There wasn’t much to do in the rural town I grew up in. The population was six hundred people spread over a large geographic area. It increased slightly in the summer.
There was a Baptist church (the only church in town) in the middle of town. None of my family: parents, grandparents, great grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins went to church.
I went to church and sang in the choir. There were girls there for one reason. I went to Sunday school but never paid attention. The hell-fire and brimstone sermons convinced me that I was beyond hope and would end up in hell for sure as would most of my family.
I grew away from the church and the town as I grew older and found friends elsewhere.
I discovered there was a great variety of churches. One of them was a Unitarian church a couple of towns away. I was told it was the church many of the founders of the country had attended. There were no crosses in the church. The sermons were not scary.
Nonetheless I wasn’t comfortable with “believers” that seemed to have answers for all of life’s problems or opportunities.
When I joined the Marine Corps I was told that I had to declare a religion. I don’t remember who told me that and I’m not sure it was true. I declared that I was a congregationalist like many of my forbears. There was no pressure to participate in a religion and there was a very small number that did.
Religion crept into my life in insidious way by way of work environments and family — my wife’s sister married a catholic priest in a ceremony performed by a priest married to a nun.
On assignment in Oklahoma, where, if there is a bible belt it is the buckle, I found a bourbon at the state run liquor store that I really liked. Every time I went to the store there were no customers. I asked the clerk why, he said all the local folks came after dark parked in the back if there were no other cars there, came in bought their usual and left in a hurry. Baptists don’t approve of alcohol consumption. To have a drink with dinner you had to buy a bottle to be kept at the restaurant and order “set ups”.
I hate hypocrites!
Things were progressing well on the assignment when a “tent” revival was coming to town. I was pressured by several people to attend. I guess they thought I needed help. I politely refused but relationships were never the same.
Texas is a notch away from the buckle on the bible belt. I had an assignment just outside Dallas. I found the city of Dallas much more to my liking than I thought I would. Manufacturing for this company was done in a maquiladora in Mexico.
In the home office in Texas there was a prayer group of evangelical Christians. For what ever reason they had determined that the plant manager in Mexico had to go. The president thought the plant manager was good and wanted my opinion. One of the criticisms of the plant manager was that he paid his people too much. I asked him to explain why. His answer: A common problem is getting the goods across the border — the same amount has to come out as went in. The plant manager explained that he had never had to pay a bribe to get a shipment through or have one delayed because the paperwork was always correct because his people were the best.
My report to the president was to that the plant manager should stay. On a return trip to the plant in Mexico the plant manager, a stocky, gruff appearing bear of a man, told me he wanted to see me in his office. He closed the door gave me a bear hug and said you are my “Ángel de la guarda”. I was taken aback.
Life in the fast lane!
Short Stories
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