved over to
Hertzliya Petuah, their social life changed drastically. There were kids at our home all the
time. Their lives were so free and fun-filled. Mark and his buddies spent a lot of time on the
beach, as we were only two blocks from the Mediterranean Sea. On the cliffs at the edge of
the water was an ancient mosque and surrounding courtyard, with the rubble from other
buildings that had been there at one time. The place was called “Appolonia.” The boys
would spend hours in and around the mosque, playing games that nine and ten year-old boys
play. As parents, we never feared for their safety and never heard about any serious accidents. We all spent a lot of time on the beach, swimming in the sea, or enjoying quickie picnics. The water was warm most of the year. In fact, I recall us swimming on Christmas Day
the second year we lived by the Sea. It was a favorite place to meet with other families on
free days, with both our Israeli friends and those Americans who lived nearby.
Becky and her friends also spent a lot of time on the beach and at Appolonia. Mary Morgan
was a very close friend of Becky’s, daughter of our friends Paul and Ann Morgan. Mary was
either at our house or Becky was at hers most of the time, and we did a lot of weekends in
Jerusalem together, usually staying at Christ Church Youth Hostel in the old city. It was comfortable, clean and affordable, and within walking distance of everything we were there to
see. Most of the kids that hung out together were attending the American School, all living in
the same community. There was also a Baptist-sponsored home just down the street from us
that housed missionaries’ kids whose parents worked in missions all over Israel. Their children stayed at this home during the school week to attend the American School. Marcus and
Ruth Reed were the house-parents, having three of their own children who attended the
school. They were all nice kids, and there was always a lot of neighborhood activity as a
group. Buck and I filled in for Marcus and Ruth several times when they were away attending a Baptist seminar somewhere in the country. Of course, most of the kids attended services on Saturday at the Baptist Village, bringing us even closer as a community.
I remember one special Thanksgiving I’d like to share. Some of us were feeling a few pangs
of homesickness, with the holiday season coming up fast. The women decided they were going to throw a big neighborhood Thanksgiving bash, complete with an American Thanksgiving dinner. They met together to plan and assign food preparation – from the turkey to the
sweet potatoes, the cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, corn, and all the other goodies that would
our meal complete. The problems showed up quickly – couldn’t find a turkey (chicken substitute), no cranberry sauce (substituted Israeli-brand raspberry jello, UGH!), no sweet potatoes in all of Israel (substituted squash, which also doubled for the pumpkin pie), and many
other substitutes. However, we ended up with a wonderful Thanksgiving party, with both
Americans and a few Israelis and had gobs of fun!
The American School was very “laid-back” and extremely casual in dress code and class
structure. With the beautiful climate year round, it was possible to enjoy being outside most
of the time, even during the rainy season. Many of the classes were held outside on the
school campus, even study halls, and the kids were held a lot to an “honor system” of conduct during these periods. The faculty was small and they gained the respect of the student
body (which was also small). Trust was expected when the students were not being supervised fully. We have slides taken during the school day, and you can see the informality on
campus even in the pictures.
Mark so much enjoyed his school years, completing third and fourth grades before we
left. The classes were geared to let a child move on his/her own level and speed, encouraged
to grow but not pushed. Mark excelled in math and science-related topics, but did not do
real well in writing and reading. He was encouraged in his desire to know more about things
related to nature and science, and he even had one teacher who shared this interest and they
became real buddies.
There was no social ladder in the school, and all of the students seemed to blend together as a
family. Almost all of them were expatriates from various countries, but there were a few Israelis, with many different cultural backgrounds. This was especially hard for Becky when
we went back to the States and Becky tried to blend in at Cedar Cliff High School. She went
through a real culture shock, could not in any way identify with the pressure to be in the “ingroup.” The emphasis on “material things” was her real downfall, for while in Israel this
was almost non-existent. She rebelled, and what followed for Becky was not very pleasant. She left home in her senior year of high school, ending up in Nebraska with Mary Morgan, the close girlfriend she knew in Israel, who was in college there. There were many
heartbreaking, anxious weeks before we would even hear where she was. It would be many
years and much heartache before she worked her way through the pain. We were rejected
for a while as we tried to discipline, yet understand and help her. Her story is a “story in itself,” and I hope someday she will put it down on paper to be shared. We are just thankful
that today she looks back on those years in Israel with fondness and doesn’t blame anyone for
the hard lessons that followed.
Another very special experience for me was being a part of the Baptist-sponsored International Choir, made up of people from all over Israel, some of them expatriates like us in Israel
for a short time and those who came as missionaries intending to stay for many years. Then
there were those Israelis who had come to know Yeshua as their Savior and were a part of the
congregations throughout Israel. Two of those were Esther and Yaacov Horesh, Jewish believers. Esther had the most beautiful soprano solo voice and Yaacov was a concert pianist. They were regular attendees at the Baptist Village. Wherever there was a Baptist mission
in Israel, there would be several choir members who would practice the music we would be
presenting, and then everyone would spend two weekends together at the village in a full
practice weekend. We did a spring production and one in December, traveling different
places throughout Israel to present our concert. There were 50 to 75 voices that made up the
choir, directed either by someone there or with a professional director brought over from the
States. Our concerts were always well attended by the Israelis, who are very culturally
minded and seemingly appreciative of whatever we offered.
A time I remember most was the Easter Sunday at sunrise when we sang at the Garden Tomb
in Jerusalem. We had the trumpet section from Israel Philharmonic Orchestra playing the
trumpet selections for “No Greater Love.” When the choir came to the part, “and the trumpet shall sound,” the trumpets that were out of sight sounded. This was followed by a donkey
in the field above the garden beginning to bray, and what followed was a moment of silence
before the choir’s voices were heard again. It was as though it had been planned by the Father we were praising. I have never felt the impact of what Christ has done for me like I felt
there in that garden as we praised Him with this beautiful message!
During those three years with the choir, I was able to really get to know Moshe Stiglitz, one
of the violinists. When we traveled each weekend during the scheduled performances,
Moshe usually looked for me on the bus or in the van we traveled in, and we would have a
lot of time to chat. He and his lovely wife spent many evenings in our home. Miriam was a
concert pianist. Moshe, being a member of the orchestra, made it possible for Buck and me
to attend many concerts at Mann Auditorium in Tel Aviv. We even enjoyed a weekend with
them when we visited the kibbutz that they were a part of in years past, got an inside view of
the people there that never would have been possible without them. I really believe that both
Moshe and Miriam were secret believers in Yeshua; but had they openly admitted that,
Moshe could have lost his job with Israel Philharmonic. Several times while attending a concert Moshe took us backstage to meet famous musicians like Leonard Bernstein and Isaac
Stern. I often wonder if they ever made their peace with the Lord, as Miriam and Moshe
would be in their late eighties now.
Before leaving this tale of this time in Israel, I asked Mark to share some of his memories of
his time there
The first thing I remember is the first house we lived in. I can remember looking from the
back second floor balcony onto the soccer stadium. I also recall going to the store with Mom.
At the house in Herzliya Petua, our cat Felinie could jump up and open the door when she
wanted to come in. The crazy cat would never close the door after coming in!
I loved climbing on the cliffs where the ledges were just wide enough to walk. When I went
back to Israel later when I was grown, I could hardly believe I had done that as a kid! The
mosque was also really cool. The first time I went there was with friends. They showed me
how to climb the wall just to the right of the front door and then up onto the top of the wall
where they placed sharp broken glass on the top of the wall in cement to try to keep us from
getting in. Once on top of the wall, we would go back past the door and slide down a drain
pipe into the courtyard. Then we had the run of the place. The only way out was to go back
up that pipe, across the wall and back down over the side. I remember my first time there, I
couldn’t get back up the pipe. I soon learned how to shimmy up a pipe. My friends and I
spent many hours in that old mosque. It was so cool going from room to room.
The deli down the street was great and offered the best sandwich I ever ate. Going into Tel
Aviv was always fun. Their whimpy burgers were like our McDonalds. I also loved the falafels and turtle soup. I still haven’t found it anywhere else. The Arab food at my Arab
“grandmother’s” house was wonderful, and I still love stuffed grape leaves.
My friends and I used to find homes that were being built in our area and at the end of the
day when the workers left, we would go through them to see what they had done that day.
To get back out, we would go to the second floor and jump out the window. That was so
I probably spent most of my time at the beach at the Mediterranean Sea. While in Israel, I
attended the American International School. It was grades K-12 all in one school. I thought
it was kind of cool, nothing like school in the USA.
I remember one trip Dad, Mom and I went on. I believe it was to the Golan Heights. Dad
stopped to take a picture near an Army post, and this Jeep came flying up and a soldier about
did a flip out of the Jeep to grab Dad. I think they ended up taking his film. I remember that
the soldier who jumped out of the Jeep cut himself and Mom ended up bandaging him up.
When I returned to Israel in 1979 (described in chapter 7), I was bored being home all day
alone so I would go to the Baptist Farm as a volunteer worker. I bunked with two guys from
Alabama and my roommate was from Sweden. He would eat a few cloves of garlic before
going to bed every night. We would work through the day picking oranges and grapefruit
that the farm would sell. We had a great Arab woman who did all the cooking. She seemed
like a grandmother to all of us. The folks on the farm would take us on trips a lot. The one I
remember most was when we all went camping for a week in the Sinai Desert.
I finally received a call from the boss back in the States, telling me it was time to start work
again so I headed home.
Back to Sally.
It was hard leaving Israel in the early summer of 1971. A lot of the Americans who were our
closest friends had already left. Allied Chemical was an American firm that some of our
friends worked with, and they finished up before us. It was especially hard to say “goodbye”
to Joe and Marcia and little Barry and the Jewish brethren in Jerusalem. Then there were all
the Baptist Village brethren, many of whom spent most of their adult years in Israel, and their
children knew no other home except Israel until they went to America for college. There
were also our dear Israeli friends, like Al and Zip, Schmuel and Dina, and many others. Little
did we know then that we would return in ten years, picking up where we left off with many
of these dear people, and knowing and loving many more that would make a difference for
good in our lives.
We had saved some money from the tax break of earning US dollars and not having to pay
US income tax. We contemplated whether to save the money to buy a home (remember we
had sold or given away all our material goods when we left in 1969), or to take advantage of
a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to tour Europe en route to the States? We opted for the
travel, and Buck got with a tour agent in Tel Aviv to map out a plan, which would take us on
a four-week whirlwind tour into eleven countries, plus another two weeks visiting our kids
in the US in three different states. The company covered the air travel, even though we made
numerous stops along the way. We covered the other expenses. I hope this can be shared
without getting boring, for believe me, we never had time to be bored! Buck said later that
he was sure all he would remember when it was all over were the times he checked in and
checked out our twelve pieces of luggage at every airport, seven in Europe and four in the
States.
We flew from Tel Aviv to Rome where we spent four days, then rented a compact Fiat, strapping the luggage on the roof in order to have room for the four of us. Leaving Rome, our first
stop was Bologna, visiting several art museums where we saw works of many famous artists
of yesteryear. From there, we drove to Florence, a beautiful old city where we spent the first
weekend. We had the address of a Church of Christ missionary family who was in charge of
with them and the students. It was a nice facility and the boys were quite friendly. We were
surprised to find the only drink offered with the meal was wine, served in pitchers like iced
tea. It must have been quite low in alcohol content. We drank what was served with no
“fuzzy heads” as a result.
Leaving Florence on Monday morning, we went on to Pisa, climbing to the top of the leaning
tower where the view was awesome. Here we lost Mark, who went off on his own adventure. I really believe his carefree antics let him enjoy our travels more than any of the rest of
us. Next we stopped in Lucca, an old, old walled city that was quite interesting. Our daughter-in-law Clara’s maiden name is “Lucca,” and her father was born in Italy so we took a lot
of pictures to bring back for her to see. That same day we ended up in Venice where we
spent four days, completely fascinated with that city. We were weary from driving and just
wanted to relax for a while. After checking into a very nice hotel, we took a long walk to get
the feel of the place, found it to be safe and friendly. After that, we let the kids pretty much
on their own and they explored. Mark found the harbor, where we had come in by boat, interesting and we’d find him often just sitting out there watching the boats come and
go. Becky found Marcus Square her place to enjoy, open-air art galleries, artists painting,
sidewalk cafes, and in the middle of the square musical groups entertaining throughout most
of the day and more so in the evening. One could pick up a lunch or dinner platter, sitting at
one of the tables placed around the musicians, and be entertained while eating. There were
pigeons all over the square, and you could buy bags of sunflower seeds to feed them. We
have slides of Mark doing this. The pigeons were sitting on his head and he was surrounded
on all sides by more of them. We took a gondola ride through the canals, but were not lucky
enough to have a singing gondolier.
Leaving Venice, we headed for Austria. Looking on the map, we discovered we could pass
through Yugoslavia en route. Stopping at the border to see if we would be permitted to enter
a communist country without a visa, we were pleasantly surprised as they approved us entering their country. We enjoyed some absolutely beautiful countryside on our way to the Austrian border, stopping at a shopping mall in a place called “Lubliana.” We just wanted to see
what was offered in a communist country to buy. Many of the shelves in the stores were
empty, and the quality of goods was rather inferior. Just before entering Austria, we passed
through a long tunnel cut through the mountain. Coming out on the other side we saw what
reminded us of the opening scenes of “The Sound of Music.” It was breathtakingly beautiful.
In fact, we all went, “AHHHH!” From there, it was just miles and miles of some of the most
awesome country we had ever seen as we climbed higher into the Alps that extend all the
way into Switzerland and France.
At the end of the day, we were looking for a place to spend the night as we never made reservations ahead of time, preferring to just stop when we were ready to call it a day. We had
covered a lot of miles after we decided it was time to stop. We turned off the main road
onto an asphalt road that quickly turned into a dirt track. I was sure Buck had really goofed
this time, but about that time we went around the bend and in our view was a quaint little
inn that just beckoned, “Welcome.” We checked into our room just as a storm passed
through, but soon the sun came out again. Walking out on the balcony from our room, we
saw a God-created rainbow, and through the mist a bridge in the distance that looked like it
was suspended in space. Buck shot a half roll of film, got some really good slides. That evening, we went down to the dining room and found the menu in German. Our hosts did not
speak any English. After several attempts to understand, Buck finally got through to them
that we would like them to select our meal. What followed was by far the best meal we were
served throughout our travels in Europe, our hosts going out of their way to please us. What
The drive the next day was a real delight as we climbed higher and higher into the Swiss
Alps. Our travels took us through Vienna – just a pass-through, as it rained hard all day. For
a while we passed into Germany near Innsbruck, Austria, where the Winter Olympics were
held a few years earlier. We drove on Germany’s famous Autobahn Highway for some distance before leaving Germany, and into the little country of Liechtenstein. We stopped at the
border to buy stamps for Mark who had begun a stamp collection while living in Israel, and
he purchased stamps in each country on our way through Europe.
We spent several days in Switzerland. The kids had a snowball fight in the Swiss Alps in
June, with Becky in her bare feet. We have some precious slides of this. We saw beautiful
Lake Luzerne as we toured the Swiss Alps, climbing over mountains where we were above the
clouds in some places. We spent the last night in Zurich, putting Becky on a train for a place
in Germany where she was to meet the family of a friend she had been close friends with in
Israel while attending the American International School. We drove to the airport from
there, turned in our rental car, and flew to Frankfurt, Germany. We visited in Frankfurt with
British friends we had also met in Israel. They were in the same Bible study group we met
with every Wednesday evening, couples that worshipped with us at the Baptist Village. We
flew out of Frankfurt to Copenhagen, Denmark, meeting Becky at the train station there the
next day. We had some agonizing moments during those few days Becky was off on her own,
wondering what would happen if we couldn’t find her and Randy, who was traveling with
her. The Copenhagen railroad station was big, trains coming and going from many directions. We didn’t even have a telephone number to contact the family she had been visiting
with if they didn’t show up. Actually, we didn’t even know the family name. We wonder
now how we could have allowed such a foolish thing? Well, our Becky was a very headstrong young girl who didn’t take “no” for an answer very well, and we had prayed earnestly
for God to protect her and allow us to be back together as we had planned. He did come
through, and soon we were back together, Becky eager to share her adventure with us.
While in Copenhagen, we went searching for an authentic castle that would satisfy Mark. I
don’t know where he got such a clear picture of what a castle should look like, but we had
already searched out several in our travels that did not meet his criteria. We even visited the
very castle that Shakespeare used for his setting of Macbeth, with a moat surrounding the
castle. I think in Mark’s eyes, this castle wasn’t the right one because it was brick instead of
stone. The castle was located so that the waterway could be guarded between Denmark and
Sweden. We had the privilege of taking a hydrofoil boat over to Sweden, spending part of a
day there. We took another trip to eastern Copenhagen, visiting a quaint pig farm and a fishing village on the way.
After spending several days in Denmark, we flew to Amsterdam, Holland, spending two days
there. Holland countryside was a restful place after being in Amsterdam, a congregating
place for hippies. We had the pleasure of visiting the quaint little fishing village of Marcum,
and seeing the famous dikes and canals of Holland. We were so impressed by the beauty of
the flowers, the clean houses, and the friendly people throughout Holland.
From Holland, we flew to Brussels for several days. This was one of the two times we had
made hotel reservations in advance and the other was in Paris. Of course, while in Belgium,
we visited the famous site where Napoleon met his Waterloo and also the remains of the
World’s Fair held there many years before. The first thing I had done when we arrived in
Brussels was to reconfirm our flight on to Paris on Belgium Airlines. I was told that I was too
late and that our seats were already given to someone else. I told them that we had just
arrived an hour ago, but they insisted I could have reconfirmed from anywhere in
Europe. Getting nowhere with them, I booked passage on Air France which turned out to be
one of the best flights we experienced.
Arriving at DeGaul Airport in Paris, we intended to stay three days but soon decided otherwise. Our problems started when we could not get a taxi to take us to our hotel, waiting for
what seemed like hours in the rain. The drivers kept telling us we had too much luggage and
they would walk away. Finally, Buck approached an empty cab and all but forced the driver
to take us. The hotel was dirty (most expensive one on our entire trip), the hotel staff was
rude, we were hungry, and no one would tell us where we could get something to eat. It was
still raining when we set out to find food, and after walking many blocks, found a place
open. The menu was in French and it seemed no one understood English. I don’t remember
what we ate, but I do remember it wasn’t good. We tried the tourist bit next day but still
could not get anyone to help us. We did find our way to the Eiffel Tower by way of their underground, took some pictures, and returned via subway to the hotel. While at the tower, a
young British woman with two children asked Buck if he spoke English. When he told her he
did, she said, “Thank God, someone will help me, for we have been lost in the underground
all day. No one will help us because we do not speak their language.” We changed our airline tickets to leave the next morning, and after more frustration getting to the airport, flew
out to London that morning – two full days earlier than planned. I had started a doll collection for our first little granddaughter back home, and France is the only country in which I
did not buy a doll for Michelle. I think the only souvenir we purchased was a little replica of
the Eiffel Tower. To this day, I have no desire to ever return to Paris!
England was wonderful and we felt like we had come home! It was so good to hear English
the spoken language for the first time in over three years. Spending five days there, we must
have walked miles just around London. In fact, the very first day we walked to Hyde Park,
and Becky was the first to see a tremendous crowd of young people, mostly “hippies,” listening to a rock concert in the Park. Of course, our daughter just had to be part of that
crowd. After much discussion and arm-twisting on Becky’s part, we reluctantly agreed to let
her go, arranging to meet at the train station where we had arrived several hours earlier. Buck, Mark, and I spent the next two hours in the central part of London (Piccadilly
Circus), and then headed for the train station, hoping to get there before our Becky. Silently,
I think we both had the same fear – would we be able to find her in that vast crowd of
strangers in a strange place? Several blocks from the station, Buck looked across the street,
and there was our “hippie” daughter, miracle of miracles heading for our pre-arranged
meeting place. Once again, only our God who loves us and protects us could have brought us
back together like this.
The next day, we took a train up to York, an old walled city with a lot of historical beauty,
then rented a car and drove north along the Scottish border, then over to Wales where we
spent two nights. We stayed at a beautiful hotel right on the ocean, thought we’d get some
sun and sandy beach. There was no sand, only large stones on the beach, and it was so cold
that our suntan had goose bumps. The water was too cold to swim. We did find Mark’s castle in Wales – Conway Castle! As soon as we drove up to where Mark got a glimpse of it
from a distance, he exclaimed, “That’s it!” This castle had everything from a moat to swinging bridges, to many towers with spiral stairs, even a dungeon. Mark was all over that castle.
I think he covered every inch, hanging out over the rails, calling to us from one tower when
we were at a different one. He didn’t want to leave, and talked about it non-stop all the way
back to London. Oh, and we lost him once in Paris, while touring Notre Dame Cathedral, a
frightening experience. He insisted he wasn’t lost. He knew where he was. We just didn’t
know – an eight-year old’s reasoning.
Returning to London, we flew out of Heathrow Airport the next day, destination Miami, Florida. We had planned this in advance for an opportunity to just rest for a few days on American soil before we continued our journey to visit the kids. We stayed in Miami Beach where
the warm sun and sandy beach was much appreciated and we did relax and rest. There wasn’t much English spoken in Miami. It seemed most of the eating establishments and hotels
were operated by Spanish-speaking folks.
The next leg of our journey was to San Angelo, Texas, where Thom and Melanie lived. It was
so good to see a part of our family again. We visited with them for several days. They traveled with us to Oklahoma City to visit John and Clara, with us in a rented car and Thom and
Melanie following in their car. Thom’s car broke down in a hot, deserted area en route. I
don’t even remember how we got back on the road, but I do remember a long, hot, thirsty
spell along the road before we did.
Of course, Oklahoma was especially sweet as we finally got to meet our first grandchild –
six-month old Michelle! How we did enjoy that visit! John was serving as Youth Minister at
a Church of Christ there, after graduating from Oklahoma Christian College. Soon after this,
he took a position as minister of the church in Somerset, Pennsylvania, serving there for
thirty years, with all but one of their eleven children born in Somerset.
From Oklahoma, we flew to Winston Salem, North Carolina, to visit Lora and meet her future
husband. Lora was spending her summer between freshman and sophomore years in college
with Danny Smothers’ parents. It was a rather bittersweet visit, for both Buck and I realized
how hard it had been for Lora to be on her own for the years we were away. She had done
some real growing up, from high school girl to young woman. Not all of the experiences
were good; however, she had matured greatly in her faith and reliance on the Lord, an experience that would sustain her through some pretty tough times in years to come.
Lora left with us for our last leg of the journey, arriving back where we started from, flying
into Baltimore this time, then on to Harrisburg – HOME! We were homeless (remember we
had sold our home) and took temporary shelter in motels and friend’s homes until we found
a house to rent. Shortly before time for Mark and Becky to start school in September, we
found a lovely home in Green Lane Farms, a community between New Cumberland, the town
we had left three years before, and Camp Hill. Lora went back to college and the rest of us
readjusted to life in the USA.
As I mentioned earlier, the adjustment to life back home was hardest for Becky. It would be
many years before Buck and I stopped blaming ourselves for taking her out of the country to
live at such a crucial time in her life. We do look back on the experience now with Becky as
an adult and mother. We have shared the pros and cons, and mutually agree that it was still
a wonderful experience and a real blessing for all of us to have lived in Israel those three
years. It added a dimension to our lives that never would have been without the experience –
good and bad.
We lived in Green Lane Farms until the big flood of ’72 moved us on. Hurriedly, we bought a
home in the Mechanicsburg are, and were in the process of cleaning, painting, and getting it
livable according to our standard of cleanliness. The kids were there with me during the day
and soon realized that they were not going to be accepted in the neighborhood. We had chosen
an area owned mostly by doctors, attorneys, etc., and their children were showing plainly to
Becky and Mark that they did not measure up to their material standards. So soon away from
no-judging status way of life in Israel, Buck and I quickly realized we had made a mistake. We called the realtor and told him, “Sell the house. We’re not staying here,” which he
did promptly. We know now that God arranged the sale, for all we lost were settlement
costs. We quickly bought a doublewide mobile home in a trailer court in the Dillsburg
area. This meant a change in schools for Mark and Becky, a further adjustment for both of
them. They adjusted well academically, but Becky still struggled emotionally. Northern High
School didn’t have the peer pressure that Cedar Cliff did, but Becky’s remaining school years
were difficult for her.
We were also struggling with our new spiritual awakening learned in Israel, and we never
found a peace going back to the negative views of the Church of Christ that had been
“family” to us for so long. They could not understand how we had changed, and we could
not show them without seemingly condemning the church. This was also very difficult for
both Becky and Mark, for neither one of them found their place in the church there either. It
was at this time that Becky left for Omaha, Nebraska, just a few months before she would
have graduated from high school. God would have to take us on another journey to help
both Becky and Buck and me, a journey that would be bittersweet. But that is another chapter in our life’s story.
CHAPTER SIX
Faithful Protection for a Tough Assignment
Nigeria ~ 1973
(Sally finished up our trip through Europe and return to the US. I, Buck, will pick up the
story from here)
When I returned to work at the home office in late summer of 1971, our structural division
was working on the design of a section of the new subway in Queens, New York City. Ray
Stauffer was directing the project. I was assigned the responsibility for the civil design on a
project that was a structural engineer’s nightmare. The subway was to pass under massive
bridges, ten tracks of the railroad’s main line from Long Island to New York City, and numerous buildings, all of which had to be underpinned in order to construct the subway underneath everything.
We did all the design in the Harrisburg office, but it required some of us to be in New York
City to meet with the Transit Authority several times a month. The transit authority’s office
was in Brooklyn. I rather enjoyed these trips to New York, and the highlight of each visit was
to stop at the Arab shops nearby. In fact, one whole street was lined on both sides with shops
so the whole area smelled of the Mid-east. The sounds and smells reminded me of the Israel I
was homesick for. I would buy Arab food to take home for the family – falafel mix, stuffed
grape leaves, and humus.
The crime rate was very bad in the area of our subway design. Several times when I returned
during the construction phase, it was a rather disgusting experience. Once a gang of blacks
pushed past us and swept the entire sidewalk display in front of a store into bags, running
away with the merchandise. Another time, we were inside a big Catholic Church that was to
be torn down to allow for the subway construction. As we were talking to the priest, we
heard a loud noise on the roof above us. The priest explained that thieves were pulling the
heavy copper flashing off the edges of the roof to sell. They had a truck with a winch pulling
the flashing loose with cable and hook, loading it on the truck, and hauling it away. We
asked, “Why don’t you call the police?” He replied, “The police won’t do anything because
they are afraid of them.” Such was life in the City.
When the New York project was finished, I was asked to go to Nigeria to work on the design
of a portion of the Trans African Highway, as Gannett needed a project manager for the preliminary design. The project was estimated to take six to eight months, and Gannett wanted
me to go single-status. After I had returned from Israel in 1967, Sally and I agreed that we
would never be separated for a long period of time again. No way would Sally consent for
me to travel half way around the world alone, so the company agreed that she and Mark
would go with me. You might recall that Becky at this time was in Nebraska, and though we
had been in contact with her several times, her adamant choice was to stay where she
was. Sally
had to choose between Becky and her husband. What if Becky were to decide to come home
and had no parents to return to? But life in Nigeria would be a lot more difficult alone than
it had been in Israel for her husband. Sally made one of the hardest decisions in her life and
we left less than a week later for Nigeria.
We were expecting Nigeria to be a very difficult place to spend six or eight months, but no
way were we prepared for what we found. Our section of highway was to start at the Cameroon border and extend west for about fifty miles to the town of Abakaliki. Our company
was in a joint venture with Enplan, a Nigerian firm located in the capital city of Lagos. Sam
Okonquo was the company’s President. Tom Benyo, a man from Gannett, was there ahead of
me to set up the bank account and sign the joint venture agreement with Enplan.
We flew from the United States, with short stops in Ivory Coast and Ghana before landing in
Lagos. The front half of the plane had Pan Am passengers that would fly on to South Africa,
and the rest of us were passengers of Nigerian Airways. I never saw anything quite like
it. There was a paper sign taped on the side of the plane at the rear door identifying the back
half as “Nigerian Airways” and the front half as “Pan Am.” When we were about to land, it
was announced that absolutely no Pan Am passengers were to leave the plane because it was
not safe, and not to take any pictures while the plane was on the ground! My immediate
thought was, “What am I subjecting my family to?” We soon found out the announcement
was good advice to the passengers, for we were met with armed guards as we got off the
plane, escorted into passport control where we saw more armed men all around us. I had
been in strange places before, but never under such frightening circumstances.
Going through passport control gave all three of us some real uneasy moments, until a Nigerian man came up to me and asked, “Are you Buck Hinton?” He explained that he was from
Enplan and would be with us to pay all the bribes (“dash” as they called it) necessary to get
us through customs and get our bags through without having anything stolen. I resented this
kind of business but learned a long time ago, that when in a foreign country, they are in control of how things are done. I needed to always remind myself that we were guests in their
country.
Arrangements were made for us to stay at the Airport Hotel for a day or two. Even though
the hotel was close by, our Enplan man stayed with us, not letting us out of his sight. I looked
back later on this experience and wondered if we would have actually survived or made it to
the hotel without him. We checked into our room and the plan was for this man to take me
to the Enplan office to meet Sam Okonquo. There was no way I could convince Sally to stay
alone in the hotel after our experience at the airport. We took a cab, along with our selfappointed bodyguard, and traveled the ten miles through the city to the office. There were
some kind of African games being held in Lagos and the traffic jams were horrendous. We
finally arrived, finished our business, and began the journey back to the hotel, this time without our companion. We were then in rush-hour traffic and it took even longer, sometimes
stopped for long periods of time along the way – no air-conditioning, windows open to the
smells and filth along the streets. Shacks where people lived were perched right against the
open sewer ditches that parallel the roadway. When we say open sewer ditch, we are talking
ditches that were as much as four feet wide at the bottom, carrying all the sewage of a very
large city. People sat at makeshift tables along the ditch, or at tables set on boards spanning
the open sewer ditches, eating their meal.
It took several hours for the return trip to the hotel, and I didn’t realize how it had affected
Sally. I learned later that she had cried long after we were in bed that night. Her concern
was for Mark, the unsanitary conditions, the fear, and so many unknowns that were ahead of
us. She hid all this until much later when we realized that we could survive this time in Africa. It was not nearly as difficult for me, having experienced similar cultural conditions
while in Calcutta, India during my Army days.
Before we could fly out of Lagos to Enugu where we would be living, I had to claim supplies
at the airport that Gannett had shipped for the project. The same Enplan employee that had
met us at the airport traveled with me to do this. For several days, he was my spokesman
since he knew the ropes and who had to be bribed to get action. Everywhere we went I was
asked, “How much will you dash me?” This was against my principles and I would refuse to
dash. I soon found out that if I didn’t dash, my boxes would sit in the airport warehouse for
the duration of the project. The driver also told me that every day a forklift would damage
the boxes, and the contents would slowly disappear, warehouse workers taking what was
valuable to them or what could be sold.
Flying to Enugu in a small prop plane, crowded with natives was quite an experience. It
seemed they were all talking at once. Mark and Sally were quite sick from the food and water, making the flight long and hard for them. Tom Benyo of Gannett Fleming and Mike Ufweze, a Nigerian who would be my co-project manager, met us at the airport. After getting
settled into the Presidential Hotel (only hotel safe to stay in within the city), he took me over
to meet the Enplan office staff and to see the office accommodations. Then, after being
briefed by Tom who would be leaving the next morning for the States, I returned to the hotel. My first priority was to find housing for the family.
The possibilities didn’t look good around the hotel or office, as all around were nothing but
shacks – you know, grass and mud huts. Fortunately, Tom knew about a British asbestos cement factory that had just closed, and most of the personnel had already left the country or
soon would be leaving. I contacted the British company, finding one man still in the office
who told me there was a house available to rent. I made arrangements to meet him, saw the
house, and immediately rented it without even consulting Sally.
As I looked around the inside of the house, I wondered how we would ever be able to make it
acceptable to move into. It was furnished pretty decently, but was left very unkempt. About
that time, a short native man appeared behind me and in English asked if I would like for him
to clean and get the house ready to move into. Without hesitation, I hired Christopher on the
spot, gave him the money he requested to buy cleaning supplies, and he assured me the house
would be ready by the next morning. This seemed like an impossible task to be completed in
about eighteen hours. Sally, Mark, and I went over the next morning and found everything
clean and presentable.
Christopher wanted to know if we would need a cook/steward. He assured me that he knew
how to cook for Americans, so I hired him to start right away with no further questions. As I
think about it now, in a country where you must bribe people all the time to keep them from
stealing what does not belong to them, how could I just give Christopher grocery money to go
buy our food? It seemed obvious that God placed this man there to look after us, so it really
became a question, do I trust God? The answer was, absolutely; besides, why was his name
Christopher? When we arrived that next day, he had shopped for groceries and had placed
all our belongings where they needed to be. Our sparse shipment of worldly goods had been
delivered. Christopher had worked for both British and American families and in the past
had been paid $40 per month. We raised that to $50, increasing it even higher as we realized what a blessing he was to us.
There was no washer or dryer in the house, so Christopher washed all of Mark’s and my
clothing plus linens and such, in the bathtub. Sally washed her clothing the same way, insisting that she at least take care of herself. He did all the shopping for food, plus all food preparation, along with the cleaning. We were told that it would not be safe for Sally to shop,
other than the little grocery store just down the street from the house.
When shopping for meat, Christopher would bring it home and tell Sally, “Madame, stay out
of kitchen until I’m finished,” then close the door to the kitchen. We found out later why,
when we saw how cattle are butchered in Nigeria. Cattle are raised far up in the mountains
because of the hot, humid climate in the lowlands where we were, with the tsetse fly that carried sleeping sickness to cattle. The animals are herded from the mountains and sold to villages along the way. When the last cow is sold, they walk back to the mountains, pick up another herd and start all over again.
One day while driving around the country, we happened onto a butchering and decided to
stop and watch. The whole job was done with nothing but machetes with bone chips flying
everywhere. The beef is placed in piles wherever there is a place, with vultures perched on
the shed roofs above the butchering, waiting for what they can grab. The meat is so badly
mutilated that I doubt if an American butcher could have identified any particular cut of
meat. This is the kind of place where Christopher bought our meat, and Sally understood
why the door was closed to the kitchen on meat-buying days until he worked his magic on
it. Chickens were also pretty sorry specimens, bony and tough, brought home live. Christopher also used a machete to prepare them for eating. After a chicken dinner, Christopher
would ask if the chicken was strong. I wasn’t sure if he meant tough, until I actually saw a
loose chicken fly over our house roof. Then I understood why he asked about a strong
chicken.
Although Christopher consulted Sally, he planned all the meals and managed quite a variety
of tasty, well-balanced meals. He insisted on working seven days a week for several months,
until Sally insisted that he take Sunday either to rest or go home to his village to see his family. I suspect that he was afraid we would reduce his pay if we reduced his hours. Later, he
brought his wife and two children back with him for a week or more at a time. There were
servant quarters at the end of the property, actually divided into three sections, with adequate
toilet facilities. Christopher lived in the one unit and the day watchman/gardener lived in
the second unit. This gave Christopher ample room when his family was with him. He never
ate what he prepared for us. He or his wife cooked over an open fire outside each night after
he had finished his chores for us. Sally tried over and over to get him to leave early in the
evening, letting her clean up after dinner, but he would never do it.
Mark and Christopher’s son and daughter would spend time together in the garden during
the day. Mark showed them how much fun it was to run back and forth under the garden
hose spray, and even with the language barrier, they seemed to have fun together. It sure
was a blessing for Mark, for he was very lonely. Christopher made slingshots for each of
them one day and then taught them how to shoot at a target. Later their targets became the
foot long lizards that lived in our trees. Mark became quite a marksman by the time he left
Nigeria and took his trusty slingshot home with him. Mark’s two new friends came from a
very different home life, their time limited to village life prior to this experience. They would
not enter our home, so their friendship was limited to outside.
Christopher told Sally one day that he and his wife would be married ten years the end of
that week. Sally made reservations at the only decent eating establishment in the city, which
was a government house where you could stay overnight and get your meals there. She told
Christopher she would take care of the kids, and that he must take his wife out for their anniversary. He explained that his wife had never eaten out in her life, that she wouldn’t know
what to do – how to use tableware or how to eat. It took some persuading to both him and
his lovely wife, but Sally won out. She shared the tableware from our home with her, tried to
explain how to use it, with Christopher’s help. Though she was very nervous, they both came
home smiling from their dinner date and Christopher told Sally that his wife would never
forget the experience. Sally had even made her a corsage to wear in her hair and she did
look lovely. The kids had a great time with Mark, and Sally served them imported popcorn,
chocolate bars and hot cocoa (in 90-degree temperatures). They even played several board
games out on the porch because the kids wouldn’t come inside. Mark never learned to speak
any Ebo and they didn’t speak any English, but those three became good friends.
Sally home-schooled Mark, using the Calvert System from a school in Baltimore, his sixth
grade year. They would get finished with school in the morning and have a long day ahead
of them, because I left early, returning late from work every day. They read aloud to each
other a lot, having brought fiction books that would appeal to both of them. They would also
go over to the Presidential Hotel to swim in the pool, until they both started to pick up parasites from the dirty water.
We also had a membership at the Country Club. The pool water was purified more than at
the hotel. It wasn’t very safe for Mark there though as the kids belonging to the mixed couples (Nigerian women with children to British men) took an acute dislike to the only white
boy at the pool. By the time the Brits left, we were the only white family in the city, except
for Dr. Peck and his wife (Dr. Peck, a Korean, was on assignment for World Health Organization there in Enugu). The Nigerian kids at the pool tried one day to drown Mark. The Nigerian lifeguard would turn his back to the abuse Mark suffered from these kids. Luckily, he
was an excellent swimmer and managed to get away from them when they ganged up on
him.
It was not too safe for Sally and Mark to even walk around town, as the native kids would
chant a phrase that we learned meant, “White boy go home!” Two different times when
Sally was returning alone from the little store down the street, she was forced off the path
into the open sewer ditch. The path was between the road and the ditch. Both times it was a
black man (a different man in each case) in western business suit, carrying a brief case. Also,
on that same path, a man blocked the path as she was approaching, urinating on her feet,
then let her pass. She was wearing sandals - nice people! I must explain that Nigeria is predominately Muslim, which explains why they treated Sally that way simply because she was
a woman for that is the way a woman is to be treated by Muslim men.
It was good that we had a home that was comfortable and somewhat attractive, by Nigerian
standards, for Sally and Mark’s social life was pretty limited. We had a big living room and
dining room, half bath downstairs, and a small, but adequate kitchen. There were patio
doors at both ends of the living area, and when there was an air blowing, it passed through
the house freely. The temperature could rise during the day as high as a hundred and twenty
degrees, no air conditioning downstairs. We did have window units in the three bedrooms
upstairs, and temperatures did not cool down much at night.
only white family lived. The day guard stayed on the property, and when he went off duty,
the night watch came. One night, Sally had gotten up sick and opened the bathroom window, trying to get a breath of air. The night guard immediately pounded on the door, telling
us to close and lock the window, or someone would get in. We reminded him that this was a
second-floor window, no way to climb in. He told Sally to go up to the bathroom; and by the
time she got there, he was standing in our upstairs bathroom. He just climbed up the bell
and spigot sewer pipe on the outside of the house. We kept the window closed from then on.
The Enplan office, about a mile from where we lived, was a furnished rented space that was
adequate. I had twenty Nigerians working for me, with Mike Ufwaze my project engineer. It
was hard to understand what each of the other men was capable of doing, if anything. As the
project advanced to where we needed to produce plans showing the highway location and its
geometry, I realized they were sadly lacking in drafting skills. I set up a drafting table in our
bedroom, and began taking the finished drawings home each day. Sally would erase much of
their work and redo it.
To give you an example of their capabilities, I took a complete set of drafting pens from the
home office that had screw-on tops. Needing to use a pen one day, I found that every pen
had the screw-on cap pried loose so the caps just fell off. These draftsmen and engineers
couldn’t figure out how to remove the cap so they pried them off. Can’t you just imagine the
group of them sitting together cross-legged on the floor working on those pens? That’s pretty
much what I had to work with, but we still completed the job almost on schedule.
In addition to the office help, I had two survey parties working in the field. In spite of the
limitations of the Nigerians, the survey crews got their job done satisfactorily. I needed a geologist on the project so I contacted the home office then to send Don Skean to help. Before
he left the States, I gave Don the option to live at the Presidential Hotel and eat his meals there
or to live with us and eat at our table. Don elected to stay with us for the several months he
was in Nigeria and was a welcome part of our life during that time.
Don was a rather rough character who was easy to please and willing to go anywhere or try
anything. He had a drinking problem, and most Friday nights would borrow the company
car to go out. The next day, he would ask where I found the car because he couldn’t remember how he got home or where he left the car. His drinking was limited to weekends and,
aside from the weekend binges, he was pleasant to have around and a wonderful help on the
job. He and Mark became good friends and Don treated him as an adult.
We were living in the area known as “Biafra,” where a civil war was fought a year before in
the entire southeastern quadrant of the country. There were national occupational troops
everywhere, with army camps located several different places. Most of the population had
nearly starved to death during the war, and animal life was almost non-existent because the
natives ate it all, including monkeys, rats, mice and snakes.
Don and I often took Mark with us as we traveled to different places, and Mark would remark, “Dad, this isn’t Africa.” He expected to see lions and tigers, snakes and monkeys, an
array of jungle animals, but they had all been killed and eaten. Maybe he thought he would
see Tarzan swinging on vines. One particular day, we had driven down a dirt road for about
ten or twenty miles looking for a way to bridge the Cross River with the Trans African Highway. The road ended at the riverbank where one could cross to the other side by ferry. The
ferry was constructed of two dugout canoes lashed to a wood platform, propelled by an old
five-horse outboard motor. The river was too high and swift for the ferry to be operating that
day, but there was a lot of activity along the shore that I thought Mark would be interested
in. There was a group of men and boys making dugout canoes and some cutting firewood
with their only tools – you guessed it, machetes. Women from the village along the shore
were washing clothes in the muddy river water, and children were playing nearby, almost all
of them naked.
The next weekend, Sally and Mark and I returned to this same village. About two miles from
where we had been the week before, we saw a little building along the road with a sign in
front reading, “Church of Christ.” Still not seeing any other sign of civilization (most villages
were screened from view by heavy woods along the roads), we stopped. I was taking a picture of Sally and Mark standing in front of the sign when out of the bushes and along the
road came black men running toward us. We realized then that there was a much larger village back in the trees and underbrush. Mark’s first impulse was to run to our car, but we
waited to see what they wanted. I already knew about the curiosity of the natives when white
people show up in their villages. I asked the man who seemed to be leading the group if he
was the preacher. He told me he wasn’t, but they would get him. I told him we were just
passing through to the river and would stop on the way back through in about an hour.
On our return, the entire village was there to greet us, led by the preacher who spoke English
well. I asked him if he knew Bill Nicks (an American missionary we had met earlier, another
interesting story), and he told me that he had been trained for ministry at the preacher training school where Bill served. We told him about our association with the Church of Christ
and he asked if I would return the next day on Sunday to preach for them. I made arrangements for us to return the following Sunday.
The next Sunday, Mark decided to stay home with Don. We were glad he wasn’t with us, for
there had been a hard storm the night before, washing out large portions of the dirt road that
made it impassable in places. As is customary, a number of the local natives showed up,
agreed to cut bamboo poles from along the road, place them in the worst washouts. With the
land rover we were driving, we were able to go on. Between the washouts and the deep mud
holes, we arrived at the church building over an hour late. The preacher was waiting outside
for us; and inside this little 50’ by 50’ grass hut, every available space was occupied with
adults and children of all ages. They had placed two chairs up front on either side of the pulpit stand for Sally and me, and the preacher had already asked (really insisted) that I teach
the Sunday School lesson. He let me choose between a lesson on polygamy or giving, and I
chose the latter, knowing polygamy was a real problem among converted Christians. Sally
had tried to count the number of people inside this little building, losing count at two hundred.
When I finished the lesson, I thought we would be leaving, but the preacher told me it was
time for worship now. We sang some hymns and had prayer and communion. Then I was
told it was time to preach. Just before I finished the sermon I had prepared, I noticed several
leaving the building. When I finished, I was asked to wait. Then one-by-one they returned
with gifts – my pay for preaching. One lady brought a basin full of peanuts, another a dozen
eggs, and yet another a container of citrus fruit. They explained that God gave them a good
harvest and they just wanted to tithe a portion of what God blessed them with.
These simple people taught us a very powerful lesson on what it means to give generously. Remember this was the area where the people had almost starved to death during the
war the year before. We were very humbled by their sacrificial giving. We rummaged in
the car to find something to transfer our pay into, finally found our plastic lunch bag. We
used the peanuts as packing around the eggs to protect them; but by the time we got home
over the rough roads, all but two eggs were broken and the contents of the bag were a slimy
mess. Christopher salvaged the citrus and peanuts and served us delicious roasted peanuts. I
can tell preachers today they don’t know what it means to preach for peanuts, but we certainly felt blessed by those dear people. Later, we were with Bill Nicks one Sunday when he
was paid in live chickens, two of them handed to him with their legs tied together.
I guess I should tell you about how we met Bill Nicks, for Bill and his lovely wife played a
very important part in our life while in Nigeria. Before we left the States, through a few
phone calls, I got the name and address of Bill Nicks who was serving as a missionary in Aba,
Nigeria. I had written to Bill, telling him that we would be living in Enugu and when we expected to be arriving. Early one Sunday morning, I answered a knock on our door and
found Bill smiling at me. I asked him how in the world he had found us in a city of half a
million people, for I had not contacted him since we had arrived to give him our address. He
laughed and replied, “Everybody in the city knows where you live. All I had to do was ask
where the white family lived.” That was a little scary when I thought about it later.
That particular morning, Bill was preaching at a church north of Enugu and invited us to go
with him for the morning. We would do this often in the next few months, including the
Sunday he preached for chickens at a church near his home. Bill and Ruth lived north of the
port city of Aba, about a hundred miles south of our home in Enugu. They conducted a
preacher training school and were also responsible for overseeing a Christian Hospital in the
same complex where they lived. We had the privilege of visiting with them several times,
and it was like “going home” for us, for this was our only contact with Christians of the same
color who spoke English.
Bill and Ruth did introduce us to a small group of Christians in Enugu, meeting in a little
Quonset hut near where we lived. The preacher, Sunday Ezere, was a graduate from Bill’s
school and, of course, spoke English – the only English-speaking person in the group. He
would translate most of his sermon for us each Sunday, but not the prayer time or communion. The songbooks had Ebo language on one side and English words on the other. Many of
the hymns were the old familiar ones we knew from home. Sally picked up the syllables of
the Ebo language and could sing with the congregation. Most of the time, I could sing the
English words when they fit in.
We soon become very fond of Sunday Ezere and he would stop by our house to see us when
in the neighborhood. We didn’t have much fellowship with his wife or the other brethren
because of the language barrier. One particular day, Sunday stopped at our house when we
were eating lunch and we invited him to eat with us. Some time before that, he had told me
that Americans are afraid to eat in a Nigerian’s home for fear of getting sick so he would understand if we wouldn’t eat in his home. When we finished, Sunday thanked us for lunch
and Sally said, “Sunday, some day we will come to your house for lunch.” His face lit up as
he said, “Oh, Sally would you eat with us?” When she started to back out of this, his face fell
and he said he understood. I quickly told him that I would love to eat lunch at his house and
that Don would join me, putting the glow back in Sunday’s face again. When the day came
to go, before leaving the house, I took antibiotics to ward off infection. I remember Don
laughing at me. We had goat stew, and Don spent the next day in the bathroom really sick. I
was fine so I had the last laugh.
The job kept us under a lot of stress, and there were many frightening and frustrating experiences just about every week. Life was pretty dull for Sally and Mark so, with the stress of the
job and their boredom, we decided we needed a vacation for a few days, Don included. Driving south to the port city of Aba, we passed within a few miles of Bill and Ruth Nicks and decided to stop and visit. They invited us to eat lunch with them before going on to Aba. Some
time later, Don and I were returning from a field trip and Don said there was something he
really wanted to ask me. He said that no matter what happened, I never got upset, never
seemed to fear, and always seemed at peace. He told me he saw this peace even more pronounced in Bill and Ruth Nicks, and yet life was very hard for them and us. Don said, “Buck,
I don’t know what it is that you have, but I sure would give a lot to have it.”
I often look back on the opportunities we had with Don to bring him to a knowledge of God
and wonder how we could have passed up all the opportunities God gave us. Don knew our
life revolved around God as we were very open with our faith, but he seemed to keep a closed
mind. As far as I know, he continued in his lifestyle. I did track him down recently and had
a long talk with him. He told me he never did start to church here in the States but his wife
goes for him. That is not much different from a lot of men in our community.
The Biafran War left the area in great turmoil, the crime rate was very high, and what police
they had couldn’t do much about it anyway. It seemed like there were armed bands of robbers everywhere because the war gave access to guns to anyone that wanted them. Every day
the newspapers reported robberies, beatings, and many murders. Because the people were so
poor, they would kill you for whatever values you might have, especially if you were white
because they thought all whites had more money than blacks.
It was a two-hour drive to get to the end of our project, over extremely bad roads, often with
bridges destroyed by war still not repaired. A large number of the roads were dirt, more like
paths, barely wide enough for two cars to pass. When it rained, which was very often, the
dirt turned to deep mud, preventing getting through even with a four-wheel drive vehicle. Many times, trucks could not get up the hills because of the slick mud, so they would just
sit for an hour or so until the sun would come out and dry the mud enough for them to get
traction. Of course, all the other traffic had to wait until the trucks were out of the way.
I spent a lot of time traveling alone after Don left to go back to the States, and Mark returned
to the States with Don. By this time, Mark was really struggling with life in Nigeria, and was
quite homesick. We had finished the last of the home school material that Calvert had given
us for the semester. Mark was returning to stay with our daughter Melanie and her family to
finish the second semester of the school year. They were living in our home near Dillsburg,
and were willing to look after Mark. We returned two months later after finishing the job in
eight months.
A lot of pictures were required in my reports for submission to the Nigerian government, and
I was closely watched by the military when I carried my camera, even worse than in Lagos. Sally was with me one day when I stopped along the road in front of an army camp to
photograph a road intersection. She had cautioned me about taking pictures in front of the
camp, but I assured her it would be safe, because I simply was taking a picture back the other
way of an intersection. Just as I was ready to take a picture, I heard a loud voice yelling from
the direction of the camp entrance. I went over to the camp gate and the guard wanted to
know who I was and what I was doing there. He could not understand why I was driving
around without a Nigerian driver, and why I was taking pictures. Explaining that I was under contract with their government to design a part of the Trans African Highway, he wanted
to see my papers to prove what I said was true. He went with me back to the car to get my
briefcase to inspect my documents. I agreed with him that he should probably take me to his
base commander. I went with him while Sally sat petrified in the car. I ended up in the office with the base commander and six other officers. After being harassed for an hour or
more, the commander said, “I’ll tell you one thing, you must really like your job to put up
with this kind of harassment.” He shook my hand, gave me my camera, and we parted like
friends. Sally recovered!
There were many other incidents with the army, as the Nigerian Army won the civil war and
was occupying the Biafran area. I even had a soldier threaten me with the end of his rifle
barrel in my stomach because I failed to get off the road and let him pass with his motorcycle. I think some of the problem was how the blacks had been treated in the past by the white
British while they were in control of Nigeria. I saw the same attitude while I was in India
years earlier because India was also ruled by England for a long time.
I mentioned earlier that Mark had been disappointed that he saw no wildlife in Nigeria. His
Tarzan imagination had expected to see lions and tigers, monkeys hanging from trees, and
jungles all around us. There was a large river running through the area I selected for the
proposed highway location, and no roads into this large, isolated area. One particular day,
along with Don and Mark and a native driver, we were attempting to get into this area with
the land rover. We went as far as we could and got stopped along a foot trail that we were
using for a road. This trail was only intended to pass from village to village.
We had already passed over several little stream bridges not meant for vehicle travel. We
would get out and examine underneath the bridge, and if the deck seemed pretty secure, we
would drive over. One particular one was constructed with two or three 6”diameter poles
laid across the stream, with a lot of brush piled over the poles, then covered with dirt. I wish
you could have seen the expression on our driver’s face each time I would signal for him to
cross. Thankfully, we only had a wheel to break through one time out of five or six bridge
crossings. But this time we were really stopped, the grass in the middle of the trail so high it
almost covered our vehicle. Just ahead of us was a much larger stream, with a swinging
bridge that definitely was to be used only for pedestrians. We knew we had reached the end
of the line. We all got out of the vehicle, and Mark exclaimed, “Now this is Africa!” There
were Tarzan-like vines all around us, but still no monkeys and other jungle animals. Even
our driver was impressed by what we were seeing.
We decided it was a good time to have lunch break and sat there in the jungle eating our
peanut butter, jelly and sardine sandwiches. When you’re hungry and it’s all you have, it
tastes pretty good. Don had been the one to get us hooked on these sandwiches. When you
have no access to ice or thermos cooling and you’re traveling all day in 100 degree plus temperatures, you make good with what is available and won’t spoil. Turning around and retracing the trails we had just traveled was the only option we had, and it seemed to take even
longer on the return trip. This was one of many such experiences as we attempted to get to
the proposed site of our highway project.
I’m reminded of the day Don and I were returning from Ufom, near the border between Nigeria and Cameroon. We were both thirsty and hot as we approached Abakaliki and stopped
at a government guesthouse to get a drink. The only safe beverage was beer, and it was
served warm. As we sat at the counter with our drinks, we noticed a large jar on the counter
with black globs of something stuck on lollipop-like sticks. Don asked what they were and
told, “smoked mice.” Don must have been hungry also, for he ate a smoked mouse and said
it was pretty good. Half of the beer was enough for me, and Don finished that off also. Actually, Don was the rugged type who would try anything for fear he might miss something in
life.
You might recall me speaking earlier of Dr. Peck, the Korean doctor. Every time I saw him,
he would tell me, “Buck, please stop driving around this country by your self. It is not safe.”
When I asked what he meant, he said, “For goodness sake, man, don’t you read the papers? It’s not safe for you to take chances like this. At least have a Nigerian driver with you
at all times.” He was referring to the news most every day about people being shot for whatever valuables they had with them. Even for the value of a ring on your finger, they would
kill you. There were bands of armed robbers all over the country. An example happened
twenty-five or thirty miles from Enugu, when four white professors from a nearby university
were traveling together. They were stopped by one of these bands, robbed of every thing of
any value, then killed and left along the road. There were also incidents where a band of
robbers entered apartment buildings, killing people in each unit after taking all that was
valuable. When I look back now, I know God’s protection covered us the entire time we were
in Nigeria for, by all that I experienced, I should have died there.
In Nigeria, there was no trust in the business world, credit cards were not accepted anywhere, and it was not possible to pay for anything with a piece of paper called a check. With
office responsibility of all expenses, and twenty employees, two survey parties, and four vehicles to maintain, plus all of our personal living expenses, I had no choice but to carry large
sums of cash with me all the time. Expenses had to be paid each day with cash, and once a
week I would draw from the bank the amount of money I would need for the week – sometimes as much as $10,000. In Nigerian nira, that was a huge wad of bills. I taped two brown
envelopes in the back of my briefcase, and there I kept this money. That briefcase went everywhere with me, and there were times at the office when it sat unattended while I was out of
my office, in the drafting room or the toilet room. That briefcase sat in our bedroom each
night while I slept like a baby. Sally slept also because I never told her about the money in
my briefcase. Perhaps this sounds pretty stupid, but I was committed to getting this job completed and did what I had to do.
I now know that God means it in Psalms 91 when He says, “If you make the Most High your
dwelling - even the Lord, who is my refuge – then no harm will befall you, no disaster will
come near your tent. For He will command His angels concerning you, to guard you in all
your ways.” Until our experience in Nigeria, I would have looked at a scripture like this and
figured it might have been true for King David; but surely it did not apply to a country boy
from the little town of Howard, Pennsylvania, who didn’t even graduate from college.
Shortly after we returned to the United States, we watched a segment from the 20/20 TV
show on “Nigeria, the Crime Capital of the World.” They showed many things that brought
back memories of experiences we had or knew happened to someone else while we were
there, and we knew they were giving the facts. They said that most scams in the world originated in Nigeria. I rarely watch TV, but for some reason it seemed I was to see this segment. I think God wanted me to see how He had protected my family and me.
Looking back on those eight months in Nigeria now, we realize that wherever God sent us on
our life’s journey, He let us minister to people and allowed us to identify who it was He
wanted us to minister to. In Nigeria, however, we were prevented from ministering to anyone, unless to Christopher and his family in a small way. Because of the language barrier,
the extremely busy schedule I had during the entire project, and the fact that Sally and Mark
were pretty much cut off from any contact or friendship with the Nigerian people, we could
not see God’s purpose for us being there. It was not until we watched the 20/20 program on
TV that we realized God did not send us to minister, but to be ministered to by Him by teaching us that He is ever faithful and that promises like those in Psalm 91 are not only for men
like King David but they are for every one of God’s children. It does not matter if you are a
preacher or a college professor, male or female, or old or young. What He tells His children,
He means, and He will do what He says! Our God is so faithful!
Here is a list of Mark’s memories from his time in Nigeria: monkey, getting stuck in the mud,
mammy wagon with goat on top, swimming pool, the restaurant across the street, shooting at
lizards, playing army with the boy next door, Christopher’s good food, going to the movies at
the Presidential Hotel, fresh roasted peanuts up the street on the way to the market, Mom’s
hot hot spaghetti, and our many trips into the bush. (In the album our kids put together for
our 50th wedding anniversary, Mark expressed that our time in Nigeria really brought Him
even closer to Sally as they shared the difficulties of living in a very different culture.)
When the Trans African Highway Project was completed enough to take it back to the home
office to prepare the final report for the Nigerian government, I had to stop in Lagos to file a
preliminary report with the government. You might remember that Mark had already returned to the States so it didn’t take us long to vacate the house and get ready to leave. We
gave the few things we had brought with us to the friends and coworkers who wanted
them. Sally had quite a collection of books and gave them to a young Nigerian woman who
had worked in an office near where we lived. She and several other women had often come
over to our patio at noon, eating lunch with Sally so that they could practice speaking English. Many of the office people stopped by the house, asking what we were going to give
them of ours before we left. It seems that was expected, some asking specifically for camera,
tape player, anything of value or even cash. We did leave a few things for Christopher as he
and his family had endeared themselves to us in those eight months.
Arriving in Lagos, having made hotel arrangements a week earlier, we were told there was
no room available. There was an international conference in progress and every hotel room
in Lagos was taken. It just happened that before we left the States for Nigeria, I had met an
engineer in Dillsburg who stayed for several months in the Aquoa Hotel, which he described
as the only one in Lagos clean enough that an American could hack it. This was the hotel
where we had reserved a room before leaving Enugu. I can’t remember his name now, but it
came to me in the hotel as I stood before the desk clerk. I asked if he knew this man and it
worked like magic. It seems he was very well respected and liked. They spread the word all
over the hotel about us knowing their friend from Dillsburg, Pennsylvania. They told me to
come back the next morning and they would make a room available. They gave me a list of
hotels, letting me use their phone to find a room for that night. I started calling the list of hotels but everyone was full. I figured that the further down the list I went, the worse the hotel
would be. When I got to the very last name on the list I was very discouraged, thinking only
in Nigeria could something like this happen. The last one had a room and in desperation we
took it. We drove about ten blocks to the hotel, and the further we went the worse the area
got. We went to our room and slept in our clothes because of the filthy sheets. Actually, this
was not the first time we had to do this in Nigeria. When we returned to the Aquoa Hotel in
the morning, sure enough they had a room for us and we wondered what person was
bumped out of their room for us.
We would spend an entire week in the hotel, for in addition to the conference in Lagos, a national census was in progress, requiring everyone to remain at home to be counted. Even
Sally and I were counted, receiving a stamp on the back of the hand to prove we had been
counted and to allow freedom of movement. Because all the government offices were closed
for the week, we were delayed for several days. The morning the office was open, I was
parked outside the door waiting to complete my business. We were on the next plane out of
Lagos, stopping in the Canary Islands, spending several days at a nice hotel on the
beach. These islands are just off the coast of North Africa, and this was in late December. I
think all the people from the Scandinavian countries were in the Canary Islands to escape the
cold winter in their country. I was not at all impressed with the islands and would not recommend them to anyone as a stopover. However, it was a nice relaxing few days for us en
route home.
Melanie and her husband, along with little David, were living in our home. Mark was there
with them and back in school to complete the academic year. They stayed on with us until
they found housing near the Penn State campus in Middletown where Thom was attending
graduate school. I returned to the office and finished up the report for Nigeria. Sally went
back to work at Holy Spirit Hospital in the department she had left the year before.
The final report was submitted to the Nigerian government, followed by preparation of construction plans. Gannett hired a man experienced in work in Africa to do the survey work
for final design. Later, the Nigerian government awarded several other highway design projects to our company, but I never got involved in any of them. I had all of Nigeria I
wanted. Strangely enough, I did consider going to a country just northwest of Nigeria for a
Philadelphia-based engineering company later in our journey. God was good to us and kept
us from going.
Looking back on those months spent in Nigeria does not give us the “warm fuzzies,” the feeling that we left a part of ourselves there like we felt when we left Israel in 1971. However,
we are glad that God allowed us to be there, for it certainly deepened our faith in the caring
love and protection of the awesome God we serve; and we have an extra special appreciation
for life in America. There is nothing like living in a depressed country like Nigeria to make
you realize and appreciate what we have in this wonderful country and what we so often
take for granted. WOW! USA, I love you! However, God, I love you more! Thank you for
the lessons you taught me in Nigeria, that you are faithful in keeping every promise you have
ever made, and that your promises are irrevocable. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Well, the US Could Do It!
Israel ~ 1979-1981
In January of 1974, shortly after returning from Africa, I was taken to Holy Spirit Hospital
via ambulance late one evening, suffering severe chest pain. The emergency room doctor
told Sally that I suffered a very severe heart attack and that the next several days would be
touch-and-go for me. After three days in ICU, I was moved to Progressive Care and developed a rash from the middle of my back, around my left side to the middle of my chest. My
doctor came in that morning and laughingly told me he had misdiagnosed shingles for a
heart attack. He told me, “Call you wife to come and get you.”
We had purchased two lovely wooded lots in Lake Meade – 1253 Fisher Drive, a private lake
community in Adams County shortly before my hospital experience. In early Spring, we had
a 24’x 52’ modular home erected on the lot with a full basement. Over the next year, we finished the basement and landscaping and started a large garden.
In July of 1975, I was hoeing in the garden. Sally was over on the other side of the lake at a
community affair. As I worked, I developed the same type of chest pain that I felt in ’74. I
thought to myself, “People were right. Those nasty shingles have returned.” I would lean
heavily on my hoe for a while and then hoe some more. I finally realized that the pain was
not going to subside so I went inside and lay down on the living room floor, but was still having a lot of pain. Friends stopped by to visit and I got up and tried to ignore the pain. Later
that evening, the pain was unbearable. Sally called the hospital emergency room, and we left
for York Hospital. After three days in ICU, they did a heart catheterization and found that I
had three blocked arteries plus heart damage from a previous heart attack – the misdiagnosed heart attack at Holy Spirit in ’74 when I was told it was shingles.
I was released after spending a week in the hospital, with a prescription for Valium. The Valium caused depression and listlessness. I told my doctor that I was not going to take the Valium any longer. He suggested that I drink a glass of wine several times a day instead of the
Valium. I enrolled in a cardiac exercise program at York Hospital three times a week. After I
started back to work, I transferred to the Mechanicsburg Rehab Hospital’s rehab program
since it was only five minutes from the office. A lovely young woman named Ruth Matthews
was my therapy nurse. I spent about an hour each day riding a bike, walking the treadmill,
and using wall pulleys. Ruth was very competent and thoroughly dedicated to her patients. We had many conversations about her husband Phil and little baby Karen. I became
very fond of Ruth and had a lot of respect for her.
When I switched from York Hospital, I also transferred my medical care to an internist in
Camp Hill. Complaining of chest pain one day at work, one of my coworkers, Frank Smolko
insisted that I go to the Rehab Hospital to be examined. Ruth did an EKG but could not see
anything abnormal. She had my internist check the EKG when he came in that afternoon. He found a slight abnormality and told Ruth that his guess was I would be in the hospital before the weekend was over. This was on a Friday. He did not call me, and that night I
had severe chest pain so I called him. He told me to take Nitroglycerin to get me through the
night, which I took every hour through the night. I ended up at Polyclinic Hospital early the
next morning with heart attack #3. When my doctor came in, he told me that he had called
Ruth to tell her that I was in the hospital. I told him I really appreciated his thoughtfulness. He said, “You don’t understand. I called her to get her to pay off because I had bet her
I would have you in the hospital with an MRI before the weekend was over. I wanted to fire
him on the spot, but I didn’t until a short time later.
Before I left the hospital, a cardiologist from Shiremanstown did a heart catheterization and
sent a report to my internist. The internist told us that I had several blocked arteries, but that
I was not a candidate for heart surgery since the arteries were too small to bypass. Once I
was at home, I found I could not even walk to the mailbox without pain, and it got more severe each day. I was not able to return to work and resigned myself to a future spent in my
rocking chair.
Sally worked at Holy Spirit Hospital, and one day in the elevator, Sally was telling a coworker about my condition and Dr. Hobb’s prognosis. Dr. Althouse, the cardiologist who
had done my heart cath, was also on the elevator. He took my teary wife to a nearby room
and asked her for more details. Once they began talking, he realized that he had done my
heart cath. He told Sally to go immediately and call his office. He instructed her to have his
staff make an appointment for him to see me the next day.
Things happened fast after I saw Dr. Althouse. He made arrangements for me to go to the
Musser Group of heart surgeons. My heart bypass surgery was scheduled with Dr. Travisano, an Italian doctor in the group. This was during the Spring of 1978. One day before the
surgery, a preacher friend from Michigan was visiting in our home. He told me something
I’ve never forgotten. He said, “If you don’t make it off that operating table, remember, you
are going home to be with the Lord.” Later that night in my hospital room, I sat on my bed
laughing and really enjoying visitors that were there with me. When everyone was gone, my
roommate wanted to know how in the world I could be laughing like that, knowing what
kind of surgery I was facing in the morning. He admitted that he was scared to death about a
simple hernia operation. I told him about the comfort of my preacher friend’s remark and
said to my roommate, “Isn’t it wonderful to know the Lord, and to know that when you leave
this world, He is waiting for you?”
My surgery went well, and I was back home in a week. I got into a walking program, and
within two weeks, I could make it all the way around the lake, which was a five-mile hike. It
wasn’t long until I was back in my garden, running the Rototiller nonstop for several hours. I
took the whole summer off before starting back to work at Gannett Fleming.
Early the following year, in 1979, Don Skeen came into the office all excited. Don had a
copy of the latest “Engineering News Record” magazine containing an article about two
highly sophisticated airbases to be designed and built in Israel. There were about ten American companies involved in the project, along with the US Department of Defense and the
Army Corps of Engineers. They wanted to hire hundreds of US engineers to go over to Israel
on this project. Don said, “Let’s all flood the market with our resumes and go.”
When I got home that day, my copy of “Engineering News Record” had arrived, so I looked
for the article. You might recall when President Jimmy Carter met at Camp David with Menachen Bagen of Israel and Anwar Sadat of Egypt, in order to work out a peace agreement between the two countries. Israel had been occupying the entire Sinai ever since the Six-Day
War in 1967. Israel had built two airbases in the Sinai to protect Israel and they needed to
replace these two bases with two in the Negev Desert before Israel could give up the Sinai. They all agreed, but Bagen said there was no way Israel could build these bases within
the timeframe spelled out in the agreement. Jimmy Carter, with his engineering background
said, “Well, the US could do it.”
After I read the full account in the magazine, I decided I wanted to join the others and try to
get a job with one of the US companies and return to Israel. The next day, I talked to my
company President, Moe Wadsworth, to see if I could get a leave of absence to go to Israel. He wanted to know for how long, and when I said at least two years, he thought that
was out of the question. I told Moe I would have to quit so that I could return to Israel on
this job. He said, “Buck, you wouldn’t do that. You have been here for 30 years.”
I did send my resume to about ten companies. Management Support Associates (MSA) was a
company put together just for this one project. They called me for an interview in their New
York office. I went for the interview, and they hired me, but it was with the stipulation that it
be unaccompanied status. This meant I could take Sally along, but I would have to pay her
way. At first, I was not too excited about that idea. MSA wanted to know if I would do it if
they made my salary high enough that I could afford to pay Sally’s way. I don’t remember
what they offered me, but I do know it was enough that I accepted their offer.
I had to undergo a physical examination and I didn’t think I would pass when they knew I
had bypass surgery the year before, after three heart attacks. The doctor was impressed with
what I was able to do physically. I passed the physical with flying colors, and before I left
New York, I was on the MSA payroll.
When I got back from New York, I turned in my letter of resignation to Moe Wadsworth. He
said, “Buck, I cannot believe you are doing this after being here for 30 years. I even have
your 30-year anniversary pin to give to you.” I said, “Fine, Moe. You can give it to me
now.” There was no way he was going to honor me by giving me my pin. I intended to leave
on friendly terms, but the personnel director wanted to interview me. It isn’t often a 30-year
veteran leaves a company and he needed to know why. He kept fishing until I finally felt
forced to say something against one of the men in management with zero management skills,
who was my immediate superior at the time.
It didn’t take much to get ready to leave the country. Our daughter, Lora, and her family
moved into our house and took care of it while we were gone. This time MSA made all the
travel arrangements and took care of shipping our things that we wanted to take.
The US government leased the entire Sheraton Hotel on the beach in northern Tel Aviv. We
were given a nice room on the top floor with a partial view of the Sea and a view north for
about ten miles. The airbase project had full use of the entire hotel facility, including the
kitchen and dining room, exercise rooms, shops, and swimming pool.
shipped over to transport all the engineering personnel back and forth from the hotel to the
IBM building. We rented four or five floors of the building. My office was on the tenth floor,
with a view across Tel Aviv to the Sea. The building was shaped somewhat like a triangle,
with rounded sides. You could walk all the way around the perimeter of the building in what
amounted to one big room. The center area contained about twenty nice-sized individual
offices.
My first several weeks were spent trying to figure out what my job was. I spent many days
just reviewing the hundreds of drawings in an effort to get a picture of what the project
looked like. I was shocked when I realized that we were actually creating two full-sized cities in the desert, with the airfield as the centerpiece. There were streets to lay out, with all
the required utilities. Each base included housing, schools, synagogues, theaters, recreation
facilities, medical facilities, fire stations, etc. We constructed state-of-the-art fueling facilities, bunkers to store and hide all the war planes, command facilities, communications, and
administration buildings with many of the buildings hardened to protect against bombing
and shelling. The total project was expected to cost 1.5 billion dollars, and it had to be ready
for use within two years. You talk about “fast-track projects!” As soon as a drawing was finished, copies were sent to the field and construction began. By the time the last drawing was
sent to the sites, the bases were virtually completed.
MSA was providing management support, but we were not doing any of the design. Our job
was to review and approve all the drawings that were submitted by all the other companies
that were designing the two airbases. There were three American engineering companies,
plus many Israeli companies. I found that I had good rapport with the Israeli firms because
of my previous time with Tahal when I had some contact with other Israeli firms. It did not
take long to get to know many of the people in the American companies.
I am not sure what all went into MSA’s decision, but shortly after I arrived on the job, they
asked me if I would take the job of Chief Civil Engineer. I would have ten engineers under
me. I agreed to fill the position, which meant my status changed from unaccompanied to accompanied, and Sally’s expenses would be paid. In addition, we would be entitled to housing
away from the hotel.
The one airbase called Ramon, was in the northern Negev desert about 30 miles south of Beer
Sheva. The second airbase was located in the southern tip of the Negev, and was named
Ovda. Both bases had many engineering challenges, such as the access road into the Ramon
base over very steep, hilly terrain. The access road was about three miles long as designed by
an Israeli firm in Tel Aviv. When Milt Friend, with ABC Construction Company, saw the design for the road they were to construct, he was concerned about the design. Milt and others
knew of my experience in highway design, so I was asked to redesign the road.
To do a good design, I needed access to a computer with the ability to run a geometry program known as “COGO.” Ten years earlier, I ran COGO on the Tahal computer, which was
within walking distance of my MSA office. I walked over and looked up a number of my old
staff, and was soon given permission to use their computer. I had to make many trips to the
Ramon base, and found myself being called for advice on a number of construction problems. I was not nearly as involved with the construction of the Ovda base. In fact, I only visited it twice.
I served as Chief Civil Engineer for about a year when I was asked to serve as Chief Engineer
over all the MSA engineers. I took the position, which meant I had all the civil, structural,
mechanical and electrical engineers under me, as well as all geologists, architects, file clerks,
etc. Every drawing was reviewed by my staff, and I made the final review and approved
them with my signature. I had a good staff and became close friends with many of
them. Most of the people were Jewish, and wanted to have a part in the development and
protection of Israel.
When Sally and I first arrived in Israel, we had no choice but to live in the Sheraton Hotel
that was leased for the duration of the project. Sally and I had a large room with bath on the
top floor with a view of the Mediterranean Sea. Our room was at the end of the building,
with a flight of steps just outside our door that led to the roof. We had almost exclusive use
of the entire roof, which was flat, for sunbathing, reading, or just hanging out. Since the
project required working 60 hours every week, I had little time to spend on the roof, but
when I could, it was very nice.
We had a worship service at the hotel once a week, which was not very well attended. We
probably had about fifty in attendance on the average. The first night, they had everyone tell
their name and where they were from. One man said his name was Joe Smak and he was
from Pennsylvania. After services were over, Sally asked him where in Pennsylvania he was
from. Joe said, “Oh you wouldn’t know where Franklintown is.” Sally told Joe we were from
Lake Meade and that we drove through Franklintown to and from work every day. On our
way to work, there was a pretty little valley that we admired, and several times we stopped to
enjoy the view, especially when the sun would light up the fog below us. I remarked to Sally
once, “Wouldn’t it be nice to live in that little white house right there, where we could enjoy
this view every day?” It turned out that Joe lived in that little white house. We have remained in touch with Joe and Judy Smak throughout the years. They are both retired now
and living in High Point, North Carolina.
It was about two miles from our hotel to the offices in the IBM building. The bus was to pick
us up on the street at the end of our workday. One day, the bus was late, so I flagged a taxi
and asked if anyone wanted to share the taxi. Four or five guys piled in. Someone mentioned
all the antiquities in Israel that we enjoyed. I said that in the US, anything two hundred years
old is considered antique, but in Israel, anything less than two thousand years old is almost
considered modern. I mentioned a railroad bridge in Pennsylvania that is thought of as
old. A voice in the back wanted to know where in Pennsylvania. When I told him I was referring to Harrisburg, he said he was from York. The man’s name was Mike Yesanchak, and
his wife was Fran. We both knew a lot of the same people in engineering. Mike and Fran are
now retired and live in the Tampa Bay area of Florida.
I told you about Joe and Marcia Shulam from our Tel Aviv-Ashdod expressway project ten
years earlier. They had moved to Jerusalem, where they began a church, with smaller Messianic groups scattered around the country. One group met in the greater Tel Aviv area, but
the homes they met in were too small for the size of their group. Most Israelis live in apartments that are much less than 1000 square feet. Joe visited us often at our hotel, and he
wanted to know if we could get space for their group to meet for Bible study. It turned out
that we were unable to, but God was working something out.
We were not entitled to housing outside the hotel until I was made Chief Civil Engineer. Since we had no children living with us, we were only entitled to an apartment. Before
we could settle on an apartment, we learned that MSA had an American family living in a
house, but family problems forced them to return to the States. A year’s lease had been
signed on the house, and MSA wanted to know if I would be willing to live in the house to
help them out. The house was located in Ramat Ha Sharon, a town located about three miles
northeast of Tel Aviv. We agreed to help them out by living in the house.
This house was owned by an Israeli General, who was assigned as the Consulate General in
Dallas, Texas. The house was located on a beautifully landscaped lot on a nice, quiet street –
Rehov Neve Reim #29. You entered into a small lobby, and to the right were three bedrooms,
an office and a bath. There was a kitchen and dining room to the left of the lobby. Two steps
down from the dining room took you to a very large living room. From the living room, a
patio door opened out onto a large stone patio, and from there, there was a nice private garden area.
As soon as we moved in, we opened the house up for use by Joe Shulam’s group where we
held a Bible study every week. The Jewish believers came from as far away as Haifa. Some of
them came by bus, and others came however they could. Only two had cars. Sally got into
the habit of supplying a full dinner for them every week so that they could come straight
from work. We had some beautiful times of fellowship, bonding deeply together. By the time
we left Israel, we had a group of about thirty-five meeting each week.
Anyone with burdening problems of life always knew Sally was someone who would listen,
pray with them, understand and offer advice from years of living close to the God of Abraham and the Jewish Messiah, Yeshua. We had one couple from Romania named Pete and
Miriam. Pete was an artist, but he came to rely on alcohol or drugs for his artistic inspiration. Many times during an evening of fellowship, Pete would seek an opportunity to talk to
Sally alone. He seemed comfortable to share with her his struggle between his desire to be a
good husband and father and his addictive behavior. All of Pete’s paintings were abstracts.
We bought one we liked in order to help Pete and his family out financially because Pete was
wasting much of his earnings on alcohol. Sally encouraged Pete to paint a still life, which he
tried. The first one he did was a grouping of flowers. Sally admired the painting and encouraged Pete to do more. When we left Israel, the Bible study group presented the painting
to us, and it has always had a special place in our home. We’ve learned that Pete has overcome his dependence on alcohol, and has worked through the years with Alcoholics Anonymous. The last we heard, he was managing an art gallery and had taken up sculpturing.
One weekend, the Jewish believers held a two-day seminar in Jerusalem at a Finnish
school. Sally and I were the only Gentiles at the seminar, which made it pretty interesting for
us. When they announced the theme as “Anti-Semitism in the New Testament,” I felt disappointed. I thought, “Oh come on, you guys are always complaining about the whole world
picking on you poor Jews.” Looking back now, they had a right to think everyone was picking on them. The thrust of the seminar was not at all what I expected. They talked about the
fact that the Bible is a Jewish book, written by Jews about Jewish people in a Jewish culture. When the Bible is translated into English, the translators are not Jewish, and don’t understand the Jewish setting from which the Bible came. In almost every case where a passage
could have a different meaning if translated from a Gentile background rather than Jewish,
the translators favored the Gentile background. I learned a lot that weekend and feel I have a
better understanding of the Bible as a result.
We had one man named David Stern, who sometimes attended the Bible study in our
home. He was working on a new translation of the New Testament for Jewish people. I
asked him what he was going to call it and he said, The Jewish New Testament. He planned
keeping many of the Hebrew words with a footnote to define the word. He gave me the example of the woman in Luke 8:42-48, who had a bleeding problem for twelve years, but was
healed when she touched something on Jesus’ clothing. Some translations say she touched
the hem of His garment. NIV says she touched the edge of His cloak. All Orthodox Jews have
tassels hanging from the four corners of their shirts, as described in Numbers 15:3741. These tassels are called “tzitzit” in Hebrew. David’s translation says, “She touched the
tzitzit on Jesus’ garment.” The footnote then describes the tassel that she touched.
David’s translation became available in the US several years later in paperback form. I heard
David talking about the translation on a radio interview after we returned to the States, and I
was able to purchase it at a local Christian bookstore. I was accustomed to Joe Shulam
preaching from the Hebrew Bible or Greek Bible, and he would then translate it into English
for us. David Stern now has the entire Bible translated, which he calls The Complete Jewish
Bible. This one has both the Old and New Testaments in one volume. His introduction in the
front is worth the cost of the book to help you understand the Jewish mind. The first printing
was disappointing, but later printings have been revised and are much better.
There were a lot of interesting people at the seminar. Marcia Shulam was responsible for
registration, so my Sally worked with her while I stood around and watched. As a result, I
got to meet every person as they arrived. Several were or had been rabbis. One rabbi had
very long hair and a beard and wore a wool tousle hat all the time. He got very agitated
when I took his picture.
When I told the people at work that I was going to a Jewish believer seminar, they were surprised at the expression “Jewish believer.” They insisted that, if they became believers in Jesus, they were no longer Jews. It was a totally new concept to them when I explained that
Jews never have to give up their Jewish-ness when they come to believe that Jesus of Nazareth really was their Messiah, as promised in the Old Testament. I don’t know how many
Jews told me that they have been waiting for several thousand years for the Messiah, and that
they were sure he must have come and they missed him. Then some of them would say, “I
really believe that Jesus of Nazareth was the Messiah, but I don’t dare tell anyone.” We knew
Jewish believers who lost their jobs or their place in their families or in the community as a
result of their belief. That is why they were afraid to tell anyone that they were believers.
Since Sally sang with the community choir of Israel in 1969-71, she became part of the
group again, along with others from the airbase project. Yaacov Horesh, a concert pianist
from Bat Yam, which is south of Tel Aviv, accompanied the choir. His wife, Esther, is a professional who sang most of the soprano solos for the choir. Yaacov and Esther, and their
three beautiful little girls became like our own kids. We spent many hours in their home and
they in ours, endearing themselves to us.
In 1980, the choir director submitted a choir tape to Perry Como, who had scheduled his
Christmas TV show to be filmed in Jerusalem. The choir was selected, and in August, the
show was filmed on the south side of the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. The silver-domed El
Aksa Mosque was directly above where the choir stood, but hidden by the main supporting
wall of the Temple Mount. A group picture of Perry and the choir, taken the day of the filming, holds a special place in Sally’s memory scrapbook.
At this time, Sally and I were still members of the Church of Christ in the US. Joe Shulam received almost all of his support from the Church of Christ and was educated in Church of
Christ colleges in the US. When people with that background come to Israel, they usually
become involved with Joe’s ministry. One such family was John and Jan Massey with their
two daughters and son. John was the Communications Attaché with the US Embassy. Sally
and I hosted a Sunday night worship in our home and the Massey family became part of our
group. John led singing for worship in the States, and he led the worship for us.
Shortly after meeting the Masseys, they had us in their home for dinner. What a small world
it is when you are in the Lord. We soon learned that we had a mutual friend, Haldon Arnold. In the early 1960’s, while we were part of the Church of Christ in Camp Hill, Haldon
had served as our minister, along with his wife, Dot and their children. In fact, I had designed that church building and I served as one of their elders. Haldon had served with the
church for several years, when one of the elders who was very vocal determined that Haldon
be fired. Even though I had been part of the eldership that did the firing, we stayed in touch
with Haldon and Dot and remained friends through the years.
The Masseys came to Israel from Washington, where they worshipped at the Church of
Christ in Springfield, Virginia. That is where Haldon and Dot settled after leaving Camp
Hill. Haldon gave up the ministry and became a funeral director. Haldon was known as “the
candy man” at the Springfield congregation because he always carried candy in his pocket
for the kids. Sherry Massey got more than her share of the candy, and that evening, sitting
across the table from me, she asked, “Mr. Buck, you don’t really know Mr. Haldon, do you?”
Since we knew we would not have a car given to us to use on the airbase project like we did
ten years earlier, we had shipped two 3-speed bikes from the States. While we lived in Ramat
Ha Sharon, I sometimes rode my bike to work; however most of the time, I took the city
bus. When Sally and I were not riding our bikes, we were walking. All this exercise was
good for me, just a year after my bypass surgery. I am sure it is one of the reasons I have survived 30 years with no further heart surgery required on my coronary arteries.
I could write a book on our experiences in Israel, and all the Biblical sites we visited, but I
will wrap this up and return to the US. The sixty-hour workweeks wore out a lot of the airbase personnel, and many returned to the States before the project was completed. I was kept
on the project almost to completion. Sally and I moved back to the Sheraton Hotel when the
lease on the home expired. We were given a nice two-room suite with two full baths. Sally
made the one bath into a kitchen where she cooked some very nice dinners. We left Israel in
December of 1981.
On our way back to the States, we stopped in Greece to visit Mike and Fran Yasenchak, who
had left the airbase project and were working with an engineering company in Athens. We
spent several days with them and then took a ferry to the Greek island of Mykonose. This
was a great idea and resulted in a wonderfully adventurous week on the island. With the exception of an American missionary family on their way back to the States from Borneo in
Southeast Asia, Sally and I were the only non-natives on the island since it was off-season.
We had a map of the island, and every day for a week, we spent the day on a different
beach. We ate our evening meal at a little café, which was owned and operated by a Greek
mother and son. We were most often the only “non-locals.” They were very friendly and
served delicious dishes that hooked us on Greek food.
The owner of the Inn where we stayed supplied us with fresh rolls, cheeses and fruits each
morning at breakfast. We purchased drinks to pack with our lunch and were ready to
explore our beach for the day. I bought an all-wool fisherman’s cap in one of the shops that I
am still wearing after 25 years. Sally purchased two tea sets that have always had a special
place in our home.
Throughout the years, we have hosted many “Greek evenings” with friends, complete with
an all-Greek meal and a trip to the Greek Islands, via a selection of beautiful slides and happy
memories of the “vacation of a lifetime.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
A Decision Based on Love
Life in Florida
Returning home to Pennsylvania, I was without a job for the first time in my professional career of thirty-three years. I knew this was the way it would be when I left Gannett Fleming to
work in Israel, and Sally and I had decided that I would try to stay in foreign work. I quickly
sent resumes to thirty or more engineering companies involved in overseas projects and was
hired by Lyons Engineering, Inc., based in Honolulu, Hawaii. The project was to design and
construct a port facility in Columbia, South America. They moved very quickly with us. We
had visas and passports ready, and Sally had everything packed, crated, and ready to
ship. We were waiting for final travel arrangements when we were notified that the political
situation in Columbia went from bad to worse, and the port project was put on hold. Their
instruction was to just sit tight and wait until something else opened up. This gave us precious time to spend with the family, and we settled into the basement apartment with Lora
and her family, and traveled from there to see the other kids, scattered from western Pennsylvania to New York State.
It wasn’t long until the company called from Hawaii, asking if we would be willing to go to
Java, Indonesia, to work on the design of an expressway. The man running the project had to
leave suddenly, and they needed me in Java the next week. Since we already had all the paper work, shots, etc., done for overseas work and were all packed, it was not an unreasonable
request. We thought favorably of the location for the project. In two hours we could be in
Perth, Australia, Bangkok, Tahiti, and other exciting places, and they were asking that we
stop en route in Hawaii for visas and job briefing. I made a hasty decision to say “yes”, but it
was not to be that we would go to Java.
Shortly after I hung up the phone, John Cross from Gannett’s Florida office called, asking if I
would consider coming back to Gannett to work on a construction project in Miami for Dade
County. Sally and I had been very close to John and Joanne Cross several years earlier when
John worked in the Harrisburg office. They worshipped with us at the same church and
were like our own kids. In fact, we had cared for Martha, who celebrated her first birthday
with us while Mommy was giving birth to baby #5. I told John that I had just agreed to go to
Java on a project minutes ago, but I did want to think about the possibility of coming back
with Gannett, and especially working with him. I immediately called Moe Wadsworth, still
President of the transportation division in the main office. I explained my predicament that I
had just agreed to work for another company, leaving immediately for Java but that my
thoughts were very positive about the job in Miami. The salary difference was about $25,000
a year, plus many other benefits for the Java job. Moe and I talked for a long time, and in the
end, I decided to go back to Gannett. Moe asked on what basis I was making this decision. I
told him it was love, and he wanted to know if love was worth $25,000. To me it was.
Looking back now, we feel very strongly that God was the one who guided our decision. For
one thing, Sally’s second mother was in the last stages of cancer, and Sally was able to be with
her and the family as she left this life, flying up from Florida when the time came. Had we
been in Java, this could not have happened. Also, we had already been away from our children for three years, and working in Florida made it possible to fly home at regular intervals,
especially the Christmas holiday each year. Plus our children and grandchildren were able to
visit us in Florida several times.
The Miami project was the construction of a 16 million dollar bus maintenance facility located on thirty acres along the Miami River and about six blocks east of the Miami Airport. There was an automatic bus washing facility capable of washing three buses at the
same time, a fueling facility that handled two buses at a time, along with a vacuum that
sucked all dirt and trash out of the bus while being fueled. There was a 350-foot by 150-foot
operation and inspection building with eight hydraulic lifts, eight inspection pits, and ten
bays with solid floors; a light vehicle maintenance building; a major overhaul building about
the size of the O & I building, plus two paint spray booths and a huge parts supply section;
and a large two-story administration building that finished out the project. In addition, there
were about 25 acres of paving for drives and bus parking, concrete security walls, gates,
guard booths, and landscaping.
With the location just eight miles from the ocean, as soon as a hole was dug on site, it immediately filled up with water, rising and falling with the tide. Everything built had to be supported on a massive system of piles driven to a depth of up to eighty feet. The storm water
drainage was a nightmare, and the dewatering of the foundation holes was a constant battle
against the ocean tides.
Dade County had already built and operated three or four other bus maintenance facilities,
although this one was the largest. On previous construction projects, the county had provided their own construction management. When I arrived, the county had already begun
construction, and I was replacing the county’s resident engineer presently working on the
project. It soon became evident that the county employees on the job were not in favor of
Gannett Fleming providing management, and we got off to a rough start. Even moving into
the field office as the present county resident engineer vacated created an unpleasant situation, and later some of the county people working on the job threatened to “get me.” They
intended to run me out of there one way or another. This feeling reached throughout the entire Dade County mass transit force, making it very difficult to represent the county as their
engineer.
In addition to this conflict, there was an ongoing battle between the contractor and me,
which is something that automatically goes with the territory. Since Gannett did the design
for the entire project, they expected me to defend their design plans, even when errors were
found (and there were many). The contractor and his subs fought me at the other end, because errors in the construction plans caused by Gannett Fleming, were creating extra cost
for them. At the beginning of the job, there were times when I felt I should have gone to
Java. In fact, several I times I told George Smith, my boss with Gannett, that I wondered why
I was sticking it out instead of leaving them for another job. George said, “Why do you think
we asked for the company to hire you back again for this job?” They all knew what a difficult time any resident engineer would have, and as they said, “You know you never send a
boy to do a man’s job.”
Allow me to jump ahead about twenty years to share one of the God-happenings in our
lives. It amazes me how God brings someone into your life, then continues to let them be a
part of your journey on down the road. You might recall that the main thing that convinced
me to take the job in Miami was to work again with John Cross, the engineer responsible for
the design of this bus maintenance facility. As I was writing this particular part of my journal late spring of 2002, Sally and I were spending several days on Hilton Head Island on our
return from a two-week stay at St. Augustine. As I was writing about John, I recalled that he
and Joanne were originally from the Richmond, Virginia area. It was our plan to stop in Mechanicsville, a suburb of Richmond on our way back to Pennsylvania to visit with our daughter Melanie and family and to worship with them on Sunday morning. Gary and Melanie
shared that they had started a tradition of eating breakfast out every Saturday and that they
had invited a friend from the past to eat with us. We soon found the guest to be Joanne
Cross, the former wife of John Cross in Miami, not having seen each other for twenty
years. The children were grown, and she and John divorced for most of their growing-up
years. We had a lot of catching up to do. Joanne and her children worshipped at the same
worship center that Melanie and Gary attended. I don’t know why God chose to arrange our
time together, perhaps just to be an encouragement to Joanne, or it could be to get us back in
touch with John who at this time was not walking with God.
Now returning to 1980 and the project in Dade County, let me continue. Rick Bunning was
the project manager for Rooney Construction (the general contractor), equipped with a bad
temper and a dirty mouth that poured out curses when he felt things were not in his favor. The county engineer that I replaced had worked with Rick on a previous project and felt
that Rick could not be trusted. In the final days he worked with me during the transition period, he seemed to take pleasure in looking for things Rick was doing wrong. I also was told
by several of the Dade County people that in order to get Rick’s attention, you had to hit him
in his pocketbook to get him to do what you want him to do. Starting out with Rick after the
county people were gone, it seemed that Rick expected the same treatment from me.
Early in the project, I assured Rick that I would fight for Rooney Construction for anything
they were entitled to, but I expected Rick to be honest with me in everything concerning the
project. It took a long time for him to see that he really could trust me, but slowly he relaxed
and changed his management style. He still used the bad language when speaking with me,
and one day on the phone I told him I did not appreciate the language he was using. He told
me he just wanted me to know how strongly he felt about the issue at hand and my response
was, “Rick you don’t have to use that kind of language with me.” Several weeks later, I called
Rick to register a complaint about the poor job one of his mechanical sub-contractors was
doing. Rick wanted to know who it was and I hesitated to tell him because I only knew him
by his nickname, which was, “Turd” (some nickname!). Rick, sensing how uncomfortable I
was with the nickname, said to me, “Buck, you don’t have to use that kind of language with
me.” We had a good laugh over the incident, but I realized that I had gotten through to him
at least on one thing.
John Griest was the county co-equal from the Dade County organization working with me,
and he also got off to a bad start from the beginning. A young man in his early thirties with a
very forceful personality, John seemed to delight in finding any mistake to trap me. I observed him entering the operations and inspection building one morning as the building was
nearing completion. I waited a long time before going down to see what he was doing on the
job. He came charging up to me with fire in his eyes. He stuck his face in mine and barked
out a bunch of questions like an army drill sergeant. We stood nose to nose for ten minutes
he grilled me. He had gone over the entire building, making a mental note of everything he
thought might be wrong, demanding I tell him why we had done it this way. I don’t remember anymore all that his list contained, but one thing that upset him was the absence of an
alarm bell to warn of a dangerous buildup of gas in the battery storage room. As he yelled
out his question, I quietly explained that an alarm bell was not required because of the air
exhaust system, installed to eliminate any buildup of gas. It seemed after answering each of
his questions I could almost hear the air going out of his sails. When John had exhausted his
list of complaints and questions, he didn’t know how to gracefully end the confrontation, as
we still stood staring into each other’s eyes. Finally, without another word, he quietly
dropped his head and walked away.
I just have to tell you that by the end of the project, John and I became good friends, and
what I will share later will explain this. At the end of the project when we were closing everything out, John said to me, “Buck, I don’t know how you did it. With all we continued to
throw at you, I could never have done the job you did.” I believe it was my honesty and the
way I quieted the spirit of people involved in the project that gained John’s respect. For this I
thank God, for He was the One who led me and guided me through every confrontation
placed before me.
Now as to how Sally got involved in the project. I was so understaffed that most of my time
was spent on the job, not allowing me to spend much time with my Sally and our lovely
condo on the beach (Miami Beach). Sally kept telling me how guilty she felt with all the free
time she had, and could she please come into the office and do what she could to free me for
more hours at home. Serving as a volunteer, she was able to help in many ways from the
very beginning. After several months, she was putting in a full day at the office, and both my
mechanical and electrical inspectors were asking her to explain the mechanical or electrical
drawings to them. My office engineer told Sally he didn’t know how to write change orders
and asked her if she could please write them for him. About this time, I heard Sally talking to
George Smith from the downtown Gannett office. George often made these unexpected little
visits to our field office, and after talking to her, he came into my office wanting to know why
I had Sally working for us without paying her. In a nice way, he chewed me out, saying that
Gannett Fleming doesn’t allow people to work for us without paying them. He told me to put
her on the payroll right away. So I hired Sally at the Dade County going rate for an office
engineer, which was more than she ever earned in her life.
I had hired Bill Burger as an office engineer whose primary responsibility was writing and
tracking change orders. He obviously was not capable of doing his job since Sally had already been doing his work. Since Bill Burger had previously had his own heating, ventilating, and air conditioning business in York, Pennsylvania, before retiring and moving to Florida, I made him my mechanical inspector as Ralph Palo, present mechanical inspector, couldn’t even read the drawings. This opened up the office engineer position, which I moved Sally
into at $25.00 an hour. This position put her in way over her head, with a lot of responsibility that she soon handled well. She developed her own tracking system for change orders, a
system that worked so well that she was always ready to tell any county person whose desk
an order was sitting on at any time. The status of change orders was needed almost every
day, and she tracked each one from the day it left her desk through the review process in the
county organization, right through to final payment to the contractor. Sally could tell you
how many change orders had been written and the total cost of each one. I could not have
asked for a better office engineer.
Rose Austin, the secretary that had stayed after the county personnel moved out, had been
attending our weekly progress review meetings, taking minutes and typing them for distribution and for our records. Rose had no understanding of engineering terms, which made for
some pretty humorous review meeting minutes. A “for instance” was the day we talked in
detail about winches that raised and lowered the overhead exhaust ventilation ducts. Typing
the minutes (which had already been distributed to all meeting attendees), every place the
word “winch” appeared, she had typed “wench.” Between the many typo errors and mistakes like this, I knew I had to do something to correct this so Sally attended the meetings in
her place, leaving her free to answer the phone on meeting days. Sally would write the minutes out in longhand and then Rose would type them, bring them to Sally for proofing, and
then Rose would copy and distribute them.
When the Major Overhaul building was almost completed, we had to move our field office
off site in order to complete parking lot paving. We moved into several offices in the new
building. Sally and I shared an office with our desks pushed together facing each other. Coworkers would come into the office expressing disbelief that husband and wife could work
together in this close proximity in harmony day after day. Looking back now, we often remember fondly those three years, together twenty-four hours a day, so grateful for the opportunity to live right on the ocean, first one year in Hallendale at the Parker Dorado on
Ocean Drive – a lovely apartment on the fifth floor, all windows facing the ocean. The next
two years we lived further south in Miami Beach, 5601 Collins Avenue, once again in an
ocean-front apartment on the twelfth floor. Each weekday, we’d arrive very early, often before the contractor’s men were on the job, work out our day plan, and get to work. Having
more free hours away from the job, we developed a schedule – an early morning run on the
beach, breakfast on the balcony, then off to work. Returning in the evening, Sally would
walk another two miles on the beach while I would swim either in the ocean or the pool. After a quick shower, we’d be off to visit our favorite eating place, or we’d cook a simple meal
together. Our very favorite place to eat was a little raw-bar on the inner-coastal not far
away. They had very fresh seafood every day, served outside on picnic benches on the
wooden dock where pleasure boats were tied up while eating dinner. The boat owners would
join us on the dock. The bar owners, a couple retired from Pennsylvania, were about our
age. Music from the big band era was our dinner music. It just couldn’t get any better!
Our Christian support came from a Christian Church in Fort Lauderdale the first year and a
half. Then we started attending a Christian church in Miami Shores closer by. The fellowship was not as sweet, but we felt more needed there. Sally taught a Bible class for women,
mostly young wives/ mothers, searching for a stronger walk with God. They had come to
her shortly after we started attending, asking if she would teach them. I became very close to
the minister, and looking back now, I hope I was an encourager for Frank. There were so
many “snow-birds,” retirees that spent the winter months only in Florida, making for very
little commitment from the men in the congregation. We still kept in touch with some of the
brethren in Ft. Lauderdale on a social basis.
I probably shouldn’t tell this story, but I think it needs to be told. Frank Stevens hadn’t been
in ministry very long so I can excuse what was going on. Shortly after starting to attend at
Miami Shores, the date to elect new elders was drawing near. They asked me to serve on the
nominating committee with several others. One young girl on the committee had been a
Christian a very short time and had no idea what an elder was for or what qualifications
were required by God. I was in no better shape to nominate someone since I did not know
the members, only having attended there several weeks. I attended the next elders meeting
and told them they were not ready to appoint elders. I suggested that Frank preach a series
of sermons on the eldership to prepare the church to select the right men for such an impor-
in the Lord’s church. Frank wanted to do that but one of the men said, “Wait a minute.
What would Tallahassee say if they found out the Miami Shores Church was not following
the church bylaws, which required the appointment of elders on a certain date?” They could
not legally put the appointment off long enough for Frank to preach a sermon series. I suggested they file their bylaws in the back of a file drawer somewhere and forget where they
were.
I read God’s qualifications for elders from First Timothy 3 and from Titus 1. One of the men
who had been serving as an elder for several years spoke up saying he guessed he does not
even come close to meeting those qualifications. He was ready to step down right away. As
they talked about their eldership, I learned that all an elder was to do there was serve at the
Lord’s table each Sunday. In fact, only an ordained person could serve at the table, which
meant an ordained elder or an ordained preacher. The elders had a prayer taped on the table
they sat behind to read before communion was served. One week, the lady who was cleaning
removed the prayer from the table to clean it. Come time for communion, the elders could
not “officiate” because they could not pray without their printed prayer. As I write this, it
seems so funny, but it is pathetic that there was a church so steeped in tradition they did not
know any better. We had to leave Florida when the construction project was finished, but I
hope our being there for that year may have made a difference in that church’s life.
As the project was winding down, George Smith and I took several high officials from Rooney
Construction to lunch one day. George asked Rick Bunning what we could expect in the way
of claims and damage suits. Rick’s answer was, “Zero.” He then stated that Buck had taken
care of everything as soon as a problem arose, so that at the end of the project there was
nothing left to settle. George could not believe his ears, for this had never happened before in
all the history of Dade County. Claims filed at project completion are expected to total millions of dollars. It was a wonderful feeling to hear Rick’s words, and we look back now and
realize that we had God’s ongoing blessing and help during those three years of work in Miami.
It was not always easy, for Sally had written well over a hundred change orders by this time,
a result of poor design on the part of Gannett Fleming. George Smith, angry and frustrated
over this. He was aware of the conflicts between architectural, structural, mechanical and
electrical drawings, but ordered me not to write any more change orders. In fact, in a heated
discussion with George, he said, “Buck, I AM TELLING YOU JUST ONE MORE TIME, NO
MORE CHANGE ORDERS!” I had to go over his head, calling Bob Dietz in the home office in
Camp Hill, getting his understanding and permission to keep on writing change orders that
were needed to complete the project, in the end totaling almost two hundred.
Some time after the lunch date with Rick, I was in a high level meeting in downtown Miami
with George Smith, a Gannett Fleming Vice-President, along with county commissioners,
mass transit officials, two other Gannett Fleming Vice-Presidents, John Cross (project designer), and many of the county officials I had been working with. George Smith stood up,
and out of the blue made a statement that Sally Hinton had contributed more to the success of
this project than any person in the room. I was shocked, but what a sense of pride I felt for
my Sally!
Just before we closed up the field office, county people would come by to thank us for the
good job, wishing us well as we moved on. John Griest, the man from the county that had so
long been a thorn in the flesh, told me our project had been the best-administered project in
all the history of Dade County, thanks to Sally. (If I know my Sally, she will want to strike
Insert from Sally:
[Just a few days ago as I was proofreading this chapter, Buck and I were going back in memory to that time spent in Florida. Without a doubt we know that it was God who guided us on
the project. I know that I was in no way capable of accomplishing the tasks and responsibility placed upon me. Prayer was an ongoing part of my day, and my confidence and emotional well-being were supplied by my Lord on a daily basis. God deserves the praise for all
that I was able to accomplish. Buck also gives Him the glory for a job well done!]
Since our lease on the Miami Beach condo had not expired by the time we were ready to return to Pennsylvania, we left our belongings there, not knowing where the company would
place us next. Gannett asked us to look at a possible project in Mississippi en route
home. Though we made this side trip, the company did not get the job. It was a nice experience for us to see the area and have a few days to unwind. Arriving back in Lake Meade with
Lora’s family, we enjoyed seeing all the kids before a position opened up for me in northern
New Jersey. That part of life’s journey begins a new chapter in our lives.
CHAPTER NINE
Praise God for Stinkin’ Cats!
Life in New Jersey
Little did we realize how our lives would change as we made the move to New Jersey. I did
not mention it in the previous chapter, but during our time in Miami, there were periods of
time when I struggled with heart medication. During those three years in Miami, I was never
real confident of the doctors I had chosen. Although the job was stressful at times, it was in
New Jersey that the stress level would affect my well being in a major way.
For several years, Gannett Fleming had been involved in managing the construction of a commuter rail system. They had no design personnel available to shift to the design of a new
project in the New Jersey office. They had a contract for the design of a 40 million dollar interchange between two major expressways. My job was to develop a design office where
none ever existed. We moved several design engineers from the Camp Hill and Michigan
offices, transferred several from construction, and hired several locally as a design nucleus. Roger Banks, an employee I had known from the home office in years past, was running the New Jersey office.
Shortly after arriving there, we found a little cottage at 10 Maple Lane in Rainbow Lakes
community to rent. Housing was very expensive in New Jersey, and our one-bedroom cottage rented for $1,000 per month. Sally flew to Florida to arrange moving what we had left
there in our Miami Beach condo. This was during a very cold, snowy January. The moving
van arrived in New Jersey during blizzard conditions. The movers had obviously never
moved anyone in such conditions and were dressed for Florida weather, right down to the
sandals on their feet. As soon as Sally had our home in order, Roger Banks put her on payroll, working on “close out” of the rail construction project. He refused to let her work in my
office, feeling it was not good for a husband and wife to work together. Actually, Roger believed very strongly that no husband and wife could get along together well enough to spend
eight hours in the same office. We were able to work the same hours but not in the same
building.
The first week we were in New Jersey, we found the Parsippany Christian Church. We called
to Tom Hart, the minister, and found out that his wife was the cousin of our pastor’s wife
back in Pennsylvania. The wife of one of the elders was also a cousin to Gail Hamilton at
Capital Area Christian Church in Pennsylvania. We placed membership the first Sunday and
immediately became involved in the work. Not too long after placing membership, I was appointed as one of the elders, serving for the two years we were there. Sally soon was asked to
teach a Bible class for the young women, eager to grow in God’s Word and deepen their skills
as wives and mothers.
Our stay in Rainbow Lakes was a short one, as the former tenant had several cats. It was obvious that the tomcat had left his mark, and it was impossible to get rid of the strong and ob-
It was another God-happening that led us to a young homebuilder, Tom Johnson, who had
just completed a very nice two-family duplex. He and his wife, Valerie, had just moved into
the one side and were looking for a tenant for the other side. Valerie had given birth to their
first daughter, Laura, four months prior to that. Our rent cost jumped to $1500 per month
for the duplex, but it was closer to the office and allowed us to witness our faith in a very
positive way to Tom and Valerie.
Shortly after we got settled there, a group of young adults from the Parsippany church asked
us if we would lead their small group. Most of the group were very new in their faith and
wanted not only a teacher, but an older couple to mentor them in their new-found walk with
the Lord. We met with them in the home of the one married couple, but as the group continued to grow, our place became the host home. There were four married couples and five or
six single adults. Bob and Kathy Kelly were the only ones with a child and little Bobby endeared himself to all of us.
We tried to persuade Tom and Valerie to join our group, but always got the same answer,
“Oh no, we’re Catholics.” However, they did join us for our special potlucks and birthday
celebrations. This gang loved to “party.” When Rick and Monica Bailor joined the group,
their two daughters, Jodi and Sarah, became very close to little Laura at the various fellowships. Slowly we watched as Tom and Valerie began to notice a difference in the lives of
these couples. Valerie would make a point later of asking questions pertaining to our faith,
adding that she and Tom never experienced this in the Catholic Church, yet she would add
that they could never hurt their families and leave the Catholic Church.
When we left New Jersey to return to Pennsylvania, we stayed in contact with Tom and Valerie through phone calls and notes in Christmas cards. They would add two more daughters
to their family, Theresa and Pamela. The wonderful news we received two years after we left
was that they could not find peace in their souls after we left, and they went searching for
what was missing. They found a spirit-filled evangelical church, and as Valerie wrote with
excitement, “We’re born again, living our lives in the same kind of joy you have.” Praise God
for the stinkin’ cats that sent us packing!
A year or so after heart surgery in 1978, I developed a heart arrhythmia problem that I managed to control through medication. In New Jersey, the job stress level was higher than I had
ever experienced before, so much so that the medication was not able to control the heart
problem. Frequent trips to the cardiologist and several night-time trips to the hospital emergency room still did not get the irregular heart beat under control. The doctor insisted that I
had no choice but to get away from so much stress.
After much discussion between Sally and me, we agreed that something must be done if I
wished to continue living. The news of my problem reached home office and Moe
Wadsworth called to see exactly what my heart was doing. When I told him he said, “Oh my
goodness, I have been looking all over the company for a less stressful job that would work
for you, but such a job does not exist in all of Gannett Fleming.” Moe asked, “Have you ever
thought of going on disability? You only have a few years until retirement.” I told Moe I had
thought about it a time or two but I was not a quitter. I came to New Jersey intending to
complete the job and had not yet completed it. He assured me that my primary responsibility
to the company when I came to New Jersey was to put together a design group that could design the complex interchange for the State of New Jersey. It was the opinion of the company
that I did accomplish what I came to do.
So I began the process of applying for disability with the insurance company Gannett had
used for coverage. Gannett Fleming paid part of the insurance premium and I paid the rest
for a policy that read, “If for any reason, you are unable to fulfill the functions of your present position, you are disabled.” The first step in this process was to get my cardiologist to
sign the disability form provided by the insurance company, and he refused to do that. He
said that anyone who could walk into his office under his own power was not disabled. He
was sure he could find a medication that would work in controlling my heart rhythm problem.
We made the decision to leave New Jersey, move back to Pennsylvania and pray for God’s
will to guide us. I went to Dr. Althouse, my former cardiologist in Shiremanstown, and he
too refused to sign the insurance forms for the same reason. He suggested that I go to Dr. Little, my primary care physician. Dr. Little was very kind and sympathetic, saying he had the
same professional disability insurance policy and understood the provisions. He said that if
the time were to come, he hoped that others would not block him from receiving the benefits
of the policy he paid into. However, since Dr. Little was not a cardiologist, he could not sign
the forms, and suggested that I go to Dr. Lim in Harrisburg who was a cardiologist. Dr Lim
gladly signed the forms because he, too, had a similar policy. It would be eight months before the disability payments would begin, but Sally returned to Holy Spirit Hospital, working
in the same department she had been in when we went to Israel in 1979.
We were living in the home at Lake Meade with Lora and Danny while we were looking for
land to build another retirement home. Lora and Danny had taken over the mortgage in
1979, having lived there since before Tammy was a year old. They had maintained and
cared for the house with loving care.
We started looking for land to build on in York County to be close to our daughter Lora and
her two children, Jeff and Tammy. After exhausting all possibilities, we started looking north
of Harrisburg because our daughter Becky and her husband Sandy lived up that way. We
eventually bought ten wooded acres in Juniata County north of Liverpool. I turned 59 that
November and Sally had her 56th birthday in December. In early January, we had settlement
on the land, and by early spring we were starting the next leg of our journey – building a log
home.
CHAPTER TEN
Our Hilltop Retreat
Adventures with Wilderness Log Homes
March 1986 - 1998
(Written by Sally)
Buck had always wanted to build a home, even though he has always insisted that working
with tools was never one of his gifts, and his schedule would not have allowed the time
needed. In all his years in engineering, he always jokingly said that he worked with a pencil
in one hand and an eraser in the other. If a line didn’t look right, he erased it and tried
again. He said he figured he could build a home the same way, nail a log in place and if it
didn’t look right, remove it and try again. Looking ahead to retirement years, Buck and I both
felt strongly about this adventure, for it would certainly give our life new purpose. Having
already secured the land, our next step was ordering the log home package from Wilderness
Log Homes out of Plymouth, Wisconsin.
We applied for a construction loan from the same bank we had used from the early years of
our marriage. Dauphin Deposit Trust Company was quick to lend us their money, even
though Buck had never built a home and we were going to do all the work ourselves. He sold
them on the fact that he was a professional engineer familiar with construction, and we had
been a customer of theirs for years. Not only that, but Gannett Fleming also banks with
them. By early spring, we were ready to begin construction. We bought a second-hand 20foot camper and a second-hand, full-sized Chevy truck, towed the camper onto the land, and
pronto, we had a home. The well had already been dug, and the septic system was in, so we
ran a water line and waste line into the camper. Having no electricity yet, we bought a generator that would see many hours of labor for the next eight months.
The camper was home by the time Wilderness Log Homes delivered our construction package
in early April. I will never forget the feeling Buck and I had when the delivery truck and all
our unloading help was gone at the end of the day – the overwhelming question, “Will we
really be able to transform all this ‘stuff’ into a home?” There was everything from logs,
framing lumber, flooring, windows, doors, insulation, and roofing, right down to the nails
and the caulking to seal between the logs. But as the sun set that evening, we had a deep
sense of peace, knowing that God had led us to this point, and He would be there with us as
we worked together to build our dream home. Our daughter Lora gave us a poster shortly
after this day, which we hung in a prominent place in the camper. It became our perseverance motivator, for the words written over a log cabin in the background said, “THEY CONQUER WHO ENDURE.” We did both with the help of God and our supportive children and
church family.
The same man who put in the septic system also constructed the long, curved, uphill drive
and dug the foundation. The site for the house was on the very top of the hill, overlooking
the Susquehanna Valley, about five miles north of Liverpool. Four out of ten acres were
cleared, but covered with wild rose bushes and other persistent wild bushes. Buck bought an
old tractor with a bush-hog and spent many hours fighting with all that tangled growth before we could even begin to start a lawn. The wooded area had a spring and a small mountain stream, plus a variety of mature and young trees, all growing on a side hill. The closest
house we could see was two miles away on the other side of the river. We had a full view of
the Susquehanna Valley and mountains across the river to enjoy all year round. We have
many photos of beautiful sunrises that God provided for us over the next twelve years.
I continued to work second shift at Holy Spirit Hospital five nights a week, which was a fortyfive minute drive one way. Arriving home after midnight, I would be up at daylight. We
would have breakfast together, then begin our day of construction. By 1:00 pm, I would
shower (always cold showers, and let me tell you, the well water running through the garden
hose got mighty cold), then off to work. Buck would work through the day until he could no
longer see, then get his shower and hop into bed. He slept like a baby every night and
seemed to thrive on hard work with no emotional stress! We lost weight and put on muscle,
gained body strength, and became younger as construction progressed. I remember one trip
to the bank with our construction progress report and request for building invoices to be
paid. Buck asked the young woman who did most of these transactions for us, when someone from the bank was going to come to see if indeed we were building a home with their
money. She answered , “I have no doubt but what you are building something because you
both get more slender and tanned each week, and injuries like Sally’s broken toe show you’re
building something.”
We were determined not to hire any work done except the excavating and brick chimney. We poured the foundation walls ourselves, and that was almost a fiasco. The concrete
truck arrivals were kind of stressful, and I didn’t understand how fast things had to happen. Buck’s panic of needing several more laborers “right now” who knew what they were
doing was pretty evident, but I still didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing. Looking
back now, we were probably pretty entertaining to those guys manning the concrete
trucks. We persevered though, didn’t have any big blow-up fights, and the foundation walls
stood solid, ready to support what came next.
The framing was next on the agenda. We threw a “framing party” and invited our church
family and our own kids to come, with the instruction to “bring your own hammer.” Come
they did - a gang of them, young and old, slightly experienced, and those with no experience,
but all with a willing spirit, determined to frame a house and still have fun. And we surely
did! Cabot Lodge laughs every time he tells the story of how he framed a very long wall upside down. Only one man came with a framing hammer, so I figured we had at least one man
who knew how to frame home. Actually, if the truth were known, we did not know a thing
about framing a home either. We bought a do-it-yourself book titled, “How to Frame a
Home.” The young man with the framing hammer told us he didn’t own a hammer so the
day before he had bought his hammer at a flea market!
We have some neat photos of that day in our scrapbook. I cooked mountains of food and
made gallons of iced tea and lemonade. We shared a lot of laughs, and the walls of the house
are still standing. It was a great party! There would be many more Saturdays when the
church gang and our kids who lived close-by came and helped us – so much fun, so many
picnics, wonderful fellowship, and so many sweet memories! When we were almost finished
and the last work party was upon us, we were sitting under the canopy in front of the
camper having lunch. David Kidd asked, “What in the world are we going to do on Saturdays now? I’m going to miss this.” We missed them and have placed every one of those experiences in our memory bank to go back and reminisce through coming years. Putting this
story in writing serves as a beautiful reminder of these great memories.
We started construction in April of 1987 and by late November, all electricity, heating, and
plumbing was in, along with the interior walls and sub-flooring. The water in the hose to the
camper was freezing at night, and the little heating element in the camper wasn’t working. Cold showers each day were pretty hard to take. Even though there was still much to be
done inside, we moved in the week before Thanksgiving. Empty mud buckets turned upside
down became chairs and a leftover end of a sheet of plywood balanced on a bucket served as
a table. Dishes and pots and pans were washed in the bathtub as the kitchen was still on the
“to-do” list.
We did have the refrigerator delivered and that in itself was a good story. While construction continued, we ordered all of our household appliances from Pal Teetz, a local appliance
dealer not far from us. Almost every day, we bought something from him and he would
write the cost on a slip of paper and throw it in his shoebox. There were the big appliances,
as well as lighting, on down to little electrical fasteners that Buck would run over to get when
he needed them. The refrigerator and matching upright freezer were delivered because Buck
needed both at the same time since he was building them into a special alcove in the kitchen
area. Not knowing where the checkbook was to pay him, Buck asked if he could bring payment over that night. Pal answered, “That’s all right, Buck. I’ve got it in the box. You can
settle up when you have everything you need. I know where things stand with your account.” The day the last thing was delivered, Buck went over to the store to settle-up and the
two of them went through the shoebox to sort out the things that were ours. We had been
told about the natives being so laid back and never in a hurry. Buck found that to be an understatement as every time he went to get a simple little plumbing fitting, he told me he
would be back in a few minutes. It usually was as much as two hours before he would get
back because they got to talking. That was one of the things that meant so much to us living
in Juniata County. Almost everyone we did business with had that sense of trust and kinship.
Sally, who wrote this chapter because she said I lost it the first time it was finished, did not
know some of the things that went on so I am going to insert a few paragraphs. I had to have
some of the logs ripped lengthwise to use for windowsills or above windows or doors to
match the log courses. Harold, a Mennonite and good friend and neighbor of Sandy and our
daughter Becky, had a woodworking shop nearby. Harold agreed to rip them for me, and
when I tried to pay him for the first ones he cut, he wanted to wait until we were all done
and pay him once for all of his work. It was probably a month later when we had all the ripping done that I needed. In settling up, Harold came up with $5 to cover his cost for diesel
fuel and saw sharpening. I said, “Harold you can’t make any money that way.” I loved his
answer, “Buck, you don’t make money off of a neighbor.”
I had Roger Hess, a nearby farmer, use his big forklift to unload our log home package, and
he learned that I was a retired professional engineer. He was building a tire reclamation
plant on his farm and needed an engineer to stamp and sign some engineering drawings to
satisfy the State Department of Labor and Industry. I agreed to do them for him and when he
tried to pay me for the work I told him, “You don’t make money off of a neighbor.” He said,
“Buck, I had to pay $1,000 to an other engineer to do what you just did. Please, at least take
this $100.” Later, I bought a flat of strawberries from him to make jelly and he refused my
money, saying, “Buck, you don’t make money off of a neighbor.” I wouldn’t be surprised if
the people are still saying that neighbor-to-neighbor twenty years later. I could tell story after story about some of the people who were our neighbors. They were all good people. (Now back to Sally.)
The winter moved in quickly that November, and as God created new beauty outside – lots
and lots of snow – we worked inside. On February 23rd and 24th, carpet was laid in the
kitchen/dining/living rooms, which made up one continuous open area fourteen feet by
fifty-four feet, with the south side almost all windows looking across the Susquehanna Valley. There were two large bedrooms and two full baths. On February 24th, our furniture arrived and, except for a few small details, our home was completed inside. We made it within
the ten months we had anticipated. I continued to work at the hospital for several more
years, and life was very precious on our hilltop.
In the spring, we built a deck and did a lot of landscaping on the cleared four acres. We
planted a row of fast-growing poplar trees along our property line facing our only neighbor,
and a lot of fruit trees as well as ornamental trees and bushes. Buck purchased a Rota-tiller
and had a beautiful big garden. We supplied vegetables for ourselves and our kids, and distributed the abundance from the back of our truck every Sunday to anyone who wanted
some. We purchased a riding mower after I realized that four acres was far too much to
push with a propelled mower. Since it was all up and down hill mowing, I spent a lot of time
on the mower. It took an experience of flipping the mower on a hill and rolling with it for
me to gain a respect of its power and danger. There would be no more “hot-rodding” after
that!
It was during that first spring that we became dealers for Wilderness Log Homes. In our
scrapbook of those ten years, you can get a picture of what that experience meant to us. It
was both pleasant and rewarding. During that same period, we were actively involved at
Capital Area Christian Church in Enola, requiring a thirty-five mile trip each way. Buck was
one of the elders, and we both taught midweek LIFE Group/Bible classes on different
nights. We were also asked if we would be willing to do the janitorial work for the church
building since we were down that way so often. It became a ministry, rather than a $60 per
week job, and we continued until the church secured land and built a new facility – another
part of our journey.
Our home became the CACC “Retreat Center” those twelve years. We hosted women’s overnight retreats that started with fifteen women, and by the last retreat there were thirtyseven. There were youth retreats, elders’ retreats, and family gatherings that were precious. Becky and Sandy lived nearby, and Jenny was born during this time, so we had opportunity to watch her grow. While we were log home dealers, we used our home as a
model. There were buyers who were more than clients, as evidenced in our scrapbook.
(Buck talking here.) Those of you who know how my Sally keeps a house can believe what
prospective clients said about our home. We always allowed people to go through our home
on their own. They would come out to the office remarking that the house didn’t look as if
people even lived it, as they couldn’t even find any hair on the vanities. After a while, I had
to post a sign on all the outside doors because people were accustomed to walking in other
log home models without knocking, expecting a model open to the public. It was embarrass-
Some of our clients would come with an idea of what they wanted their log home to look like,
but with no drawing or picture to show me. It was kind of fun to tell them to start describing
their home while I started to draw their plans. Most people can’t see what a home will look
like from architectural drawings, but when they would finally see the completed home, I
liked to ask them if it looks like the one they described to me in our office. Bob and Joan
Bowers came to us after visiting our competitors just up Route 15 from us. Joan seemed angry or troubled about something, and Bob asked her if she was going to show me her drawing. Reluctantly, she went out to their car and brought it in for me to see. It was drawn freehand on paper just a little better than a paper towel. I looked at it for a moment and she
wanted to know if I could work from the drawing. I assured her I could and told her how
much I appreciated any kind of a drawing instead of just an idea in her head. We made that
sale because our competitor laughed at her drawing and told her no one could work from it
and that she would have to hire an architect to design it for her. Now back to Sally.
In the spring of 1992, we made a family room out of our 24-foot by 24-foot garage, which
had been a one-car garage and an office. Our new family room had a cathedral ceiling and
log interior, complete with a gas fireplace. This spacious room became the gathering place
when family or friends visited. Part of the room served as an office for the business. Patio
doors looked out on a different view, north to the mountains toward Selinsgrove. This room
was also a plus for the business as many clients favored a log interior and all of our other
walls were drywall.
Buck’s large garden, along with the apple orchard adjacent to our property, invited deer to
come. It wasn’t unusual to count as many as twenty or more at one time, and they came daily
to visit. We have photos of them grazing so close to the house that it seemed they were looking in the windows at us. Buck’s corn patch was especially appealing to them and we had to
share the bounty when the corn was ready to eat. We also provided housing for many species of birds. A wren couple came back every spring for several years, building in the same
birdhouse, and we had an abundance of blue birds and tree swallows in the birdhouses.
We also had visits several times from the black bears. One day, we watched a pair of cubs
stripping all the sweet cherries from a tree along the edge of the woods, breaking branches as
they worked their way to the ends of the limbs. We sat on the front deck and watched until it
got too dark to see. It didn’t seem to bother them having an audience. One other day, I was
on the mower out near the poplar tree line and looked up and saw right in front of me a
good-sized black bear, with the mower and me on a collision course with the bear. I was so
excited that I made a quick left turn and hurried down to the garden to tell Buck to come
quick if he wanted to see the black bear. However, by the time I had his attention, the bear
had already disappeared over the hill.
After the big snow in 1995 and eleven years on the hilltop, we had decided to sell the home
and move closer to the church, giving up the log home dealership. We had met Bob and Joan
Bower, and Buck had custom-designed a lovely log home for them, which, was built in Shermansdale several years before. We became good friends with the Bowers, and for two years
they helped us with our booth at the Pennsylvania Builders Show. When we spoke to them
about the desire to pass the business on to someone else, Bob and Joan were very interested in
taking our place with Wilderness. At the same time, Duke and Julie Lower came to see our
house, which Duke’s mother knew we were selling. Duke’s mom attended a Bible class in
our home and knew how nice it was. She told Duke not to buy until he saw our home.
There is no doubt in our minds that God sent them to us. Buck and I had asked God to send a
couple to us who loved the Lord and would dedicate this home to God as we had. They
came…they liked…they bought. Strong Christians that they are, they dedicated their home
to the Lord. Several years after they moved in, they invited us to a Valentines banquet in their
home with a large group from their church just down the road from their log home. They
took ownership in 1998 and now have two adorable little boys. They love their “hilltopretreat,” and use it often for church functions just as we did. Duke and Julie even adopted
Sadie, the dog that had endeared herself to us the year we had our grandson Stephen with
us. Sadie is one of the Lower family now and a very important part of their boys’ everyday
life.
(Buck’s addition) Bob and Joan became Wilderness dealers in our place. We were honored
together at a Wilderness conference in Wisconsin shortly after that. I had already told Wilderness Log Homes that Sally and I would not be attending their annual dealer conference in
Plymouth, Wisconsin that year, but they called and insisted that we come. Saying we could
not afford to make the trip since we were no longer dealers, they insisted it would not cost us
any thing because the company was going to pay for our hotel and meals. My answer was
still no because of the cost to drive out to Wisconsin, but they said they would arrange for
someone to pick us up at our home and drop us off at our home. We agreed to come, but I
kept thinking this was most unusual, and they must have something special in mind.
Sure enough, Bob and Joan Bowers called to tell us they would be picking us up to go to the
dealer conference in Wisconsin. The conference went on as usual until the second day we
were all to meet at a special place for the day’s activities. At lunchtime, the day turned into
an anniversary celebration for Buck and Sally. Our anniversary was another reason I had
given them for not wanting to come that year. The last night of a conference was always
their night for a big awards banquet. Since Sally and I gave up our dealership early in the
year, we wouldn’t have any awards coning to us. We were surprised when we were given an
award for a number of sales that were left over from the year before. The last award of the
evening went to us. The company was inducting us into the “Wilderness Log Homes Hall of
Fame.” They took a special picture of us to be prominently displayed in their headquarters
lobby.
The thing that always blows my mind when I think of it is the fact that in all my life I have
never been able to sell a thing. I was never a good salesperson and knew that I never would
be. Yet, Sally and I won many awards for most sales in a year, including an all-expensespaid trip to Acapulco, Mexico. How could that have happened? Knowing my lack of sales
ability, would God get involved in this way? That brings me to an experience I have told
many times to illustrate how God works in our lives. We sold a small log cabin package to a
land development company that was trying to sell off lots on top of the mountain between
Bedford and Somerset Counties. We had arranged to have a log homebuilder from Western
Pennsylvania build the cabin. He helped with the delivery but changed his mind about doing
the construction. We were stuck, so I appealed to a builder friend in the Harrisburg area to
frame the walls and put the roof on for us. Then our son Mark and his brother-in-law, Ken
Rocky, did the log work. Sally and I did the finishing work, including the staining.
We still had some odds and ends to finish that we could do in one day, but we were running
into deer season and this cabin was located on top of the mountain on the Bedford/Somerset
County line with many deer everywhere. No way did I want to be there with hunters shooting all around us, so we delayed until after deer season. We went out in mid-December with
the temperature below freezing all day. The road up from New Paris was a dirt road, wide
enough for only one car most of the way. There were no guardrails on the downhill side,
which was very steep with a drop of about 300 feet. Near the top of the mountain, the road
was covered with six inches of ice for a distance of 500 feet. With our four-wheel drive
truck we had no problem going up over the ice. All day I am thinking to myself about what a
good salesman I turned out to be. I have sold many homes. I have won all kinds of sales
awards. I am a good salesman. I think I can do anything I put my mind to. I am good.
With that kind of puffed up attitude, I started thinking about the trip down off that mountain
with the icy road, no guardrail, and steep slope down the side of the mountain. I thought
that if I had any sense I would go across the top of the mountain and go down the paved
road, which was a lot safer. Again, I thought, “No, I’m a good driver. I can get down across
that ice okay.” So I started down. As soon as I hit the ice, all four wheels started to slide, but
I am sliding right down the middle of the road. Guess what my puffed up mind is thinking?
“Look! I’m doing it! I’m doing it! I am keeping this truck right down the middle of the
road.” Suddenly, and for no reason, that truck did a 180-degree turn and now I am sliding
down that mountain backwards. Oops, now who is in control? What I must have been
thinking must not have been good, because God was not through with me yet. That truck, for
no reason at all stopped dead, still on the ice. Sally said, “Now what are you going to do? In
my cockiness, I said, “That’s easy. I’ll just put it in four-wheel drive and go back up and
across the top to the other road.” Putting the truck in four-wheel drive again, it did not
move, was perfectly motionless. I used up all my options and was now in a panic. You won’t
believe what God did next. He caused that truck to do another 180, and now I am heading
down the mountain frontward. All I could say was, “Thank you, loving Father, for teaching
me who has been in control of my life all this time.” Yes, we sold a lot of homes, but it was
not because we were such good sales people! Please develop a loving relationship with our
God if you don’t already have one. Allow Him to be in control of your life. You can never
lose.
(Sally continues.) We then moved to Country Walk Apartments – 1459 Hillcrest Court
#512, at the corner of Slate Hill and Lisburn Roads in Camp Hill. It was a lovely twobedroom, two-bath apartment with spacious living area and a lovely balcony view of countryside and wildlife in one direction and the Harrisburg skyline in the other direction. It was
in close proximity to church, shopping, and to where Mark and Lora and their families
lived. However, it was on the third floor with no elevator, and soon it became a real chore
for Buck to carry groceries or even make the climb empty-handed. At 72 years of age, he
was experiencing chest pain from the exertion, and we were convinced to look for something
else, even though the thought of searching and moving again was not a pleasant one.
Once again our awesome Father intervened; and though we had a legal hassle getting out of
our apartment lease, dealing with a manager bent on collecting a $2,500 penalty, God even
took care of that. Soon we were back in the country again, nestled in a beautiful setting not
quite like our hilltop in Juniata County, but providing once again what God wanted for us –
another story, another chapter in our continuing journey.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
What an Awesome Father!
God Had a Plan ~ 1999-2003
748 Mountain Road, Shermansdale
At the same time we were realizing that we needed to leave the Country Walk apartment
complex, Gary McKenzie was exploring a new business venture. Gary and Zina, along with
their two children were part of the CACC family and we knew each other well. They owned
ten acres of wooded mountain land in Shermansdale with a small year-round, spring-fed
stream that wove itself through the property. The property was located on Mountain Road at
the top of North Mountain near Sterrets Gap, a very quiet and serene setting for a home. It
had been their intent to build a home for their family on the property someday, planning for
their retirement years.
Gary had contacted a business in Georgia, desiring to become a dealer and perhaps builder
for their pre-fabricated homes. He intended to continue in the HVAC business and use the
homebuilding as a part-time venture. The company required that he have one of the homes
completed to use as a model. Knowing our past venture in the log home business and using
our log home as a model, Gary and Zina came to us, asking if we would consider helping
them. They wanted us to rent the home and let Gary use it for his model. An additional request was to fill in as grandparents to Ben and Kayla since their grandparents did not live
nearby. This seemed like an easy thing to do. Ben and Kayla were great kids, both pre-teens.
Gary and Zina came that day with a business plan and a floor plan for the model, seeking our
advice on the soundness of going into this business venture. After a requested few days to
pray about their proposal, we saw the offer as an answer from God to our needs also, and set
up an agreement between the two families. Gary ordered the home package the end of the
winter in 1999, and by early spring, a house was taking shape on Mountain Road. The lane
down to the home site was quite steep, but that little house nestled in the trees below was an
inviting sight. As work progressed, we spent many hours helping by painting inside and out,
clearing brush, and just plain enjoying being back in “God’s Country.” By late spring, we
were moved in, and soon Gary began showing his “model home” to clients.
That first summer, we helped with the ground clearing and planting, and along with Gary,
Zina, Ben and Kayla, created a lovely landscape. There were many flowers buried in the debris all over the area, but soon they were found and transplanted into a lovely rock garden. Gary also purchased a variety of beautiful bushes and ornamental trees which we
worked together to plant. Ben and Kayla spent hours cleaning out areas of the stream that
passed down below the house. Mark’s kids got into some of that adventure, especially
Stephen and Cody. Ben and Kayla were home-schooled and spent many days with us when
Zina and Gary needed us. Ben’s favorite thing at our house was my homemade bread and
jelly. Kayla had her own little nook in the guest room where she would get lost in her books,
and Ben roamed the hills when homework was completed.
Life on the mountain was very pleasant, and we were only fifteen or twenty minutes from the
church building or to shopping areas. We fed the deer and a wide variety of birds, wild turkey, grouse, and hawks. We even saw a bald eagle several times. One morning, Sally was sitting in her rocking chair by the big living room window. As she looked out, she saw a big
black bear ambling past the window. It was not unusual to see ten, twelve, or more deer together on any given morning. There were lovely trails through the woods, and both of us
had our favorite spot along the stream where we had our own solitude moments. God gave
us beauty year-round – the various greens of summer and beautiful fall foliage mixed in with
the deep green pine trees. The winter snows were equally lovely and every window looked
out on God’s beauty.
It was while we lived there on Mountain Road that I traveled daily down to the site of our
new church building to supervise the construction, but that part of the story will be addressed later. Why would we ever move from that little paradise? There was one downside
– the long, steep five-hundred-foot drive between the house and the road. It was impossible
to get up the drive if there was ice or snow, so during the first winter we had to park at the
top along the road and walk back and forth. During the second winter, the climb became too
much for me. I would have to stop several times on a cold morning while making the climb,
allowing time for the chest pains to subside. By this time, I had resigned myself to living with
heart angina, taking what precautions I could to minimize them. As I am editing this long
after it was written, I have second thoughts about the angina. Since I have developed acid
reflux disease, which feels exactly like a heart attack, I have convinced myself that all of my
angina was acid reflux. Thank you Father!
During the last three or four months of church construction while still making the trip to the
site daily, I started having more frequent problems with the skipped heartbeats and then my
blood pressure would suddenly end up dangerously low. One particular morning when this
happened, I lost consciousness and gave Sally quite a scare. Feeling better later, I convinced
Sally that I had to go to the building since the steeple was being erected that morning. She
finally agreed but insisted that she would take me. Timing her second trip to get there at
about the time this event was finished, she arrived and insisted that we were going to the
emergency room. Between Sally, Jeff Jackson and Don Hamilton, they pretty much hog-tied
me. I got into the car and ended up at Holy Spirit Hospital. I was admitted, and the emergency room doctor called in a cardiologist. They ran a battery of tests, including a stress test
that I passed with flying colors. The doctor was reluctant to let me do the exercise test because he did not think I could walk enough to do any good, but I insisted. When I was finished the doctor said that I impressed him, as he didn’t think I could do it. They never did
find anything wrong with me so I went home the next morning.
It was after we were meeting in the new building for a year or so, while still living on Mountain Road, that my cardiologist insisted he run more tests again, but this time as an outpatient at Harrisburg Hospital. Dr. Zornosa was looking for a medication to better control
the skipped heart beats, but was unable to find anything that worked. He was trying a procedure to shock my heart out of rhythm and then inject various meds intravenously to try to
bring it back under control. Nothing worked, so while still under anesthesia, the doctor
talked to Sally and got permission to implant a pacemaker/defibrillator. I awoke in recovery
with a foreign object in my chest, and was told I’d be in the hospital for several days for observation. This was the winter of the year 2001.
Early that spring, we were seriously considering moving again, although we were very concerned for Gary and Zina. They had already cleared land below our house to build their
home, had roughed in the drive, and were working on a house plan. By this time, Gary had
decided not to follow through with the home dealership, as he had changed jobs and was doing well. So for all practical purposes, we were just tenants renting his house.
We were at this time also very concerned for our daughter Lora, who lived alone after
Tammy graduated from college and married Chad. Lora and the two of us stayed close. She
lived in an apartment not far away in Mechanicsburg. We discussed over dinner one evening the possibility of living together, renting a two-bedroom, two-bath townhouse, making
it easier financially for both of us, and enjoying life together as she was really lonely without
Tammy. Lora shared our idea with Jeff and Aaron, and Jeff suggested, “Why don’t the three
families go together and buy a large townhouse, one with an exposed basement that would
serve as quarters for the two of us, and then sharing the main living area together?” They
needed to leave the one-bedroom apartment they were living in since Jonathan was soon due
to be born. A quick family meeting resulted in a search for the right townhouse, and soon we
had made a deposit on one in Cross Creek community in Mechanicsburg. Completion date
for our unit was set for November. Jeff and Aaron designed the basement quarters, with two
bedrooms, bath and laundry room, ample closet space, plus a small living area. Jonathan was
born several weeks before our settlement and moving date.
Gary and Zina were very gracious about our leaving, and since then have sold the one parcel
of land with the house we lived in. Paul and Julia Jones, a very nice young couple from
CACC family, and their two children are enjoying life at 748 Mountain Road now. Gary and
Zina have put their “retirement home” on hold until later.
The three-floor townhouse worked out nicely. Jeff’s family had ample room for one child,
and we shared the kitchen and living area on the second or street level. Lora had her bedroom and bath on third level as did we. We were also sharing a living room on that level,
which made it possible for Jeff, Aaron and Jonathan to have some family time in the family
area at street level. We lived as such for almost two years, and then little Joshua was expected. Jeff’s family moved on to a two-bedroom place of their own, and we re-mortgaged
the townhouse to release them from the mortgage. It was hard to adjust to the emptiness after the kids left. We especially missed little Jonathan, who had endeared himself to us. It was
nice having three generations together for that period of time. One of the reasons Jeff wanted
this arrangement of living together was the influence we might be on their son – the opportunity of growing up with a grandparent and great grandparents who loved and served the
Lord, role-models, so to speak. I hope the short time we were a family together was enough
to have made some difference in Jonathan’s early years.
Capital Area Christian Church - 2003
I mentioned the supervision of construction on our new church building on Lambs Gap Road,
and though this experience is a chapter in itself, I will include it here. First, I need to go back
in time in our church life to give you the background picture that led us to Good Hope Road.
I believe in an earlier chapter I mentioned our returning to Pennsylvania from New Jersey
and becoming involved in the work at CACC. Lora and her family were members there when
we came, Jeff as a teen and Tammy a preteen. Melanie had been a part of the church in previous years - a charter member in the days the church met in the Central Penn Business College in Enola, through to moving into the first church building located on Good Hope Road.
I became an elder in 1986, still one of six elders in 2003. The church building on Good
Hope Road served us well for many years. Don Hamilton was the pastor almost from its beginning at that location. Starting with about thirty people, the fellowship grew steadily
through the years, reaching an average attendance of sixty shortly after we came. There was
also a daycare center that used the facility for a minimal fee. When they left, we began a before and after school care program, and morning and afternoon kindergarten care for public
school students. The church family continued to grow each week, and within several years it
required us to offer two services each Sunday with attendance running about two hundred.
We removed every partition possible to enlarge the auditorium, knocked out outer walls to
enlarge the lobby, took the administration offices for classrooms, and moved a 48-foot x 54foot modular unit in to accommodate the staff. We were land-locked as far as enlarging the
building. In fact, it was even difficult to get the township to agree to the modular, and we
were limited to keeping the modular building on the property for just two years. We knew
that in 1994 we would have to find land and build a new facility, and so the search began.
One of the sites considered was a 53-acre farm on Lambs Gap Road, located less than a mile
from our present building. There was no public sewer in the area because of the high cost to
jack a pipe under the I-81 expressway. Hampden Township told us they would never consider extending their system into the area to accommodate that property. The men who had
looked at the property decided it would not work for us. After several more years of searching, a five-acre plot became available across from our building on Good Hope Road. I did a
site plan and feasibility study to see if we could make the five acres work for us. We really
needed twice that much land, but it was decided to buy it for $275,000.
When we were about ready to close on the property, we decided to take one more look at the
53 acres on Lambs Gap Road. Sally and I were still in the log home business, and God guided
me to a possible solution to provide a sewer system. Over the years, several of our log home
clients had purchased land that would not pass the perk test for a septic system, and could
not follow through with building one of our log homes. If I wanted to make a sale, I needed
to find an alternative to the standard septic system. I needed to find such a system that the
State Department of Environmental Protection would approve.
We were home schooling our grandson, Stephen, at the time, and he and I had gone fishing
up in Centre County. While returning via Williamsport, we stopped on a sudden impulse at
the Chromoglass Company in the Williamsport area. They manufactured a system very similar to a municipal treatment system, approved by DEP, the cost about the same as a standard
sand-mound septic system. After touring their facility and a viewing a demonstration of how
the system worked, we left with brochures and the knowledge to be able to share with the
other elders.
While at the Chromoglass factory, I asked a representative if he knew of an engineering firm
in the Harrisburg area familiar with their system. He gave me the name of a firm in New
Cumberland that had designed several facilities using this system. He had given me a contact
phone number, but before I had the opportunity to call, one of their men called the church
office asking for me. In returning his phone call, I found it was Gordon Kirkesner, a man I
had trained twenty years earlier at Gannett Fleming. After talking with Gordon for a while, I
was convinced that this was certainly from God and that we need not look any further for
another engineering firm to do a master plan for us.
At our next elders meeting, Cabot Lodge insisted that we look for at least two more engineering firms to make a fair comparison. After being hardheaded with Cabot for a while, I
agreed to interview two more companies. I went to two engineering companies in Harrisburg that were familiar with the Chromoglass Sewage Treatment System. The first company
had no clue about the ministry of a church like CACC and how we wanted to construct a
building around the church’s ministries. They were accustomed to churches that wanted to
build a big fancy building and then try to figure out what ministries will work in their new
building.
The second contact I made was with Skelly & Loy in uptown Harrisburg. I was ushered into
their conference room where I was introduced to three men. Steve Deck was one of the men
who would work on the project if we selected their firm. Within three minutes, it was obvious that I was in the presence of Christian businessmen, and they knew what I was talking
about when I mentioned “ministry.” I learned that in the middle of their business card logo
was a cross, and that everything they do is based on the cross. I was told that each business
day in the office begins with prayer. Sharing all this with the other elders, the decision was
made to hire Skelly & Loy when we were ready for the design of our proposed facility. This
resulted in a pleasant partnership when the Lord worked out the other details.
Now back to Lambs Gap Road and the purchase of land. Knowing now that we could use the
Chromoglass sewage treatment system, we looked again at the 53 acres. When we talked to
the realtor, we were told that they had a contract on the land with a developer in York. The
realtor set up an appointment with this man to see if he would sell us fifteen acres of the land
to build our church building. He agreed he would for $40,000 per acre but this was completely out of reason. Realizing this was out of the question, we were ready to settle on the
five acres on Good Hope Road for $275,000.
God had another plan, however; and two days later, the realtor called Don Hamilton, asking
if we were still interested in the property on Lambs Gap Road. She explained that she had
extended the contract three times for the developer and then he didn’t show up for settlement, but left for vacation instead. She went on to say that the land was ours if we were still
interested. Don went immediately and signed a sales agreement – 53 acres for
$275,000. Can you not see the hand of God in this deal? We were on the verge of settling
for five acres for the same amount of money, when God would bless CACC with something
more wonderful than we could have imagined. WHAT AN AWESOME FATHER!
As soon as the land was purchased, some of the church members were asking to buy an acre
plot of land to build a home, since we had been thinking before of only needing fifteen acres
total. Some of the elders thought favorably toward this idea, but I strongly suggested we wait
to see what the master plan looked like. I pointed out that the time would come when there
would be one large metropolitan area stretching from Harrisburg to Carlisle, and our 53
acres would be right in the middle. When that happens, there will be no available land to
buy anywhere in the area. We mutually agreed to hold on to all of the land, developing it
over the years into a large campus for the Lord. We envisioned a campus to include athletic
fields, a retreat center, a camp that would accommodate handicapped children and adults,
and whatever else God showed us would be needed to accomplish the church’s ministry to
our community.
Skelly & Loy started on the master plan while we began interviewing architectural firms to
design the facility. A final decision was made to hire Jack Althouse from Berks County, well
worked very well into the vision we had for ministry; and while he worked on design for the
first two phases, we began searching for the right contractor. Arthur Funk & Sons from
Lebanon stood out from all those interviewed, and we signed a contract. Dale Reppert would
serve as the project manager and Aaron Miller the construction superintendent.
Early in the planning stage, Don Hamilton made some calculations of the monetary giving of
the CACC family units that could be counted on by the time we would move into a new facility. He came up with a maximum of $750,000 that we could spend on the new facility,
based on the average giving per unit. I told the guys that we might as well stay on Good
Hope Road if that was all we were willing to spend on a new building and that we had to step
out in faith, believing that God would help us to provide what we lacked. My projection was
a minimum of two million dollars for a facility to meet our needs. I think the others were
sure I was out of my mind to think we could ever handle a mortgage that size. We had selected a company out of Colorado that finances church construction all over the country. Paige Matthews was sent to meet with us for the first all-church planning meeting. Paige, known and respected already by many at CACC, began talking right from the
start of a cost of two million dollars. Looking into the potential of giving by the congregation,
Paige convinced the leadership that the church could handle such a mortgage and plans progressed to signing a contract with their finance company.
An Episcopalian church group purchased the building on Good Hope Road, but we would not
be ready for them to occupy the facility at that time. We made an agreement to rent the facility through the end of August of the year 2001. We had hoped to have construction in
progress by early fall of 2000, but numerous agencies held us up, and Funk & Sons began
construction early the next year.
Because of my engineering and construction experience and my retired status, the church
appointed me to act as construction manager for the project where I gave my time
freely. Though I had worked on much larger projects, none were as rewarding or as much
fun as this one. I developed a respect and fondness for Aaron and Dale quickly, and they cooperated well with me. The subcontractors and those from CACC who were involved in
planning and decisions developed a good working relationship throughout the project as
well. No one ever questioned my authority to make major decisions as the work progressed. Jerilyn Kidd, a member at CACC, was given the responsibility of all color selections
both inside and outside the building, including all floor coverings, selection of fabric for
auditorium chairs, and anything else involving aesthetics throughout the facility. Anytime
Aaron needed a quick decision to keep the project moving forward, either Jerilyn or I made it
on the spot. He was thrilled that he did not have to wait for a board meeting to get an answer, which typically delays most church projects by months and runs up the construction
cost by thousands of dollars.
The CACC construction meetings were pleasantly different from those I look back on in my
engineering career. The cooperation between all those working on the project and those involved from the church showed plainly that God was present with us, and many of the contractors’ men had a relationship with God. There was no bad language on the job, nor did I
hear angry voices raised against each other. This included the vendors and subs who all cooperated with one another. Aaron and his men were super during the time I was struggling
with the heart problem, and especially the days following the emergency trip to the hospital,
which I mentioned earlier. Sally had insisted, and Don backed her up, that I take a few days
off that week. With daily phone calls from Aaron, he kept the subs moving and decisions
processed until I was back on the job.
There was one decision made at a construction meeting that I did not agree to and still believe
was a wrong decision. Toward the end of construction, it was necessary to look for ways to
cut corners to stay under budget. One of the deletions was all the parking lot curbing, curbing essential to control storm water runoff. Consequently, there are muddy ruts around
every corner, and it is necessary to replace the grass that belongs there as a result of drivers
cutting the corners too sharply. Had the curbs been a part of the parking area, this would
not have happened. It would be a very costly project to add the curbs now.
There were many other men and women involved in decision-making as the building neared
completion. For example, we had sound people who researched and came up with a state-ofthe-art system. Joe Rillo, Owner of Rillos’ Italian Restaurant in Carlisle, planned and designed a well-equipped, restaurant-quality kitchen. Many hours of loving labor went into
the efforts.
Aaron, Dale and their crew worked very hard and faithfully to meet our deadline. We
needed to be into the new facility due to our agreement with the church that purchased our
old building. We held our first worship service/dedication before the end of August with the
building having been completed four months ahead of schedule and within budget. My serving as project manager saved the church about $7,000 in construction costs because timely
decisions could be made along the way. At the dedication service, they presented Sally and
me with a check for $3,000 resulting from a love offering. Everyone knew we longed to return to Israel to visit with old friends, and the $3,000 was given to cover the cost of that
trip. We appreciated so much the generous giving of a family so dear to us.
That first worship service was one of many emotional services to follow. I don’t believe there
is a Sunday even now after four years that someone doesn’t mention how blessed we are for
what God has provided for us. Surely this experience has been a faith building one for all of
us. New people keep coming and stay and are eager to hear the story of how God had a plan
and then went about putting that plan into place. We were all just the instruments He used
to accomplish His work – PRAISE GOD! At the time of this writing, we are about to embark
on another phase, a new wing for children and youth that is very much needed since God has
filled all those classrooms with His children.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“. . . Never Say No”
Camp Epacheseca
Allow me to go back to a fun and fulfilling experience that Sally and I shared together. Prior
to 1998, we had helped at several church camps, Sylvan Hills, Indian Lake, and one year at
Epacheseca. We had served just one summer as counselor/teacher at each of these camps.
Early in 1998, Sally had attended a function held at Camp Epacheseca, and the subject of
summer camp came up with several women from the Stillwater area where the camp is located. They were telling Sally that another week of summer camp was desperately needed,
that the junior high week needed to be divided because of the wide difference in ages of sixth
through ninth graders. We had been told the same thing by Ron Savits, minister at the Newberry Church in the Williamsport area, as Ron had been dean for that week the summer before.
Sally mentioned that perhaps CACC would be willing to staff the younger group if the camp
board decided to make the division. God worked through people from four different areas to
bring this about, and the decision from the board was affirmative. By late spring, they still
did not have anyone definite to staff this new week, and at the board meeting one of the
women who had talked with Sally mentioned that Buck and Sally Hinton, along with others
from CACC, would probably be willing to do this week.
The following week, I got a call from Mike Lyons from the Berwick church, apologizing
about the late date to ask, but he had heard that we would like to staff Middle Week in early
July. Of course, I knew that Sally must have been talking to someone again. I wasn’t sure
that we could pull this together in such a short time, because except for Jeff Jackson and us,
no one else at CACC had ever helped at this camp. I asked Mike to give me a week and I’d let
him know. The next Sunday, I made an announcement at worship, asking for a show of
hands of those willing to serve a week at camp for fifth and sixth grade kids in July. The response was positive and seventeen hands went up. I called Mike and told him we could do it.
I knew the hardest thing would be to find someone willing to serve as dean. There were four
men at CACC with a degree in theology, one with a doctoral degree and three with masters
degrees. I knew all four had worked weeks of camp before, and in fact one had directed a
number of camps for several years. I was sure that at least one of them would be able to do
it. However, all four had other commitments that week and would not be able to help. We
were able to put together a good staff of teachers, a nurse, counselors, sports people, and
kitchen help, but still no dean. There was no backing out, though I wondered about my
physical ability at age 73 to take on the responsibility of serving as dean. Ron and Jo Savits
(Jo is Sally’s sister) made a trip to our house to try to talk me out of this foolish endeavor at
age. Ron said, “Buck you can’t imagine how much a week as dean will take out of you.
Please don’t do it.”
Both Sally and I felt strongly that God would be there with us every step of the way, and since
it had always been my nature to never drop a worthwhile project, we went full-steam ahead
with the planning. Remember the man years ago who said, “If you are ever asked to do
something for the Lord, never say no?” With the excited and willing staff we had, we put
together a great program, with everyone pitching in to do what they could in any way. Our
theme for the week was “Strengthening Your Grip,” using a lot of Charles Swindoll’s material
from the book with the same title. Sally provided brief outlines for the lesson for each day,
along with a Swindoll audiotape on each lesson topic. With these helps, each teaching team
provided an excellent lesson on their assigned subject.
We had tee-shirts printed with a logo designed by Rachel Buck, a CACC artist and one of our
counselors for the week. She had designed two praying hands wrapped around a cross on
the front of the shirt, with the theme in bold letters. At the bottom of the logo was written,
“My God and my Rock...my Shield...my Defender. Ps.18:2.” Each camper and staff member
received a shirt, a tradition that has continued for Middle Week campers ever since.
Ron was right about how much work it would be for me, but God gave me new strength each
morning, and along with the team we had a tremendously blessed week together. Our week
was very different from the norm. In fact, I was concerned that we would receive a lot of
criticism since the camp had always been run by the local churches in that area. We wanted
to let the campers experience the fun and bonding that would bring them back the next summer. Each day during our camp week at our staff meetings, we discussed problems that surfaced, then worked together on solutions. The camp cook observed what we did in these
meetings and how the bonding, respect, and love grew as the week progressed, both among
the staff and between campers and staff. She commented on how refreshing it was to see this
kind of love shown to every camper and how dedicated young staff members especially were
to their purpose for the week. Parents and other adults who visited during the week made
the same observations and told us how impressed they were with this week of camp.
We took the campers every afternoon to a community swimming pool a few miles
away. There was a high diving board fifteen feet above the water that several of our staff
jumped off of during the week. One lady told in chapel how she climbed up to the board, but
when she looked down she started back down the steps. The kids wouldn’t allow her to go
down the steps, so she had no choice but to jump. I made the foolish statement that only a
coward would jump. Why do you think they call it a “diving board?” Every day, the campers would coax me to go to the pool that day (I always took a nap while the camp was
quiet). The last day, I finally relented, and on the bus ride to the pool the kids asked if I was
going off the high dive. I answered, “Certainly!” Of course, there was no backing down, especially since the kids kept bugging me. When I climbed up to the board and looked down,
without my glasses I could not judge the distance to the water and really got cold feet. The
kids blocked the ladder and all of the kids in the water lined up along the rope yelling
“Bucky, Bucky!” Knowing there was no backing down, I made my very best dive! Of course
since this was my first dive in many years, I am sure it looked pretty sloppy! Actually, I felt
pretty good about the dive for a seventy-three-year-old man. The kids did too, and talked
about it for the next several years at camp.
Another tradition we started was to change the purpose and routine of camper awards. Sally
remembered her days as a camper and how she had never earned an award in all the years
she attended church camp. She suggested it was not a fair policy to give “best camper,” “best
bunk,” “best athlete,” “Bible award,” etc., but that all campers deserved an award. So as we
prepared for our camp week, we worked out a plan. At the end of the week, every camper
received an “Award Certificate” with a personal message from the staff member who had observed something positive about that student individually. Not only was this positive for the
campers, but numerous parents came to tell us how much they appreciated our thoughtfulness and told us that their child was more pleased about his/her award than anything else at
camp. Some of the campers kept their awards displayed on their bedroom walls. We continued this tradition in years following, and it is always favorably received. As I look back now,
I remember one dad in particular telling his son as he left him at camp that he would be disappointed in him if he did not come back with the “Best Camper” award. This puts such
pressure on the kids that they lose a lot of the fun of camp, and it becomes a competition all
week, not much different than any sports activity. Besides that, what does it do to the poor
kids that never excel in anything and always come away with no recognition for all they put
into camp?
In 1999, Gary Thompson agreed to be the dean for our week, with me serving as one of the
teachers. The kids and staff still seemed to come to me for problem solving, but it did make
an easier week for me. Because of our different management styles, the next year I went back
to being dean with Gary being a teacher, which he was more comfortable with. We averaged
about seventy to seventy-five students for our week each year and kept many of the same
counselors and teachers.
Eddie and Sue Lane served along with Sally and me each year, with Eddie as teacher and
dorm dad. With his military background, he was great with the boys - strict but fun loving,
and earned the respect of all of the kids. Every year, he provided a respectful, meaningful,
flag-raising ceremony every morning (American and Christian flags), using the campers to
raise and lower the flags each day. Eddie taught the kids the proper way to fold a flag and
how to treat it with respect. The staff met early every morning with the campers at the flagpole for a Bible reading to set the tone and theme for the day and for prayer, asking God to be
part of the day’s activities. We saw the positive results of these prayers as God led in many
ways, both large and small.
In 2000, I was once again dean, and Craig Keefauver was with us for the first time as one of
the teachers, serving with excitement and great insight into how to work with these kids. His
daughter Emily was there working in the kitchen, too young to be a counselor, and did a
great job with KP. Claire, his younger daughter, was one of the campers. I was hoping that
Craig would be so excited about camp that he would replace me as dean in the coming years.
Craig came home from camp that summer determined to continue on staff each summer, and
agreed to serve as dean the summer of 2002. It was certainly a God-happening, for by the
second day at camp I become too sick to stay, leaving for home while Sally stayed to finish the
week. She was sharing dorm mom duties with Karen Wilson, also leading a small group and
teaching. Craig and his staff had a wonderful week, very spirit-filled, really nice campers. I
think there were eleven baptisms that year. We always had many students who made decisions to take that step of commitment during the week.
In 2003, Craig was eager to continue as dean, still keeping many of the same staff and adding
new ones who would decide to continue each year. Sally put together the lesson materials for
the teachers again, and compiled, copied, and bound the student books as she had done in
previous years. However, we did not go with the group to camp that year, as Melanie and
Gary and their children and grandchildren, along with Mark and two of his children – Cody
and Sissy, and the two of us, had planned a vacation together, renting cabins/cottages down
in the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia. We did take a copy of the daily camp schedule and
followed the CACC group daily in prayer. Once again, they had a wonderful week.
As I write this, Craig and his staff have completed the 2005 week of camp. Some of our
CACC kids who started out as junior counselors are now in college and are taking precious
time out of their summer work schedules to be at camp. Many others who came as campers
that first year we served are now on staff as counselors. Craig had a staff of about thirty-five
or more, all from our church family, some who have served for three to five or more
years. Sally and I will remain their prayer cover from home. It is a given thing, as far as the
camp board is concerned, that CACC will provide the staff for Middle Week at Camp Epacheseca each year. Those who remain faithful in this important outreach each year look forward
with anticipation to camp, and nothing will keep them from making that commitment. It is
almost a 100% average that, when someone new serves on staff, he or she will be returning
again and again whenever they can schedule the time to serve. The first few years we staffed
this week of camp, we used three young people from Newberry Church to serve as counselors. Although they cannot help anymore due to other obligations, it is wonderful to note they
are really not needed. Our own young people at CACC are committed and excited enough
that they have persuaded other teens to join them in this endeavor.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Even Old Timers
Let God Lead and Enjoy Your Journey
Sometime in 1995, it was the desire of the CACC eldership to expand our small group ministry. The Bible study groups that were meeting did not begin to include everyone in the
church and church attendance was growing steadily. The process to expand the number of
small groups began with Don Hamilton and me training over twenty people to lead and host
small groups that would meet in individual homes. Once the training was completed, we had
a total of twelve groups and hosts willing to open their homes for this ministry.
With the exception of the Bobbs’ LIFE group, led by Cabot Lodge, and the women’s “E
Group” which had been led by Sally for over five years (and which is now co-led by Sally and
Bev Heimer), the other groups were all new.
One of the new groups started meeting at Carl and Kristen Gerber’s home when their son
Kyle was just a toddler at that time. I led the group of ten, and after we had been meeting for
a while, I began teaching Henry Blackaby’s Experiencing God study. This was an exciting
course for our group, for at that time God was doing some amazing things at CACC. We
could talked about how God led us to purchase the 53 Acres on Lamb’s Gap Road on which to
build the new building. We talked of how God was involved in the selection of the engineering company and the Architect to design the building, and the contractor to build it. The idea
throughout the study was to look and see where God was working, then go join Him.
Every week we talked about what we saw God doing in our lives, and there were several who
were very new in their walk with the Lord. When I look back now and see some of the couples who were part of that study who are faithful in their service to God, I wonder if part of
their faithfulness might stem from learning to experience God in the little things at that time
in their lives.
We continued to meet at Gerbers for several years until they were expecting their second son.
(They have three boys now and Kyle will soon be a teenager.) Tom and Sue Bunker were part
of our group from the beginning and were willing to have the group meet at their home. We
met there until we felt the need to divide into two groups, growing as new families joined the
CACC family.
As a result of our years in Israel, my teaching always puts an emphasis on Bible history, so
our Bible discussions are often on God’s chosen people, and how the Old Testament relates to
the New in the ongoing story of Christ. This led to a request to do a study on Judaism. I didn’t want to get bogged down in a long study and cause some to lose interest in the class, so we
decided to do our study through the Jewish holidays. We went back as far as Abraham to
show how Judaism’s roots and our Christian roots go all the way back to “Father Abraham,”
and are often mentioned this way in the New Testament. At one point in our study, we invited Yaakov Majecki, from the Jewish Messianic congregation in Harrisburg, to share more
about how these holidays are still celebrated today. This turned out to be a very informative
evening and resulted in new interest in the Jewish believers of today.
The Bunkers attended a three-year course in marriage counseling, resulting not only in deepening the love and spiritual ties in their own marriage, but it also opened a door for other
young couples to benefit from their learning. They are now leading a couples’ LIFE group
each week, and the growth and spiritual depth in these young couples is very evident. Tom
and Sue have endeared themselves to these couples, and feel God’s leading to continue indefinitely.
About the same time, we began a new LIFE group, which meets at the home of Rome and
Genny Ballock. We are mostly couples who have no children at home anymore, so the name
“Empty Nesters” defines our group. Presently, we number twenty when everyone is present,
but our average is six couples. We bonded very quickly, and the group comes to class prepared for good Bible discussions. We always study directly from the Bible, and in the past
couple years have studied from the Gospel of John, and then through the book of Revelation.
For years, I have had a burning desire to see CACC with a good Sunday morning Bible study
program for those who are not involved in a mid-week study. In our old building, we ran
out of classroom space for adult study, but with our new building we allowed for four classrooms, plus the library that would used for adult classes. I don’t think we ever had more
than one class meeting at the same time, so slowly the rooms became used for other purposes. Our youth group began growing until the room built especially for them became
badly overcrowded. We took two of the adult classrooms to expand the youth room, which
left only one adult room plus the library. At this date, the only room being used for adult Bible study is the library. I was able to begin an adult Bible study on Sunday mornings in the
library and it has now been meeting continuously for four years with as many as eighteen
people in attendance.
Mark and Sandy Murtha have been part of that group from the beginning, and they are always hungry for more Bible knowledge. In fact, I have Mark and Sandy in my Wednesday
night class and every other extra class I have ever taught. There are twelve of us in the Sunday class, but with other ministry involvement on Sunday mornings, not all are able to attend
every week. They are interested in God’s Word and come prepared to discuss the scripture
assigned for study. It is wonderful to have this purpose to study God’s Word, and though
both groups have expressed how appreciative they are for the time I spend in preparation, I
know I am blessed far more.
I am retired from the eldership at CACC now because it was getting harder and harder for
me to keep up and equally share in the responsibility of shepherding the flock. I kept telling
the others that I was going to resign, but they wouldn’t hear of this. Finally, they said they
would let me retire, but wanted me to continue as an “elder emeritus”. They wanted to be
able to still call on me when they needed the wisdom of their “eldest” elder. I must say, I do
feel left out of things that are going on at CACC and feel bad when members come to me with
questions and I can’t give them answers.
Serving has always been so much a part of my life that I still feel the need to stay involved. God continues to send new people to CACC every week that need to be welcomed. Even though I consider myself to be very shy by nature, God has helped me to overcome this through the years. I was noticing the newcomers, with our regular attendees all
around them greeting one another while they stood alone, many times looking very uncomfortable. I was convicted to do something about this and now am known as the guy who
greets all newcomers.
We do have a “Frontline Ministry,” and one of their duties is greeting all visitors as they
stand near the front entrance before each worship service. These people are doing a great
job, but are limited in how much time they can spend with each person entering the building
each week. More and more, word got to Pastor Don from people who have stayed at CACC
and many of these people kept telling Don that they were here because Buck made them feel
welcome. About a year ago, Don asked if Sally and I would be willing to put together a training session to teach the entire church family the need and the “how to” of welcoming visitors. We conducted this training through the LIFE groups. What we have shared with each
group has been received in a positive manner, and the discussions with each group resulted
in a growing participation of greeting the newcomers who continue to come. It never ceases
to amaze me the way God continually sees a need and then sets in motion what can be done
to meet that need.
I am reminded to share one other assignment that seemed to have come from God. As I think
about my age and what I see happening to others who are not challenged mentally or physically, I look back to an interesting year and a half that ended in the fall of 2003. A neighbor
approached me, asking if I’d be interested in driving new Mercedes cars for Sun Motors in
Camp Hill. He explained that the job would be driving a loaner car to the home of a person
whose car needed servicing and then returning their car and picking up the loaner a day or
so later. At $6.50 an hour, the pay wasn’t real inviting, but the opportunity to meet new people that I wouldn’t get to meet otherwise would be interesting, so I began my new job.
I always felt perfectly competent in finding any address in the state and to get back home
safely, so I was at ease with any assignment given me. I was uneasy, however, about maneuvering cars in and out of tight spaces on the Sun Motors parking lot, for there were times
when there was only an inch or two of clearance. Normally, I would work three to five days
a week for three to five hours each day; however, some trips were further and would take all
day. I would have a lot of short trips around the Harrisburg area, then sometimes from one
end of the state to another. I met a lot of interesting people and got lost a few times, but always found my way back home. Unfortunately, it was my parking risks that got me in trouble, and I guess I should have asked someone else to move a car to make room for the one I
needed to move. Two different times, I gave it my best shot but that wasn’t good enough, resulting in minor damage to the car I was maneuvering. This resulted in me giving up driving Mercedes because I just didn’t want to chance it anymore. It was probably meant to be,
because shortly after that, our grandson, Jeff Smothers, needed his grandmother to help him
at Kid’s Escape where he was serving as the director. Jeff desperately needed a part-time
helper to work an odd split shift for a few weeks, and Grammy willingly stepped in. The
three weeks continued on to almost eight months, but “Ms. Grammy,” as the kids affectionately called her, got quite attached to a bunch of children and was able to help Jeff out of a
tight staffing situation.
I could certainly write more chapters about the recent highlights in our life. God allowed us
to lead a tour group to Israel in late February through early March of 2005, and it was so exciting to see all that God is doing among the Jewish believers and to renew old friendships. I
guess that ends the chapter of how God continues to even use old timers like us - when the
spirit is willing and the desire to “try one more thing” pushes us to continue to make the most
out of the life God continues to give us. There is such an abundant joy to experience on the
journey! Hop aboard, hang on, let God lead, and enjoy your journey with Him!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Are You Going to Take Us to Israel?
Israel Tour ~ 2005
People have been asking us for years to lead a group to Israel. Even Joseph Shulam, all the
way back in 1971, suggested we begin taking tour groups to Israel. Joe said that, if I would
put the group together this side of the ocean, he would make all arrangements on his side. In
addition to making all hotel, restaurant and land transportation arrangements, he would be
our guide in Israel. For over thirty years, I kept putting it off. Finally in the spring of 2004,
Sandy Murtha said as she was leaving my Sunday morning Bible class, “Buck, when are you
going to take us to Israel?”
For several reasons, I felt compelled this time to just do it. I told Sandy that if she got twenty
people or more committed to go, I would take them. That same day, Sandy thought she had
thirteen. Two weeks later, she thought we were going to have over thirty going. I was excited, but I knew from log home sales that it was not a sale until the money was in our bank
account. Sure enough, a month later, Sandy came to tell me she only had eight willing to
give her the required $500 deposit. She did not know what to do, so I agreed that Sally and I
would promote the tour, which was the one thing I did not want to do.
After visiting about ten churches where we were known, we stood at eighteen paying tour
members. We decided to man a booth at the Eastern Christian convention in Hershey to promote the tour. We spent about $200 on the convention, which brought five additional tour
members. Our oldest daughter Melanie, the only one of our children never to go to Israel,
was able to join the group when her son David surprised her by paying for her trip. Two of
her friends from Fairmount Christian Church in Richmond, Virginia, where she and her family worship, also signed up to go. Jake and Marilyn Gorham, whom we picked up at the convention in Hershey, worship at the Blanchard Church of Christ and talked about the tour at a
church work party. The preacher’s wife’s parents were from Wichita, Kansas and overheard
them and called that evening to ask if there was room for them, and if they could bring ten
more from Wichita. We were running out of time and I had already told our tour agent to
release all but twenty-six airline seats. When these additional members wanted to go, I
quickly called our agent, Cathy Zerphey, to see if she could retrieve the released seats. We
were able to get 32 seats, which was the final number going on the tour.
Sally and I did not charge a fee for our services, and good friends in Israel got us excellent
prices on land transportation, food, lodging and entrance fees. The total cost for the tour
came in at $1,962 compared to most other tours with a cost of $2,400. People in Israel
thought we were crazy for not adding our fee of as much as $500 per person to the total
cost. We knew there were several who wanted to go who did not have the money to do so,
and we wanted to make the tour as affordable as possible. One lady who could not afford the
trip had over half the cost paid by a very compassionate and generous person who could not
go on the tour due to business reasons.
This tour was extra special because of friends in Israel who helped me plan and organize it
while we would be in Israel. I started with Joseph Shulam in Jerusalem who put me in touch
with Hannah Kovner as tour guide and David Katz with Sar El Tours, the largest tour company in Israel. Hannah, a Russian Jewish believer, works for Joseph Shulam in the work of a
Jewish Messianic believers congregation in Jerusalem, and David Katz is one of Joe’s elders. In addition, we had Yosee, who immigrated from Morocco several years ago, as our bus
driver.
We picked the dates of March 5-19 for the tour, which would be near the end of the rainy
season. The country would be a lush green with colorful wild flowers blooming everywhere. The temperatures would be in the 50’s and 60’s. We couldn’t wait much longer or
we would be too close to the Passover holiday when lodging would be hard to find. It turned
out to be a lot of work planning and making things fall into place at the right time, but the
time of departure finally came.
Cathy Zerphey arranged for a tour bus to pick us up at the Capital Area Christian Church
(CACC) parking lot and take us to the Newark Airport where we would board an El Al direct
flight to Israel. There were no problems going through airport security, and the plane took
off on time at 11:50 pm and landed at Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv at 5:20 pm local time
(Israel time is seven hours ahead of us). We experienced no problems going through passport control, picking up our luggage and making contact with our tour guide, Hannah Kovner and our bus driver, Yosee. Hannah turned out to be an excellent guide, having been
trained by Joseph Shulam. Sally and I sat beside Hannah on the bus all during the tour and
directly behind Yosee. As we listened to Hannah, it was like hearing Joseph. Yosee, a Moroccan Jew was an absolute joy, a great driver and one who knows Israel quite well.
We had about a twenty-minute drive to the Dan Panorama Hotel on the beach between Jaffa
(Yaffo in Hebrew) and Tel Aviv. The hotel had freshly-squeezed Jaffa orange juice waiting
for us in the lobby, which has a very distinctive taste, the best in the world. Sally and I felt
like we were coming home from the moment we could see Tel Aviv from the air, and the taste
of Jaffa oranges was a further reminder of that. The hotels all had a great system of getting
our luggage to our rooms. Hannah gave everyone stickers to place on our luggage with our
room numbers on the stickers. As soon as our luggage was lined up on the sidewalk, we affixed our stickers and went to our rooms to get ready for dinner. After dinner, when we returned to our rooms, our luggage was sitting outside each correct door.
Most of the group was on the third floor, but Sally and I were treated to a three-room suite
with two baths on the tenth floor. We were treated this way throughout the tour because we
were leading the group. I guess they figured they owed the extra business to the tour organizers and that was their way of saying thanks and please do it again. In the dining room, we
had a very wonderful buffet dinner, as much as you could eat. I have never eaten a betterprepared meal. Actually, everywhere we ate, the food was extremely good. I was so glad because, before we left the States, several asked me if the food in Israel would be good to eat and
if the water would be safe to drink. I assured everyone that the food would be as good as any
you have eaten, and the water will be safe to drink right out of the tap. I had planned on taking everyone to Jaffa to see the sights and visit art galleries, but after an eleven-hour flight
and our body clocks telling us we missed a full night’s sleep, we skipped Yaffo.
Breakfast in the morning was a pleasant experience with the usual Israeli raw fresh vegetables, fruit, boiled eggs, all kinds of cheese, pickled herring and rolls. If you wanted a more
European breakfast, that was on the buffet as well. Before going to breakfast, we were to
our luggage outside our doors and the hotel staff moved it all out to the curb. The schedule
called for the bus to leave the hotel at 8:15 each morning, and we were required to identify
our luggage before it would be loaded onto the bus.
Our first day of touring took us north to Caesarea, Mt Carmel, Megiddo, Nazareth, Cana, and
to our hotel in Tiberius. As we drove through Tel Aviv, it was great to see many sights we
were familiar with since that had been our home for seven years. Many of the old landmarks
were no longer there, having been torn down to make room for new buildings. We went
past the location of the old Sheraton Hotel where our airbase project was housed in 19791981. It had been torn down and replaced by a park along the shore. Going north on the
Haifa Road, we passed by the town of Ramat Hasharon where we lived in 1980, and past
Herzliya town and Herzliya Petuach where we lived in 1969-1971. All the way from Tel
Aviv to Haifa, the area along the seashore has been built up with no space between
towns. When we left Israel in 1981, this area was all open sand dunes. Now there were
modern highways and bridges everywhere that would rival the best of what we have in the
USA. I could not help but feel a sense of pride since my job in 1969-1971 was to train Israeli
engineers in modern highway and bridge design and construction.
Our first stop was at Caesarea, where so much more had been uncovered by archeologists
since we were last in Israel. In addition to what we had seen before, acres of King Herod’s
palace overlooking the Mediterranean Sea have been uncovered between the old Roman
Theater and the small port. While in the theater, Hannah lectured as we all sat on
the theater's stone seats. After the lecture, Marianna Esworthy stood down on the theater
floor near the stage and led us in several songs which were beautifully moving.
Allow me to digress for a moment to tell you about some of the people God put together on
this tour. Marianna Esworthy is a member at CACC and has a music ministry covering a
rather large area of Pennsylvania and a half-hour weekly radio program. She sings like an
angel and is a worship leader. We asked her to put together some appropriate songs to sing
as the Spirit caused us to break out in song. A good many of the songs she had prepared were
straight from the book of Psalms, sung in Hebrew. I cannot begin to tell you about all the
people on the tour, but I can assure you that every one of them played an important part in
making the tour a lifetime memory for all of us. Ron Savits was especially helpful with his
Bible knowledge and his willingness to share with us at various Biblical sites. Hannah Kovner was amazing as she talked about the Bible account at each site with no notes to speak
from. Many times, she would defer to Ron to give her a Bible reference or to add details as
needed. Everyone was amazed at the part God played in bringing each person on board, especially since we had five or six different congregations represented, including CACC, Christ
Community, Newberry, Blanchard, Richmond, Virginia and Wichita, Kansas.
From Caesarea, we continued north to Mt Carmel and the site where Elijah contested with the
prophets of Baal, as recorded in I Kings 18. The view from that site on top of the mountain is
an exciting one since you can see all of the Jezreel Valley, Nazareth, the Mount of Transfiguration, Hill of Moreh, the Bet Shean Valley, Mount Gilboa, and the Kishon River where the
slaughtered prophets of Baal’s bodies were dumped. Unfortunately, there was so much haze
in the air that you could not see the view clearly.
We decided to stop at a nearby Druze Village for lunch, which everyone enjoyed. The Druze
couple who owned it did not know we were coming, but food was ready in no time. They
served falafel sandwiches in pita bread pockets, chicken schnitzel, all kinds of salads, and
many kinds of baklava. I was pleased that the group selected eating in the Druze village
rather than a steak and chips place or McDonalds. Again, Sally and I were shown special
courtesy as the tour leaders. We were ushered into a separate room with Hannah and Yosee
and some of the owner’s family. They refused to take money from Sally and me for the meal
because we were special guests. I should explain that all meals were covered in the tour cost
of $1,962, with the exception of lunches. Everywhere we went for the full ten days, no one
ever allowed Sally and me to pay for anything.
After lunch, we drove down off the mountain to Mount Megiddo (or Har Megiddo), from
which they get Armageddon in Revelation 16. Megiddo was an ancient fortified post, guarding the ancient caravan route between Mesopotamia and Egypt. Joshua conquered it after
the Israelites first entered the Promised Land, and King Solomon fortified it and stationed
many of his troops there with horses and chariots. The site dates back to the Canaanites
where the remains of their alter are still to be seen. Perhaps I should explain my understanding of why the battle in Revelation 16 is referred to as Armageddon. Because so many famous battles have been fought in the valley surrounding Har Megiddo, the name is associated
with war. Hence the name Armageddon, sort of like, “Remember the Alamo” in US history. I
am not so sure that such a battle will ever take place. From Scripture, it looks as though the
battle is over before it ever starts.
From Megiddo, we drove through the Jezreel Valley to ancient Nazareth, the boyhood home
of Jesus. We did not spend much time in Nazareth since the Catholic people refused us permission to enter the Church of the Annunciation because one of the men in our tour group
was wearing shorts. He even wrapped his jacket around his shorts to hide them, but they
were still shorts, so no admittance. We spent considerable time in the Nazareth synagogue,
which was built upon the foundation of one which existed in the days of Jesus. We had a devotional there as the account of Jesus in this same synagogue was read, and Marianna led us
in worship.
Leaving Nazareth, we drove straight to Tiberius by way of Cana of Galilee, where Jesus
turned water to wine at a wedding feast As we neared Tiberius, I called Bill Culwell on Hannah’s cell phone and arranged for us to visit their factory on the Golan Heights, and for the
tour group to visit in Bill and Jill’s home on Tuesday evening. We checked into the Caesar
Hotel following the same procedure with luggage. This hotel was right on the water, with a
view across the Sea of Galilee to the Golan Heights on the east side.
We began the day on Tuesday with a visit to the Mount of Beatitudes, the scene of Jesus’ lessons in Matthew 5, 6 and 7. From there, we had a good view of the entire Sea of Galilee. Next stop was Capernaum on the northwest side of the lake, the town Jesus made home
for several years of his ministry. The most prominent feature is the remains of the synagogue, dating back to the second century that was constructed on the foundation of the one
in the days when Jesus made Capernaum his home. The ruins of Peter’s home were also excavated, along with many other things of interest. Leaving Capernaum, we drove around the
lake clockwise, past ruins of Korazim and Beitsaida, down the eastern side to the southern
end of the lake.
We ate a Saint Peter’s fish lunch at a kibbutz on the shore of the lake, which was a nice experience. After lunch, Jane English was baptized in the Jordan River, never having been baptized before. Jane did not want her baptism to be a public affair, so we sent most of the tour
group to a diamond factory, while only a few stayed for the baptism. I am hesitant to share
this, but I think it will bless you to know, and I think Jane will forgive me – Jane has a fatal
have only one year to live, although he also told her it could go as much as ten years. Jane is
only in her late 40’s or early 50’s. She could not afford this trip, but wanted so much to go,
hoping to get closer to God as a result.
I should also share with you that we had two others on our tour with fatal diseases. One man
has cancer and his wife has an immune system disease like Jane’s. The first time I talked to
Ray Hodge on the phone about him and his wife Marcie going with us on the tour, he told me
a little about himself. Ray has had his share of health problems and had promised Marcie
that they would visit Israel before they both left this life. Like all of us on the tour, we wanted
the tour to help us to know God more fully. From all we’ve heard from the tour group since
returning, their lives have been changed and they read their Bibles so differently now.
Tuesday evening after dinner, we drove to the top of the ridge above the town of Tiberius to
the home of Bill and Jill Culwell to spend the evening. We had arranged to have Rabbi Eitan
Shishkoff from Tents of Mercy Synagogue near Haifa to speak to us about his ministry. They
have a very large group of Jewish believers (those who believe and love Jesus as their Messiah) who are part of the ministry to new immigrants who come to Israel with no jobs, food,
clothing, or housing. The majority of these immigrants are from Russia. Tents of Mercy own
a large warehouse where they store and distribute food and clothing to those in need. They
meet for worship in the same warehouse, which I will tell you about later.
Their warehouse is in Kiryat Yam, south of Akko, where they have been ministering to the
blind. Bill and Jill Culwell have extensive experience in starting new businesses, both in the
USA and in Israel. They thought about the saying, “Give a man a fish and you have fed him
for a day – teach him to fish and you have fed him for life.” Bill had a vision of starting a
school to teach Israelis how to start and run their own business. An agricultural kibbutz adjoining the town of Akko is closing down, so they gave several thousand acres of their land to
Akko. Tents of Mercy asked Akko if they would consider giving them twenty-five acres for
their proposed business college campus. Bill Culwell already had drawings prepared by an
architect showing the campus layout. Shortly after Sally and I returned home, we got word
that the Borough Council of Akko not only agreed to their request, but they want to give them
fifty acres. God has blessed Tents of Mercy in so many ways.
The evening with Bill and Jill was a pleasant experience for everyone. It was an evening of
worship with Maryanna leading, and with Bill and Eitan speaking of their ministry.
Wednesday began with an early morning boat ride on the Sea of Galilee in a boat similar to
those used in the days of Jesus, except that this one was propelled by a motor instead of a
sail. We stopped in the middle of the lake for Bible reading and prayer, followed by several
praise songs which Marianna led us in. We sailed on to a landing at Kibbutz Ginnosar where
we visited their museum to view the fishing boat that had been preserved in the mud along
the shore near the kibbutz. It has been determined that the boat is about 2,000 years old,
which made it very difficult to raise it from its mud encasement, clean it, and encase it in a
protective coating without the wood drying out. Had the wood been allowed to dry out, it
would have disintegrated into powder.
From the museum, we started north to go to the upper end of the Jordan River Valley. We
climbed to the top of the Golan Heights on the east side of the Sea of Galilee. About half way
to the top, we stopped to visit Bill and Jill Culwell’s factory. This is a business called Filtec,
which manufactures industrial air filters. The company was started in order to provide employment to Russian Messianic Jews who have immigrated to Israel. Believers in Yeshua in a
Jewish country find it difficult to gain employment. There are so many Russian Jews who became believers while still in Russia. Our tour guide, Hannah, was one of these who came to
Israel from Russia as a believer. We enjoyed meeting Benny and Hedva who run the factory. In fact, they now own the factory since Bill and Jill turned it over to them. We have
been praying for them for several years, but never met them until this tour.
This was the day that Ray Hodge, a member of our tour group, told me before leaving the hotel that he was very sick and really needed to see a doctor. I called Bill Culwell, who was on
his way to the factory to see if he could get a doctor for Ray. When we left the factory, Ray
stayed behind so that Bill could take him to a doctor not far away which whom he was able to
get an appointment. After seeing the doctor, Bill would bring Ray to join us wherever we
were at that time.
After leaving the factory, we drove north along the top of the Golan Heights where we could
look over into Syria toward Damascus as we traveled. Soon we came to a beautiful view of
snow-capped Mount Hermon where Israel has built a ski resort. This group of mountains
had been in Syria before the war in 1967. In fact, all of the Golan Heights had been in
Syria. We were going to stop at a very nice waterfall created by the melting snow, but there
were so many tour buses trying to find room to park that I told Yosee to keep on going. The
falls were not worth the hassle of parking the bus. It was good to see so many tour buses, an
indication that the tourists felt secure enough to be returning to Israel.
We drove on to the bottom of Mount Hermon to the Biblical place called Caesarea Philippi. This area is famous because of the many springs created by melting snow and rainwater that percolates down through the rock formations of Mount Hebron. Water bubbles
out from under the mountain, creating spectacular cascading streams and waterfalls that are
the beginning of the Jordan River.
We took a path downstream that leads to another Roman palace, this one built for Herod Antipas. Shortly after starting down this trail, we passed a large group of Israeli high school
students on a field trip. I stopped to talk with them for a minute, but they all gathered
around me so I sat down with them to talk more. Jane English saw me and wanted to take a
picture of me with the students. When Jane and I started after the rest of our group, they
were out of sight. The trail was easy to follow and we knew we would catch up with
them. We came to a fork in the trail with a sign showing that the right trail went to the falls
and a parking lot. We remembered earlier that Hannah said we would see a larger waterfall,
so we took the right fork. It wasn’t long until we realized that the tour group would not have
followed this trail, but we were too far along to turn back, so we kept going.
The trail was really a nice nature hike but very rough in places. We could hear the rushing
waters of the Jordan River and see it in places that were beautiful. After walking for over a
mile, the trail started steeply downhill. I knew that when you go downhill, eventually you
have to go back uphill. We crossed the river on a footbridge, and as we started up the other
side, we saw some of our group. There were about eight of them who were relieved that the
tour leader caught up with them, thinking the entire tour group was now with them, not realizing that we were all separated from the main group.
We climbed to the top of the river gorge and on to the parking lot, which was empty. We
walked past an army guard booth back in the woods a short distance, so I walked back to talk
with the two soldiers there. When I told them my story, the one picked up his telephone and
after talking for about 30 seconds, he looked up and said, “Your tour bus will be here in two
minutes.” He had called a similar guard booth at the other end of the trail at the same time
Hannah was talking to the two soldiers there. Sure enough, in two minutes, the bus pulled
into the parking lot. We had a lot of fun kidding about which part of the group got lost.
I must tell you that when I first agreed to lead the Israel tour, my back, right hip and right leg
did not allow me to walk a block without a great deal of pain. For several months prior to the
tour, I walked almost every day on the treadmill in the hopes of getting into shape enough to
be able to keep up with the tour group. The two-mile hike Jane English and I completed was
way beyond anything I hoped to be able to accomplish. There is no doubt but what God arranged for Jane and me to have this quality time together, and He enabled me to be able to
make this hike without any discomfort. I must say the trail we hiked was about as rough as
any mountain trail. This was just one more confirmation that God really wanted me to lead
this tour. Friends and family, believe me when I tell you – there is nothing to compare with
the feeling you get when you know that what you are doing is within God’s will for you! Its
like walking hand in hand with God. Wow!
We left the parking lot and went looking for some place to eat lunch. I suggested Kefar Blum,
a kibbutz down the Jordan Valley in the direction we would be going. It would make it a little late for lunch if we went that far. Hannah and Yosee knew of a kibbutz that had a restaurant a little closer, so we went there. Lunch was a pleasant experience with most of the
group having “Saint Peter’s fish” again. After lunch, we drove just a short distance to ancient
Dan where there was a nice nature reserve surrounding Tel Dan. I started on the hike, but
after about a block, I knew I needed to go back to the bus. The reason I had to take a break is
because one of my heart medications that I take when I get up in the mornings wears off
about mid-afternoon. Yosee and I had a nice nap while waiting for the group to return. From
there, we returned to Tiberius and dinner at the hotel. The evening was kept free so everyone
who wanted to could go shopping.
Thursday morning, we checked out of the Tiberius hotel and started driving south. Yosee
and Hannah were talking in Hebrew, but I could understand a few words as they
talked. They both agreed it was much shorter to drive straight down the Jordan River Valley
to Beth Shean where we would make our first historical site stop. When we passed a certain
road junction, I asked Yosee where he was going. I told them I wanted to go the route I originally mapped out, even though it was further to drive. Nothing more was said, and the next
place we could turn around, Yosee did so.
There has been an argument for years among scholars as to where the Mount of Transfiguration was located. When we were at Mount Hermon at the upper end of the Jordan River,
Hannah pointed out Mt. Hermon as the Mount of Transfiguration. I insisted that it was Mt.
Tabor, not Hermon. As we were driving past Mt. Tabor, we were reading the Bible account
of the transfiguration. On queue, God caused a cloud to descend to the top of the mountain
as described in Matthew 17:5. After we passed, the cloud lifted again. We were all amazed
at how our God would do that just for us. I refrained from rubbing it in to Hannah about this
verification of Mt. Tabor being the correct mountain, and she did not say a word about the
experience. One of the reasons I have always been convinced that Tabor is the right mountain is the Bible’s description, “Jesus took them up on a high mountain apart.” Grammatically, it is the mountain that is apart, not Peter, James and John. Mt. Tabor sits in the Jezreel
Valley all by itself so that you can walk all the way around it on the valley floor.
Just beyond Mt. Tabor, the village of Nain was on our left, where Jesus raised the widow of
Nain’s son to life as the funeral procession was leaving the village. We drove over the Hill of
Moreh and down the Beth Shean Valley with Mount Gilboah on the right. We drove past so
much Old Testament Biblical history, like the pool where God reduced the size of Gideon’s
army by the way they drank, that I cannot take the space to tell you all about it. Beth Shean
was a very interesting archaeological site, but I will not bore you with the details.
From there, we continued down the Jordan River Valley past Jericho to Qumran. For security
reasons, we did not stop anywhere in the Jericho area. Yosee stopped several times going
down the valley for us to watch flocks of black and white storks, and several times we
watched gazelles. Yosee kept saying how lucky we were to see the storks on their migration
north to Europe. We ate lunch at Qumran and then toured the ancient site where the Esennes lived around the time of Jesus and before. The drive south along the Dead Sea was interesting as we looked across the Sea to Biblical Moab in the east, as well as the cliffs along the
western shore. We checked into the hotel at the southern end of the Dead Sea where we
were to spend two nights.
Friday, we visited Mt. Masdada, which took most of the morning. Next stop was En Gedi
where we ate lunch before hiking the trail up to the picturesque waterfall. This was the area
David fled to when King Saul was trying to kill him (I Samuel 23:29 – 24:22). Once again, I
was not doing well on the trail up to the En Gedi fortress area because it was afternoon and
my medication was wearing off. So I sat down at about the halfway point until the group
came back down.
Saturday morning, we checked out of the hotel on the Dead Sea and started the trip up to Jerusalem where we would spend three days. En route, we drove through the northern Negev
Desert with a stop at Tel Arad and Tel Beersheva. Arad was an ancient Canaanite city that
had contact with the Israelites when Moses sent the twelve spies into the Promised Land from
Kadesh Barnea. Arad was destroyed later during the conquest of Canaan by Joshua. Beersheva was the town I always associated Abraham with as this was where Abraham dug seven
wells. That is where the name Beersheva came from. Beer in Hebrew means well, and seven
in Hebrew is sheva.
We headed to Jerusalem on the desert road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza (Acts
8:26-40). This is the passage about Philip teaching and baptizing the Ethiopian eunuch. It
was too wet and muddy to walk up the Valley of Elah where David killed Goliath, so we just
parked along the road and read the account from I Samuel 17. All the pictures had to be
taken from the bus, which I felt badly about because pictures of the valley taken from the
hills where the Israelite army and the Philistine army camped would have been quite dramatic.
As we started up the road toward Jerusalem, the excitement grew as we got closer until we
could finally see the golden city of Jerusalem. Since it was late afternoon by this time, we
drove straight through the city to the Regency Hotel on the top of Mount Scopus, which is an
extension of the Mount of Olives. From the hotel, you could look out over the old city of Jerusalem. All of our hotels were beautiful, but the Regency was the best. It is built in a square
with a huge lobby in the center that is open all the way to the glass roof. Walkways surrounded this open area on all floor levels, so you could look down on the lobby from each
floor, with the rooms opening off these walkways. Once again, Sally and I were given a
beautiful suite consisting of a nice large living room, a very large bedroom with a king-size
When we went down to the dining room for dinner, we found a large section set aside for the
“Hinton Tour Group.” This was the setup for all four nights we were in Jerusalem. The dinner was always buffet style with a wide selection of delicious dishes. Bill and Jill Culwell
joined us for several days in Jerusalem. We also invited Joe and Marcia Shulam to join us for
dinner. It was so good to see Joe and Marcia again. After dinner, we had them visit with us
in our suite, along with Bill and Jill and Melanie.
After breakfast on Sunday, the hotel gave us a private room where we held our worship service. Maryanna led us in praise songs and Joe preached. Hannah brought everything for
communion. As Joe spoke, he called our attention to the view we had of the Mount of Olives
where Jesus ascended back to heaven. We also had a view of the Garden of Gethsemane and
the temple area. For communion, I reminded everyone of this memorial having been started
right over there on Mt. Zion in the upper room that we would be visiting shortly.
After worship, we drove to the lookout on the Mt of Olives overlooking the Kidron Valley,
Temple Mount and all of Jerusalem. We had a tour group picture taken with Jerusalem in
the background. Later, the photographer delivered the pictures to each of us at the hotel. We visited the Garden of Gethsemane, the Temple Mount, Mt. Zion and part of the old
city. On Mt. Zion, we visited the upper room where Jesus observed the last Passover with His
disciples. This room was not the actual room used by Jesus and the disciples, but it is in the
right location and constructed in a similar fashion to the room used by Jesus.
We decided to eat lunch that day on the Mt. of Olives at a Bethlehem Arab’s shop where everyone could spend as much time as desired shopping for olivewood carvings and all kinds of
souvenirs. The owner had a shop in Bethlehem, but due to the trouble there, moved his shop
to Jerusalem. He remembered Sally and me from visiting his Bethlehem shop so often years
before. He is known for the quality of goods in his shop and for his honesty. He had lunch
brought in for us so we could eat while we shopped. A number of his family members
worked in the shop.
Sally picked out some Hebron glass items for our daughter Becky that she wanted for her
daughter, Jen. Sally bought other items as gifts for our family, but Melanie was the one who
had a long list of items to buy for her children and grandchildren. I checked with her when
a clerk was adding everything up for her. When I saw the total of $1,500, I told the clerk
there was no way she could afford that amount. He took it upon himself to reduce the total
down to $1,250. I insisted that she could not afford that much either, so he called the owner
over. We talked awhile, and he finally reached over and wrote $950 on the invoice. As it
turned out, Melanie’s children and several friends had given her money to spend on gifts,
which totaled $950. God is so great, even in material things such as this. When I went to
pay for the items Sally was buying, the owner said he could not take any money from me, so
Sally’s purchases were a gift from him. In addition, he wanted to give us a gift for bringing
32 customers into his shop, so he picked out an olivewood piece for us.
After lunch, we toured the old city and found ourselves in the market area where an artist
had paintings displayed on the sidewalk. One of his paintings was of the Red Sea with Moses
standing with his arms raised over the sea as the waters parted for the Israelites to proceed
across as they continued their journey. The price of $85 was marked on the painting. Melanie was in tears over the painting for sentimental reasons. I tried to discourage her
from buying it because I felt she could not afford it. When I saw how much the painting
meant to her, I asked the shopkeeper if he would sell it to her for $50. He said, “Do you want
me to give it to her?” I thought I had insulted him and that he was angry with me. He had
me come into his shop where he had the painting gift wrapped for Melanie. God did things
like this over and over on the tour. Later, the shopkeeper told someone in our group that God
was telling him that he needed to give someone a gift today.
Monday and Tuesday were spent in and around Jerusalem. We visited several museums, including the Holocaust Museum and the Scroll of the Book where the Dead Sea scrolls are
kept. Joe and Marcia Shulam met us at the museum where Joe lectured on Qumran and the
significance of the scrolls. From there, Melanie went home with Marcia to spend the remainder of the day. They grew up together in Pennsylvania and had a good time talking over old
times and bringing each other up to date on family news. The visit to the model of Jerusalem
was interesting and helpful to the tour members. We had lunch at a kibbutz with a view of
Bethlehem, which was as close to Bethlehem as we could go for security reasons.
Tuesday was an interesting day as we visited the area around the outside of the Temple
Mount, including excavated areas that revealed Jerusalem in Jesus’ day. One thing that I saw
which was not uncovered when we were in Israel before was the Roman street along the west
side of the temple. We saw huge piles of big building stones from the top of the Temple
Mount walls that were left exactly as they fell when the Romans destroyed the temple in 70
AD. The stones were thrown down exactly as Jesus prophesied would happen in Matthew
24:1-2.
We spent a considerable amount of time in the Bethesda pool area where, by request, Hannah
told us about her life in Russia where she grew up. As a teenager, she came to a belief in Yeshua, but was afraid to tell her mother. She eventually learned that her mother also had become a believer before Hannah. Hannah gave birth to a son in Russia, and shortly thereafter,
Hannah, her son and her mother immigrated to Israel. Hannah got a job working for Joe
Shulam in Netivyah, which has various ministries among Jewish people around the
world. Netivyah was responsible for publishing commentaries on Romans, Acts and Galatians that are written for Jewish use. Eventually they expect to publish them on all of the
New Testament books. They also have a weekly radio program that is broadcast to all of the
Middle East. Netivyah’s various ministries are all aimed at leading the Jewish people to an
acceptance of their Jewish Messiah, Yeshua. Hannah is still working for Joe, as well as working as a tour guide for the Ministry of Tourism.
The pool of Bethesda, as well as the church of the Flagellation is on the traditional Via Dolorosa. Some of the group were disappointed in the walk on the Via Dolorosa as well as the
Church of the Holy Sepulcher. For the entire distance, you are in the market area of the old
city with shops lining both sides of the streets. I knew the group would be disappointed, but
it is something we were almost compelled to do in order to make the tour complete.
We had lunch in a quaint Arab restaurant near the Jaffa Gate. We then exited the old city
through the Jaffa Gate where we met Yosee, our bus driver, who took us to the Garden
Tomb. There is a high hill above the garden with a cliff containing several shallow caves that
resemble the eyes and mouth of a human skull. Jesus was crucified on Golgotha (which
means The Place of the Skull, Matthew 27:33). At the bottom of the garden is an open tomb
that could have been used to bury the body of Jesus. We had a short devotional in the garden
with Marianna leading us in praise songs. As she was about to lead us in one song, another
group above us started to sing an old familiar hymn, so we joined them in singing.
We returned to the hotel to give everyone time to pack their bags for departure early in the
morning. We invited Hannah, her son and her mother to join us for dinner. We also had Joe
and Marcia join us, but Yosee could not make it. After dinner, the hotel gave us the use of a
large hall for our farewell meeting. Most of the group had a chance to tell what the tour
meant to them. It was a rather emotional evening that finally broke up when another group
needed to use the hall.
In the morning after an early breakfast, we piled into the bus one last time. Even though
Sally and I were staying on in Jerusalem, we accompanied the group to the airport. Hannah
also went along to see them off and, of course, Yosee was there. Most were a little apprehensive about getting through customs, especially given the terrorist threats so common is Israel. It probably helped that we had a rather large tour group, which prompted the Ministry
of Tourism to have a ministry representative go through with us. He met our bus, had an
empty line for us to get into, and introduced me to several security agents. One of them took
me aside and asked questions such as where all we went while in Israel. At the same time,
the other agent took Marilyn Gorham aside and asked her the same questions. The two
agents compared notes and waved us through.
We were shown where the coffee shop was located in the departure hall while we waited for
about twenty minutes until the whole group joined us. Everyone was pleasantly surprised at
how painless the process was. Sally, Hannah and I said goodbye to the group, and then the
three of us took a taxi from the airport to Joe Shulam’s house on the west side of Jerusalem. Once again, Hannah would not allow me to pay for the taxi, which would have cost approximately $40. We visited with Marcia while Joe took Hannah to work with him.
Thus ends the story of the Israel tour from the Israel side. The group has some stories to tell
about their trip home, which was uneventful for the most part. While Sally and I visited with
friends in Israel for the next several weeks, over and over they told us how foolish we were
not to have charged a fee for our services. They said that others all charge up to $500 per
person, which would have meant as much as $15,000 for us. I have told everyone that,
when I hear people say, “We will never be the same again,” or “I will never read the Bible in
the same way again,” that is payment enough for us. That really was our reason for agreeing
to lead a tour in the first place. We knew that we had some on the tour that could not afford
to go, so we needed to keep the cost as low as possible. Again, I must say that God’s blessings
throughout the trip were more than enough payment for me.
Extended Stay for Sally and Me
The tour group was gone from home for twelve days, but Sally and I were away for an additional thirteen days while we visited with friends in Israel. Our visiting began with four days
in the home of Joe and Marcia Shulam on the west side of Jerusalem. Their home was built
by a friend a few years ago on a hill with a beautiful view of the Jerusalem skyline. A large
patio on the front of the home offers this view, as well as a view looking northeast towards
Samaria.
After ten days of intensive touring, trying to keep up with the tour group, and acting as tour
leader, I welcomed the quiet time on the patio, soaking up the sun and the view. We had not
seen much sun during the tour, but as soon as the group left, the weather changed and was
without a cloud in the sky.
We did very little traveling while we were with Joe and Marcia. On Wednesday evening, Joe
came home and told me that Yaacov Horesh would be in the Netivyah office doing translation
work for the weekly radio program. I told Joe I was going along in the morning to surprise
Yaacov. He was already in the sound room recording a gospel message to be aired the following week when we arrived. Joseph is using sermons prepared by a well-known American
preacher for an American weekly radio program. Yaacov translates them into Hebrew, making necessary changes to reflect Mid-eastern culture, then records them for broadcasting.
Yaacov already knew I was going to be there, but the surprise was still real and we had a
hugging good time. Earlier, Hannah told Yaacov that a close friend of his would be in to
visit. He said to Hannah, “How do you expect me to be able to concentrate this morning if
you don’t tell me who it is?” so she finally told him. Yaacov told me that his wife, Esther was
working in Jerusalem at the Finnish School and he would be picking her up shortly. He
called Esther and told her that he had a wonderful surprise for her – that he would be bringing someone along when he picked her up. From just that little bit of information, she
guessed that Buck and Sally were in Jerusalem, although neither Yaacov nor Esther knew we
were planning this trip to Israel. When we stopped for Esther, she came out and saw me with
a wide-eyed expression of joy on her face. She said, “I knew it, I knew it would be
you!” Since they would be going near Joe and Marcia’s house on their way home, they
wanted to drop me off there and see Sally. We had a nice but short visit with them, but
would be able to spend the night with them on Sunday.
One of the highlights of this visit to Israel was the opportunity to worship with Jewish believers at Joe’s congregation in Jerusalem. Their building is very small, holding between 150 and
200 if you crowd together as tightly as possible. The building was jammed with standing
room only. I could understand why David Katz from Sar El Tours discouraged us from
bringing the tour group to worship with them. It would have been impossible to get the tour
group into the building along with their regular attendees. The worship was beautifully Jewish with David Katz leading the worship. David is the man who helped me plan the tour and
who made all the hotel arrangements and paid for our tickets to get into all of the historical
sites. David has a powerfully beautiful voice and had served as a rabbi in Jewish synagogues
for years before becoming a believer. I won’t even attempt to describe the Messianic worship. It’s something you must experience for yourself.
During announcement time, they asked Sally and me to stand while they told of the years we
had lived in Israel and the work we had done. One man came up to us who knew us from 25
years ago, but I did not recognize him. It was David Stern who had attended the Jewish Bible
study in our home for several years. He is the author of The Complete Jewish Bible, a translation he prepared and published as an aid in leading Jews to Jesus. You can buy it in most
Christian bookstores.
Marcia had to leave Sunday night for California to be with her daughter Dana and granddaughter Noaam. On Sunday morning, Sally helped Marcia pack for her trip and then we
took a taxi to the Tel Aviv area to visit with friends, Al and Zipporah Bressler. Zipporah has
had severe health problems and could not spend much time visiting with us. Al always loved
to cook and he prepared a nice lunch for us out on the deck. He had invited Shmuel and
Dina Lam, a former coworker and friend to have lunch with us. It was good to renew old
friendships, but we had a burden to bring them to a belief in Yeshua while we were there.
Yaacov Horesh came for us late afternoon and took us to their house where we were to spend
the night. Yaacov and Esther live in a Jewish settlement called Ariel in a nice home that
Yaacov built himself. Esther is an opera singer and Yaacov is a concert pianist, but he was
not afraid of the hard labor of construction. Ariel is a West Bank town in a Palestinian area,
located in the center of an area controlled by the Palestinians, not more than a few miles from
the city of Nablus, which is a strong terrorist center.
We arrived just before dark, but we could see the fence just two hundred feet from the house
which separated the Arab section from the Jewish section. I could also see several Moslem
mosques within a block or two of their house. After dinner, they insisted that I had to go to a
doctor since I still had a fever. Yaacov called a doctor about two miles away who agreed to
see me. This was at 10:30 pm, but because of their mid-afternoon siesta custom, doctors
keep late hours in that society. The doctor prescribed some medication that required another
two miles through the Palestinian area to get the prescription filled. It was 11:00 pm when
we got to the drug store, but it was still open with many customers. I could not help wondering what friends and family back home would be thinking if they knew I was driving around
after dark in what could be considered an unfriendly neighborhood.
We had a very pleasant visit with Esther and Yaacov, remembering events we shared in previous years. In the morning, Bill and Jill Culwell drove down from the Galilee to take us to
their house in Tiberius where we would spend the next nine days.
Bill and Jill were just getting over the same flu bug, and by then Sally also had it. We did not
do much for the next few days, but I could not have asked for a more beautiful setting in
which to recover. A large deck opened out from the living room 1,700 feet above the Sea of
Galilee. From the deck, you had a view of the entire Sea or Lake. Looking across the Lake,
you are at about the same height as the Golan Heights, and then looking south, you see down
the Jordan River Valley. Looking north, you can see snow-capped Mount Hermon, which
was about thirty miles away.
In the home of Bill and Jill on Friday evening, we had our Shabbat dinner with the customary
breaking of bread and lighting of the candles. This breaking of bread is not communion but
a braided loaf of challah bread, we referred to as Shabbat bread. It is sprinkled with a little
salt and each one breaks off a piece to eat. On Shabbat morning (Saturday), we drove to
Kiryat Yam on the Mediterranean Sea, between Haifa and Akko. In Kiryat Yam, we worshipped with the Messianic believers with about 400 in attendance. They call their synagogue or congregation “Tents of Mercy” because of their unique ministry. You may recall
they have a very large warehouse where they store food and clothing, which is used to meet
the needs of the poor refugees coming into the country by the thousands. They also work
with the Blind Association in the city of Akko, as well strive to meet any other needs among
the poor of Israel. All this humanitarian aid is also their opening to meet the spiritual needs
of these people.
In 2003, the mayor of Akko contacted Eitan Shishkoff, the rabbi of Tents of Mercy synagogue
to see if they could help out with much needed repairs to the Blind Association building. I
saw pictures of the building before repairs were made, and then saw the building after the
repairs. What a fantastic job Tents of Mercy did! After worship, we enjoyed a delicious
lunch in an Arab restaurant on the Mediterranean shore in Akko. The mayor came in while
we were eating there.
After lunch, we drove out to see the proposed site for the business college Bill had dreams of
building. We knew an American couple who immigrated to Israel ten years ago and started
business practices. This is true of a number of businesses, so Bill saw a need to help correct
this problem by training them to start and operate their own businesses via a business college. There was an agricultural kibbutz adjacent to the city of Akko that was closing because
of the younger Israelis not wanting that lifestyle any more. The kibbutz gave all their land to
the city of Akko, so Bill went to the Mayor asking for a portion of the land for the college
campus. After the Mayor took the request before the city council, he came back with the
great news that the city council was giving them a parcel of land twice the size of what Bill
had requested. Bill and Jill had just completed a tour of the southwestern United States, promoting the business college and raising funds for this purpose.
The only sightseeing tour we took during our time with Culwells was to a recently excavated
site just north of Nazareth called Zippori. It was a very large city within sight of Nazareth
that was built about the year Jesus was born. I would guess that the urban life of Zippori
would have influenced some of Jesus’ thinking. After seeing Zippori, we drove through Nazareth, looking for a site called “Nazareth Village.” It is about a three-acre site in the middle
of Nazareth that has been created to depict what Nazareth may have been like when Jesus
grew up there. There is a live shepherd tending sheep, goats and burros wandering around
the hillside, which is made up of a small plot of farming fields and an olive grove. They have
constructed a house like ones in Jesus’ day, with a mill to grind grains into flour and several
out buildings.
They prepared lunch over an open fire that was served to us by people in costume in the
small house. We had flat bread cooked or burned over the open fire, hummus, olives and
pickles. It was quite good and was even eaten around a table shared with a group of four
people from Holland. The lady leading the group was a tour guide who asked if she had met
Sally and me before. It dawned on her that she saw us in a worship service in Joe Shulam’s
congregation in Jerusalem a week or so before.
The last day we were in Tiberius, Sally and I visited Ken and Marjorie Crowell. We first met
the Crowells in 1970 when Ken came to Israel with the Motorola Corporation. They returned to the States when their contract ended and came back to Israel several years later to
start an electronics business. The name of their company is Galtronics. The name comes
from Galilee, where they are located, and the word electronics.
Their business has grown through the years to where they now have manufacturing plants in
Israel, China and the United States. Their primary products are fixed frequency radios tuned
to the local Christian broadcast station of whatever country they are shipped to. They also
have a talking brochure with 90 minutes of gospel messages in the language of the area
where they are being sent. A third item contains the entire New Testament, again in the language of the people receiving them. These are being sent into every country of the world
where they have not yet heard of Jesus, and they are free. Galtronics has even air-dropped
them into remote villages that are difficult to get to. People have asked how they remain in
business if all this is free. Galtronics also manufactures cell phone antennas by the millions.
Ken and Margie gave us a tour of their manufacturing complex, which was quite impressive. I have never seen such a spotless plant, which I understand is essential in handling sensitive electronics. We were treated to lunch in their cafeteria, which again was unique. They
feed their employees free meals every day – four entrees with all the trimmings, including
drinks and desserts.
After the tour, Bill and Jill drove us to Tel Aviv where we spent the night so we could catch
our flight back to the US early the next morning. Bill had a travel agent friend who made
reservations at the only hotel with openings. It was in Bat Yam on the beach south of Tel
Aviv. We requested Bat Yam because it was close to where Al and Zipporah lived, and had
easy access to Ben Gurion Airport. I had forgotten my camera at their house when we visited
them two weeks earlier and Al was going to bring it to us. We needed to see Al because we
bought a new Bible for him while we were in Tiberius. Al told us how hard it was to read the
King James Bible, so this was a new modern language Bible with Hebrew on the left page and
English on the right. Sally and I may have to make another trip to Israel to follow up with Al
and Zip in sharing the good news that Jesus is not a Gentile Savior, but He is their Jewish
Messiah prophesied about in the Old Testament.
The hotel we stayed in that night was a real dud. There was no place in the hotel where we
could get dinner, so we went to a little kiosk up the street and bought a few snacks to take
back to our room. There was also no telephone where I could reconfirm our morning
flight. I went down to the desk and used their phone, only to find out that our 8:30 am flight
was delayed until 11:00 am. We decided it would be more comfortable to wait in the airport
terminal than at the hotel, so we left the hotel at 8:00 am, arrived at the airport and learned
that our flight was delayed even further until 1:00 pm. Those who know me know how
much I detest McDonald’s fast food, but we had no choice, so I ate a McDonald’s breakfast.
We finally boarded our plane early afternoon, but just before time to leave the terminal
building, a passenger had a heart attack and had to be taken off the plane. That left them
with the problem of getting the heart attack victim’s luggage off the plane. It took three
hours to find several pieces of luggage in the baggage hold containing over 1,000 other
pieces of luggage. Instead of a scheduled departure of 8:30 am, we did not leave until after
5:00 pm.
I had reserved a rental car to be picked up at JFK Airport around 2:00 pm, but we did not arrive in New York until after 11:00 pm. I learned we would have to take the airbus several
miles to the Hertz car rental office. That was another hair-raising experience, but we did get
to Hertz, knowing our car would no longer be waiting for us. I had reserved a Ford Escort
and ended up with a nice Buick LeSabre. We pulled out of JFK at well after midnight. Sally
could not drive the rental car because her name was not on the agreement, which meant I
was stuck for all the driving to our home. I am so glad we had lived in the Newark, New Jersey area for several years and knew the roads well enough to get on the correct road to home
without any further delays. We arrived home at about 3:30 am after 19 hours of traveling. Trust me, there really is no place like home!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A Journey to Treasure
The Blessing
The other day someone asked how we can close out our life story when we are still living it. I
do want to add a closing chapter.
About a year after returning from Israel in March of 2005, the Israel tour group spent an
evening together at Ed and Jane McFadden’s home. Near the end of the evening, almost all of
those from Capital Area Christian Church expressed a strong desire for us to take them back
to Israel again. In a weak moment I agreed. We are scheduled to be in Israel from March 18
through 28, 2007. As of now, I have sixteen committed to go. I really need at least twentyfive and I prefer thirty. The cost is considerably more than the last time, but the more who go
with us, the lower the cost will be.
I had all but given up getting enough to make the trip possible. I told God that it was up to
Him if He really wanted us to go. Two weeks ago, Brian Smith came up to me at CACC expressing an interest in going with us. Yesterday, he gave me a check for the full amount for
him to go. One week ago. Shabi Balachandra talked to me after Sunday morning worship,
asking for information on the tour for her aunt and uncle in Los Angeles. I called her aunt
who told me a couple from the Philippines wanted to go also. Yesterday after worship, a Jewish couple talked to us about their desire to go, and they want to take their two children
along. My guess is that God wants us to go and I know He can make it happen. Since this
book is to be printed in the next few weeks, we won’t be able to tell you the final outcome
here.
Reading through what has already been written, we feel an urge to share with you all some
of our deepest thoughts. As this book goes to the printer, I am eighty years old and my Sally
is seventy-eight. We have lived through a lot from 1926 to 2006. I was born just eight years
after World War I ended. I was part of World War II and lived through the Korean War, the
Vietnam War, and two wars in Iraq with one still being fought. There were so many smaller
wars around the world that I can’t begin to name them all.
God has been so good to us through all these years. As I look back now, I realize God was
preparing me to fulfill His plans for my life from my early childhood. I think I owe a lot of
our spiritual journey to Jack Conley’s advice in 1953 to “never say no when asked to do
something for the Lord.” Don’t be afraid to take risks to do what you sense God is calling you
to do.
I do want everyone to know the great love I have for my wife Sally as we approach our 60th
wedding anniversary. I don’t think a day goes by without me telling her, “I love you.” She
always says, “I love you, too, honey.” After sixty years, I can still say that our marriage gets
better all the time. People express amazement that a couple can remain together that long
and they want to know our secret. The secret can be summed up in one word,
“commitment.”
I made a commitment to love Sally until we are parted by death and I meant it. Nothing except death can separate us, and even that can’t. Nothing could be any more certain than the
fact that heaven is a very real place and Sally and I will both be there. It is my hope that we
will be joined by all of our family and friends. I will be watching for each one of you. If any
of you are away from the Lord as you read this, please, please come back so I will not be disappointed in not having my entire family together in heaven forever.
Sally’s Closing Thoughts
It is November 24, 2006 – the day after Thanksgiving, and dear children, I feel a sense of
closing the final chapter of The Journey to Treasure. Yesterday, we met once again at the
church building with twenty-three of our family to celebrate Thanksgiving and to just
“treasure family.” Circumstances prevented some to be with us; in fact, had we all been together, my complete count at this date is fifty-three (and the numbers will continue to multiply). I wonder if we will ever be privileged to all be together as a family this side of heaven?
Why do I ponder about this? Well, you see, Pappy and I have been journeying back through
almost sixty years of our life as “one,” recording thoughts and blessing upon blessing, many
that we hadn’t even realized were blessings until we looked back. These many, many blessings were from the Awesome Father, who has been our guide, our protector, our strength,
our sustainer and provider of perseverance when it would have been impossible for us to endure alone.
About a year ago, Lora prepared a first draft of all we had written of our “journey memories”
in a legible, orderly fashion for us to review and make any changes, additions, etc. Since life
was continuing with God-guided experiences, several more chapters were added. Then recently, your Dad emailed some of the story to you, resulting in a combined chorus of, “Finish
the book and have it published!”
Melanie has followed through with this great task, bringing a final draft with her this weekend. Josh has been working with her to get printing prices and came to our Thanksgiving
dinner yesterday with the intent to add family pictures. All siblings brought their scrapbooks
I made for them some years back of childhood memories. It touched my heart to see them
and their children traveling back in time, sharing memories. It was at that time that I realized how precious it will be for our children and their children for generations to treasure
the legacy of our family.
I know that, through our story, each of you will see that for the first few years of our life together, God was not the focal point in our marriage. Yes, we made a pretense of being
“Christians,” but it wasn’t until God used events that we weren’t even realizing at the time,
that our lives took on a whole new realm of meaning. We were no longer Buck and Sally in
charge. We began to live life with much greater strength and meaning as we became a
threesome with the Heavenly Father and the Savior who loved us for who we are, and was
willing to partner with us in this life all the way to eternity.
Please know that my prayer daily is that each of you more and more realize the need to partner with our Lord in your journey. For those who already do, may God awaken you to
deeper faith. For those who are trying to walk on your own strength, may you very soon realize the joy and ease it is to partner with Him.
God spoke a blessing on a chosen people many generations ago that is still spoken to loved
children today: “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God
with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments
that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about
them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when
you get up.” (Deuteronomy 6:4-7)
The apostle Paul learned a very hard lesson in his life to cause him to realize how to love the
Lord the way God asks, but from the point he was in his life when he realized this.
Philippians 3 from The Message translation:
“I don’t mind repeating what I have written in earlier letters. I hope you don’t mind hearing
it again. Better safe than sorry – so here goes. Steer clear of the barking dogs, those religious
busybodies, all bark and no bite. All they’re interested in is appearances – knife-happy experiences, I call them. The real believers are the ones the Spirit of God leads to work away at
this ministry, filling the air with Christ’s praises. We couldn’t carry this off by our own efforts, and we know it, even though we can list what many might think are impressive credentials. . . . ’
‘Yes, all the things I once thought were so important are gone from my life. Compared to the
high privilege of knowing Christ Jesus as my Master, firsthand, everything I once thought I
had going for me is insignificant – dog dung. I’ve dumped it all in the trash so that I could
embrace Christ and be embraced by Him. I didn’t want some petty, inferior brand of righteousness that comes from keeping a list of rules when I could get the robust kind that comes
from trusting Christ – God’s righteousness.’
‘I’m not saying I have this all together, that I’ve made it. But I am well on my way, reaching
out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. . . . I’ve got my eye on the goal
where God is beckoning us onward – to Jesus. I’m off and running, and I’m not turning
back!’
‘Stick with me, friends. Keep track of those you see running this same course, headed for the
same goal. There are many out there taking other paths, choosing other goals and trying to
get you to go along with them. . . . But there’s far more to life for us. We’re citizens of high
heaven! We’re waiting for the arrival of the Savior, the Master, Jesus Christ, who will transform our earthly bodies into glorious bodies like His own.’
‘My dear friends. I love you so much. I do want the very best for you. You fill me with such
joy, fill me with such pride. Don’t waver. Stay on track, steady in God.” (end of Paul’s
quote)
Dear children, I echo Paul’s words. They are my prayer for each of you, and I pray that we
will all fellowship together in heaven through all eternity.
A Note to Descendants of the Hinton Family:
At the time of the original printing of A Journey to Treasure, we included here a list of those
who made up our family. As we place our story online for others to read, we have updated
the list to reflect the growth of the family to the present day and plan to continue updating
the “family tree” over time. As you pass this life story along to generations to come, they will
be able to trace where their roots began in the family.
Buck and Sally Hinton’s Children, Grandchildren, Great-Grandchildren, and Great-GreatGrandchildren To Date:
Melanie Lee Hinton Rinehults
Married Gary Alan Rinehults
Children:
Regina Joanne Rinehults Rothermel
Married James Rothermel
Children:
William Earl Haines (Father Todd Andrew Haines)
Children: Liam Todd on the way! (Mother Jenna
Deann Rishel)
Gage Alexander Rothermel
Gabriella Alexandra Rothermel
Tessa Liane Rothermel
David Thomas Coleman (Father Thomas David Coleman)
Engaged to Shelley Traxler
Gary Alan Rinehults II
Joshua Paul Rinehults
Amy Leanne Rinehults
Children: Savannah Hope Rinehults (Father William Arthur Crawford)
John Wayne Hinton
Married Clara Ellen Lucca
Children:
Michelle Lynn Hinton Maust
Engaged to Paul Harkleroad
Children:
Jonathan Jay Maust (Father John Eric Maust)
Clarissa Jayne Maust (Father John Eric Maust)
Michael Douglas Hinton
Married Ashley Robertson
Children:
Dominic William Hinton
Damien Davis Hinton
Devin Isabelle Hinton
Joseph Anthony Hinton
Married Rhonda Showan
Children:
First one on the way!
Timothy John Hinton
Married Wendy Ball
Children:
Zachariah Asher Hinton
Audrey Lucca Hinton
Christopher Paul Hinton
James Allen Hinton
Married Natalie Young
Children:
Eden Faith Hinton
Cherie Beth Hinton Garland
Married Steven Garland
Children:
Amara Rose Garland
Celeste Eve Garland
Lucas Colin Garland
Ella Grace Garland
Mandy Marie Hinton ElBayly
Married Adam ElBayly
Children:
Xander Guy ElBayly
Sophie Claire ElBayly
Marc Andrew Hinton
Stephanie Kaye Hinton
Married Ranjit (“Roni”) Bhullar
Alexandra Nicole Hinton
Lora Marie Hinton Smothers
Married Roby Daniel Smothers
Children:
Jeffrey Scott Smothers
Married Aaron Elder
Children:
Jonathan David Smothers
Joshua Michael Smothers
Tammy Renee Smothers Zeaser
Married Chad David Zeaser
Children:
Matthew David Zeaser
Katelyn Nicole Zeaser
Rebekah Jo Hinton D’Amico
Married Rodger Victor D’Amico
Children:
William Victor D’Amico
Married Lisa Nicole Edmonds
Jennifer Carol D’Amico
Stephen Mark Hinton
Married Sue Ann Rockey
Children:
Stephen Michael Hinton
Jeremy Lynn Hinton
Engaged to Rosamaria Passalacqua
Cody Roy Hinton
Susanne Elizabeth Hinton
Buck’s Parents ~ Roy and
Josephine Graeff Hinton
Roy and Josephine Hinton and 3 Children
Gurney, Evelyn, Buck, Mabel, Pappy
Pappy Hinton Served in the Military
During World War I
Buck in School
Little Buck
Buck’s Sister Evelyn
Hinton Haltaski
& Her Son Alex
Buck’s Sister Mabel Hinton Heckman,
Daughter Gwen (Heckman), and Son
Eddie, Born After Mabel Widowed
and Remarried to Glen Jacobs
One of many family dinners at
Gurney & Pappy Hinton’s home.
From left ~ Buck, Gwen,
Mabel, Eddie, Melanie, John,
Pappy, and Evelyn
Buck’s Fifth Grade Class (first row, 6th from left)
Roy Lomison’s Grandparents
Family Name Huey
Roy Lomison with His
Sister Dorothy Galbreath
Roy Lomison’s Father , Thomas Girten Lomison (left)
His Mother, Mary Lomison (right & below right)
Roy’s Brother Abe and His
Wife Essie
Sally’s Maternal Grandfather Jacob Heaton
Sally’s Uncle Bill (above)
& her Aunt Myrtle
(“Mamie”) (below)
Sally’s Maternal Grandmother Rebecca Heaton (rt.)
Sally’s Mom Relda,
Uncle Orie & Wife Lillian
Sally’s Uncle Orie (above)
Roy Lomison with
Uncle Orie (left)
Relda Made this Dress
For Her Graduation from
Seamstress School
Sally’s Mother, Relda
Relda Lora Heaton Lomison
and Her Brother Orie
Pap Lomison with Jake, Sally, Betty,
Becky & Don
Roy and Relda Lomison
Sally in School
Young Sally
Grammy Heaton
with Sally (rt.)
Betty, Jo, Sally and Fluffy
MacArthur,
Lomisons’ Old
Hound Dog
Lomison Family Summer of 1946
Sally’s Mom Died in December
Sally’s Mom and Dad
Taken the Summer
Before She Died
Lomison Family After Moving to
Howard ~ Becky, Relda, Sally, Roy, Betty ~
Front Row Jo, Jake, Don
Four Generations
Grammy Heaton, Sally’s Mom,
Her Sister Betty, and Betty’s
Daughters Nancy and Polly
Aunt Mamie’s daughter Lillian
and Husband Bill Markley
Relda Lomison
Lomison Family Home in Jersey Shore (left); Patsy, David and Josephine (center);
Patsy & Husband David Straub with Baby David Just Before Patsy Died (right)
Jake, Becky, Don, Betty, David
Sally, Roy, Mae, Jo
Roy Lomison and Mae Weaver blended their children when they married. Mae’s Patsy was the same
age as Jo, and David was 4 years old. Roy adopted them and they bought a home in Jersey Shore.
Family portrait taken at one of many annual Lomison family reunions, always held on Father’s Day.
Front: Mark Lomison, Cindy Lomison, Susan Williams, Anita Gettig, Bobby Yearick, Patsy Yearick,
Debbie Lomison, Robert Williams, Mark Hinton, Doug Straub, David Straub, David Williams, and
Matt Lomison; Center: Robert “Ick” Yearick, Carolyn Kustanbauter, Melanie Hinton, Diane Lomison,
Kathy Kustanbauter, Roy Kustanbauter, John Hinton, Terry Yearick, David Lomison, Danny Yearick,
and Mae (“Gram”) Lomison; Back: Don Lomison, Jake Lomison, Carol Lomison, Jack Swan,
Nancy Swan, Pete Gettig, Polly Gettig, Bob Williams, Sally Hinton, Edgar “Bud” Kustanbauter, Bet
Yearick, Betty Lomison, Becky Kustanbauter, Jo Williams, and Roy (“Pap”) Lomison
Sally with Her
Best Girlfriends
Buck and Sally
Soon After They Met
High School Sweethearts
Sally a Sophomore & Buck a Senior
Sally and her Best
Girlfriend Sara Holt
So Much in Love
Buck’s High School Basketball Team
Front Row, Third from Left
War World II
Buck Shipped Overseas
Sally’s High School
Cheerleading Squad
(Second from Right)
Buck with His Army Buddies
Our John’s Namesake, John Lawrence
Buck “Adopted”
This Lad
Sally’s Beloved Soldier
Returns to Howard
(in front of Hinton
Home ~ left)
Sweethearts
Reunited ~ right
Married Buck and Sally with Friends
Young Draftsman—A Career is Launched
Sally with Nieces Nancy and Polly
Buck and Sally with Sister Jo
Melanie Lee is Born
August 27, 1947
Our First Christmas
As a Family
Melanie in Stroller
First Son, John Wayne, Added August 9, 1949 to Our Growing Family
John and Melanie loved to play at Uncle Bud and Aunt Becky’s house by the creek.
Mom, Melanie & John in front of our Highland Estates home. Our first family car on right.
An Exciting Christmas Morning
at Gurney and Pappy’s House
Ninth Street New Cumberland Home
We Always Had Company!
These Were All Taken at our Coolidge Street, New Cumberland Home.
Now a Family of Seven!
Top Row: Christmas at Uncle Bud
& Aunt Becky’s; Our home at 800
Coolidge St. in New Cumberland;
Sally’s brother David and the
Lomison Boy Cousins.
2nd Row: Lomison Girl Cousins;
Lora, Becky & Mark; Mark.
3rd Row: Melanie, John, Lora,
Becky.
Bottom: The Whole Gang
Sally, Becky & Mark
Mark and Tov
Girls with their “dolls”
One of many hikes & picnics
with the Ebersole Family
Christmas at Gurney & Pappy
Hinton’s House
Sally’s Parents & Brother David
John on Cross Country Team
Melanie & Cheerleading Squad
Lora with Danny Smothers
John with Clara Lucca
The Boathouse and Our Beloved Lodge
Melanie with Dick Knupp
The Lodge ~ So Full of Precious Memories!
Kids on Annapolis Steps
Checking the Crab Lines
Aunt Bet, Lora, Patsy, Becky
& Fitzhughs’ Collie
Lora, Carolyn, Mark, Jane, Liz
Polly, Nancy & Melanie Ready
for Yacht Fishing Trip
Buck Fishing
Becky Finds a Kitten
Kustanbauters & Hintons
Pap & Gram Lomison, Aunt Bet and
Uncle Ick and Kids Join Us
Departure on the Nancy I
Always Time for Swimming!
The Family Returns July 1976
Hunting for Shells
The Family is Expanding
Joe Ready to Swim
Everyone Takes a Turn at Crabbing ~ Love Those Cakes!
Buck and Sally on Nancy
Jeff, Dave & Yogi
Mark & His Buddies Spent a Lot
of Time in the Motorboat
John Helps Michelle Aboard
Sandy and Becky
Wilson Fitzhugh, Caretaker
Dave Sleeping at Lodge. This is the only
photo we have of the inside of the lodge.
Kids Hanging Out
Passport Pictures
Buck’s Tahal Staff
Baptist Village and Church in Petah Tiqua
Lollipop Christmas Tree
at Herzliyah Apartment
American
International School
Felinie
Herzliyah Petuah Home
Mark &
Friend
Andre
Becky at School
Mosque Ruins at Appolonia
where Mark and Becky &
Friends Explored & Hung Out
Mark at the Sea of Galilee
Milk Delivery Cart
Buck and Sally in Greece
on a Trip in 1970
Mary, Paul & Ann Morgan
Becky on a Burro in
Jerusalem ~ Marcia
Shulam on Camel
Mark in Marcus Square
in Venice, Italy
Becky & Sally Enjoy a
Gondola Ride in Venice
Our First Glimpse of Austria ~
Like “The Sound of Music”
The Beautiful Swiss Alps
Becky & Mark’s Snowball Fight
in July—Becky in Bare Feet!
Buck and Mark in the Alps
Mark Finally Found His Dream Castle
Conway Castle in Wales
Visited Melanie in San Angelo, TX and then all went to
Oklahoma City, OK to see John, Clara and Michelle
Our Home in Enugu, Nigeria
The Family Arrives Home in the States.
Visited Melanie in San Angelo, Texas
Pappy Hinton (Buck) falls in
love with very first grandchild, Michelle Lynn
Our Living Room in Enugu Home
Clare & Paul Forney, Mark & Sally
Our Cook Christopher and His Family
Sally, Buck, and Don Skeen
Buck Working With Some of His Enplan Staff
Sunday Ezere’s Congregation in Enugu
Our Land Rover is
Stuck in the Mud
A Mammy Wagon ~ The goat
has a nice view!
Some of the Children from the Church
Sally at Ramat Ha Sharon Home
Bible Study Group Meeting on Patio
Rear View of Home from Garden
Pete (right) of Whom our Story Tells
Us with Joe & Judy Smak
& Fran Yasenchak
Dusty & Phyllis Hinds
Gordon, Dorothy & Leslie Craig
Leslie Grown Up
Joe, Marcia, Barry & Danah Shulam
Mediterranean Sea from Sheraton Hotel
Sheraton Hotel “Home” - Living Area
Buck’s Sister Mabel Visited Us in Israel
Kids at Home Kept Us Updated with Photos
Mark
Returns
for a
Visit
Sally & Choir Sing with Perry Como at Temple
Mount (Sally far rear left)
Sunset from Sheraton Hotel Deck . . .
and the Sun Sets on our Assignment in Israel
Buck’s Project in Miami
Our Apartment in Hallendale
Buck and Sally with Mechanical
and Electrical Inspectors
Mike & Fran Yasenchak, Dear Friends
We Met in Israel, Came to Visit
Sally’s Office at Gannett Fleming
Lora, Tammy & Jeff Visited
And Tammy Met Minnie Mouse
We spent many hours walking on the beach,
swimming in the ocean, and watching God
show His majesty through spectacular
sunsets from our apartment balcony.
We worshipped at Parsippany Christian Church
and made many dear friends there, held a young
adults Bible study group in our home. Tom &
Valerie Johnson’s girls below and Rick & Monica
Bailer and girls who began the clown ministry in
which Sally participated.
Family and friends gave of their love
and time to work with us to erect the
framing, drywall, painting, adding
logs, and so much more. Gallons of
tea and many pounds of food were
shared but the greatest was the
fun and fellowship!
Deck, Swing, and Lawn Added
Buck Celebrates his 60th Birthday
Family Reunion Turns Into Landscaping Party!
Garage Converted to Family Room/Office
The Deer Were Regular Visitors
Remember the Stacks of Building Materials?
A Labor of Love Creates a Home We Could All Enjoy
And They All Came!!
In large groups and small,
our family created some
priceless memories as we
gathered on this hilltop for
special occasions and for no
special reason at all ~ just to
be together.
Thank You, Father, for a
dream come true!
Lora’s poster became reality
for we conquered because
we endured. It was hard
work and great fun!
Family Gathers for Christmas Dinner
Mark and Sue’s Family
Lora’s Family
Becky and Sandy’s Family
John and Clara’s Family
Melanie and Gary’s Family
Wilderness held a “passing the
torch” ceremony at annual conference and Bob and Joan Bowers took over our log home
dealership.
Big Snow of 1995
Capital Area Church Ladies Retreat
Duke & Julie Lower,
Nathan & Alex
Bought our Home
Sadie, Stephen and Cody
We won a trip to Aculpulco
from Wilderness Log Homes
Doug & Norma Lee Pilcher
Dear Florida Friends
Visited Us Often Here
We’re All Grown Up A Bit More Ourselves! Roy Lomison (Sally’s Dad) in Center
Melanie became Gina’s mother when she and Gary Rinehults married after he was widowed.
Gina married Jim Rothermel and has given Gary and Melanie four grandchildren pictured below.
Bill
Gage
Gabriella
Tessa
Melanie gave birth to Dave during her marriage to Tom Coleman. Dave married Brandy Branson.
Gary II became Melanie’s son when she and Gary, Sr. married.
Josh was born to Gary and Melanie, an expansion of their blended family unit.
Amy was adopted later to complete their family of five children.
Gary & Melanie’s
Wedding Day
John married Clara Lucca. They always wanted a
large family and God granted them their dream
Michelle, Mike, Joe, Tim, Chris
Cherie, Mandy
Jimmy, Marc, Steph and Alex
It’s been fascinating to watch
John’s family grow and change
just between annual family portraits.
See for yourself!
Mike Marries Ashley Robertson
and Along Come Dominic, Damien and Devin
John & Clara’s
Wedding Day
Jimmy Weds Natalie Young
Tim Marries Wendy Ball
Michelle and Eric,
Jonathan
and Clarissa Maust
Cherie Weds Steven Garland
and They Now Have 2 Girls, Amara and Celeste
Joe Marries
Rhonda Showan
Buck and Sally at Joe
& Rhonda’s Wedding
Wedding Day for Mandy and Adam ElBayly
Most Recent Complete Family Portrait
Lora & Danny’s Wedding
Jeff is Lora’s firstborn. He married Aaron Elder and they have two sons, Jonathan and Joshua.
Lora’s daughter Tammy is married to Chad Zeaser and
they now have a son Matthew and a little girl Katelyn.
Becky and Sandy’s
Wedding Day
Becky married Sandy and
they have a son Vic
and a daughter Jen.
Vic Married Lisa Edmonds
Mark
Married
Sue Ann
Rockey
Their firstborn was Stephen, but he wouldn’t be an only child for long.
Stephen soon had a brother, Jeremy.
Cody was born and now there was a trio of brothers.
Finally a sister, Susanne, arrives — Sissy will have lots of protection!
Family on
Temple Steps
in Jerusalem
L to R: Buck,
Sally’s Sister Jo,
Melanie, Sally,
& Jo’s Husband
Ron Savits
Our Mountain Road Home
Joe & Marcia Shulam
2005 Tour to Israel
Our 2005 Tour Group in Jerusalem
Buck was Rabbi Achiva
at CACC’s VBS
Our Thanksgiving 2006 Family Gathering at CACC
Just a Month Prior to Our Book Going to Print
Front: Cody, Alex, Amy, Sissy, and Josh
Back: Clarissa, Lora, Tammy & Katelyn, Stephen, Mark,
Sally, Buck, Melanie, Becky, Dave, John, Chris, and Jen