shutting down, sheltering himself, and not discussing things with my mother. Well, this did not sit well. He undoubtedly was fearful of what hurt, damage, or stress the truth might cause. If they ever knew what happened between Mr. Denbo and the church, I never found out. As a child, I always wondered what could happen to a faithful, loyal, and dedicated servant of Jesus who just suddenly “quit.” I missed him and his bald head. I have often thought about him, and I still miss him.
We were in our fifth year at the church in English. It was traditional to have the church elections in late spring. New local church officials would be selected first, and then came the vote on the minister. The yearly election was always an anxious time for our family. How many yeses and how many noes? Did they like us? Who might reject us? What nonsense! Really, had we served them well? Were the spiritual needs and expectations of THEIR church being fulfilled? It was their church. A minister comes and goes. Of course, hindsight is always better. At that point in my life, it was a matter of wondering whether they “liked” us. Well, the vote was taken. After the final count, my father, meaning the family, had been voted OUT. We were to move at the end of August and be at our next parish before school started.
This was the beginning of a new mindset in our family. We wondered, “What will the people think?” This thought permeated everything we did or said. Everything revolved around the premise of pleasing others. That is not a comfortable way to live life. You never have a good, sound feeling about what you really think, believe, or feel. It is important to live in an environment in which there is no fear. We became afraid of living—afraid of what people thought. Much of my life in English had been so beautiful. Much of it had been so extraordinarily lovely. Now, I could feel an increased sense of fear and anxiety, especially from my mother.
August would soon be here, and with it our yearly conference and camp meeting in Frankfort. My new clothes were being prepared, and I stood up straight while the hems were being pinned. News arrived that attendees needed to be cautious and that the conference could be scaled down because of the fear of a widespread polio epidemic. It struck so severely that, on July 30th, the Board of Health in Portland, Jay County, Indiana, demanded that all public events be closed and shut down. Kids were not to go outside to play. Polio, often called infantile paralysis, was peaking. Polio was an infectious disease caused by the poliovirus, causing fever, headache, vomiting, diarrhea, neck stiffness, and pain in the arms and legs. A mild case could last a few days. A more severe case, when the infection inflames the anterior horn cells of the spinal cord and destroys the motor nerves, could take up to two years to recover from and in some cases caused permanent paralysis. Every summer, there would be a serious outbreak in at least one part of the country. This summer, the Midwest—and specifically Indiana—was identified as being at risk. My parents decided to go to the conference, but they stayed with my grandparents who lived 17 miles away from Frankfort. My brother and I stayed home, and Grandmother Hertel came. That was fine with me. I was fed up with going to camp and being asked about falling in the sewer or hearing, “She’s the little girl who fell in the sewer.” I guess they had nothing better or more interesting to talk about, and what a shame that was. I thought it was cruel and ugly.
My parents returned, and we immediately started preparing for our transfer to Columbus, Indiana. We were moving north and closer to the Hines, which pleased my mother.
Our last Sunday in English had a pleasant surprise. It was the custom of the church to have a treasurer’s report at the end of the Sunday morning worship service. Even as a child, I thought it was extremely strange to end a worship service with a treasurer’s report. The church treasurer would report the income and the expenditures. Ten percent of the balance would go to the minister. This was his salary for the week. It varied. It was uncertain. Thankfully, we did have our housing covered, so there was no worry of becoming homeless. This Sunday, the minister’s share was the greatest ever. My memory fails me, but it was either 75 or 90 dollars. WOW! That was great! This was two or three times the usual amount, and after we were VOTED OUT. Maybe someone really did like us and thought we were okay.
It was a short time before our departure, so I had to rush to see my friend next door. The couple who lived down the hill from our side yard had a boy about three years older than me. He was a foster child—an orphan they had taken in or an adoptee. I never knew which, but I understood that the couple could not have children and that this boy was living with them. We had played together on occasion. When I told him I was leaving, he told me he would get some kites and to meet him up in the meadow the next afternoon. I really didn’t know about kites nor had I ever seen one. But the next afternoon, we met in the meadow across from the opposite hill—the hill that had the jailhouse. He began handling his kite, and he gave me one. I was to listen to and follow his instructions, and then my kite would fly. The conditions and the winds were perfect, and our kites soared. I felt like I was aboard a kite flying through the air, away from here and on to my new home. The song “I’ll Fly Away” rang through my being.
“I’ll fly away oh glory, I’ll fly away
When I die hallelujah by and by, I’ll fly away
Just a few more weary days and then, I’ll fly away
To a land where joy will never end, I’ll fly away
I’ll fly away oh glory, I’ll fly away”
It was memorable.
Soon, we were packed, the truck was loaded, the house was swept clean, and off we were to stay overnight with the Enlows before our trip to Columbus. The Enlows took good care of us. We were tired and weary, but sleeping on the farm with the windows open wide and breathing the fresh country air was wonderfully peaceful. At the beginning of sunrise, I could smell the fried chicken. Yes, we had fried chicken and homemade biscuits and gravy for breakfast. It was extraordinary. My only regret was not being able to run through the woods one more time to check on the quietness of the flowing stream as it bubbled over the stones under a ray of sunshine shining through the trees. I could see and feel it in my mind. The memory would always be there. I would be able to return any time I needed solace and comfort, or just for the plain joy of it.
Doll and Olas Hine were proud of their family, all ministers in their own ways.
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