Category: Getting to Know You

By Dale Buchanan

I was born in 1946 in the Madera Sanitarium an only child with weak lungs. To survive, I spent my first weeks in an incubator. These frail lungs led to my being very spoiled. The hospital is long gone now and a modern bank stands on the site. I lived in Madera until 1979 when I moved to Oregon for college and my career in retail business. Today I am retired and have come back to my roots in Madera.

From this vantage point, it seems that my story can be broadly framed into family and business.

I was blessed with two sets of grandparents living nearby during my formative years. There were uncles and aunts in abundance and at least thirty-five cousins to keep life interesting.

I have vivid memories of my grandparents. Mom’s folks lived on a dairy with a nice home and a cement barn for the cows. With my cousins, I loved climbing their magnolia trees.

Weekends spent with Dad’s folks are among my best memories. As a city boy I thought all grandparents had outhouses. When they married Grandma and Grandpa Parker moved into a brand-new house that he built on the corner of Hwy. 145 and Pecan. Of course, today the house is long gone replaced by a suburban neighborhood.

Grandpa Parker was a county tractor driver dating back to the use of mules. As a teenager, he had one of his eye kicked out by a mean mule. Because my mother worked full time along with dad at Oberti Olives Company, my clothes were store bought, but Grandma Parker sewed all of her own clothes. On Saturdays we went to the Safeway in town. Grocery shopping was a big deal. They had a 1950 Ford and Granny always drove. Only five feet two inches, she had to sit on a pillow to see over the steering wheel. Her shortness did not slow her down. She drove like a bat out hell!

Grandma Parker was born on December 9th, 1899, and I shared her December 9th birth date. Grandma Parker gave birth to three sons in the house on Hwy. 145 and Pecan: Melvin who fought in Italy, my father Myron who was musical and specialized in jazz, and thirdly came Uncle Larry who was crazy—a heavy drinker with an obnoxious personality. Uncle Larry was still in high school when I was a kid. I take after Uncle Larry 😊

An only child I grew up in an integrated neighborhood north of town. On my block there were fifteen or sixteen other children. Traffic was minimal and with a vacant field at the end of the street, we played my favorite game:  cowboys and Indians. Dad converted my Red Flyer wagon into a covered wagon. My dog was the constant passenger and I always had to be the mother. Yes, I have always known and understood my orientation and been accepted by family and friends. In second grade I remember taking my blond doll Peggy Sue to school. Grandma Parker made Peggy Sue’s clothes. We went as a family to all the Madera High School football games, but I was never pushed into joining Little League.

Dad was a quiet man and mom was the boss controlling the purse strings. The three of us went to the movies at least two times a week and out to eat more nights than not. It just could not get much better for a spoiled little boy with weak lungs!

After high school, I rode a bus to Fresno City College where I spent time socializing and took up smoking. I was just not serious at the time. One day a bus load of us were taken from Madera to the Draft Board in Fresno to register. All the way down I was crying on the inside thinking about the popular folk song at that time, “Be the first one on your block to have your son sent home in a box.” It was not to be. I was sent back home that day classified as 4-F.

After Fresno City College, I enrolled at Northwestern Christian College located in the middle of the University of Oregon campus. I was in the best of both worlds—the hippy world of the university rubbing shoulders with the Christian college. I loved every minute of that heady mix!

After graduation I took a position as a Youth Counselor in a Christian church. My open discussion with their youth upset the congregation and I was forced to resign. This turned out to be a good thing. I took a job in Lipman’s Department Store in Portland and saw how the law of unintended consequences set me on a career path that served me well. I spent my entire working life in retail stores in the Northwest from Portland to Seattle. Along the way I served in the management of men’s departments, women’s hosiery, and furniture as well as being a buyer and a floor decorator. I was slated to move to New York and a dream position, but Madera was calling me home. Mom had passed away and dad had Alzheimer’s. I found a job in a furniture store in Fresno and stayed there until I retired.

Hard questions you are asking now, Dale. I will give them a shot. I believe that God is everything. I believe—kind of believe—there is a God. I guess I am like the man who told Jesus, ‘Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief.’”

By Dale Buchanan

Searching for a “person from the pews,” Gayle and I found ourselves sitting across a table from Lew Wagman. I must confess that until this interview I had thought of him primarily as Bitsy’s husband. True enough, but this does not describe the man. Lew’s story is a collage, a hodgepodge if you please, of delightful accounts of his life. This chronicle does not begin to detail the stories that were captured as Lew shared with Gayle and me. I encourage anyone who enjoys a good story to have a cup of coffee with Lew.

“I was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, the fourth child. My father was an astronomer and head of the Department of Astronomy at the University of Pittsburgh. That explains my being born in Pittsburgh 😊 Mom was a great organizer. Before I could read, the chore list was color coded. I most dreaded Mom sending me down the street to ask the streetcar driver to wait for her when she was running late. Dad loved picnics, and we kids hoped for cloudy skies so Dad would not have to lecture at the Planetarium.

When it came time for me to go to college, it was Penn State halfway between Pittsburgh and Philadelphia. There was nothing to do there except study, and study I did. I majored in hotel administration. After graduation it was on to Chicago and food service companies. My oldest sister moved to Chicago with me and we shared an apartment. She found a job and a boyfriend. Sis was a teacher, I worked in a restaurant, and her boyfriend was the principal of her school. I did chores until my shift at 4 p.m., my sister came home at 4:30 p.m., and the boyfriend arrived at 6 p.m. We often laughed at what the neighbors must have thought! At 89 years of age, my sister still lives in the Windy City.

After five years in Chicago, I was offered a position in California and jumped at the opportunity. The next thing I knew I had rented an apartment in San Gabriel. One day after work I passed by the pool and there in a lounge chair was a young woman wearing a bathing suit and reading a big thick book. I had seen women in bathing suits but never observed one reading such a thick book. I slipped into something more comfortable and rushed back down to the pool. She was gone! In hopes of seeing her again, I became a daily visitor to the pool, but no woman with a big book was to be found.

I met Margaret and Don at the pool. They invited me to a party at their apartment. When I arrived, I stuck my head in the kitchen doorway and there was the mysterious big book woman! Come to find out, she was Don and Margaret’s daughter. She was fuming. She had a date that night and mom had commandeered her to help in the kitchen. Needless to say, that fuming woman was Bitsy. Our first date was a Fourth of July fireworks celebration at Santa Anita. Things moved quickly and casual dating soon moved to marriage plans—maybe in six months, maybe in year.

A career opportunity complicated our dreams when I was offered a position at Georgetown University Hospital in Washington, D.C. Next came agonizing discussions about our future. A long-distance relationship was unacceptable. We married in the fall and the same day left for Washington, D.C. We honeymooned in Las Vegas along the way and son Lew, Jr. was born during our stay in Georgetown.

As Food Services Director, I was pulled between my responsibility to the hospital and my loyalty to the food service company. I resigned and without a job we returned to Southern California. Turns out this was the best of moves. I became Membership Director for the Palm Springs Chamber of Commerce and taught at the College of the Desert. Next, I moved to UCLA Medical Center as Food Services Director. I rose through the ranks to become Administrator of the UCLA Medical Center. The highlight of those seven years was the birth of our daughter Jenny. More hospital positions were to follow. I stayed at the Methodist Hospital of Southern California seven years mainly because I could walk to work every morning. The pay wasn’t bad either 😊

After my retirement from running a hospital foundation, I walked past a help wanted sign in a Williams Sonoma shop in Pasadena. On a whim I applied and wound up in a basement listening to classical music and wrapping Christmas presents. It was not long before I moved upstairs and served as Assistant Manager. When we moved to Fresno to be closer to our children, I taught cooking classes at the Fig Garden Williams Sonoma. I retired a second time after seventeen years with Williams Sonoma.

I love to cook. Bitsy has a t-shirt that says, ‘I can cook. I don’t choose to.’  At potlucks people ask Bitsy, ‘What did Lew make?’

Retired now, I manage to stay busy. I volunteer at the Clovis Police Records Department. I have ‘called’ the Clark Intermediate School football games for eighteen years, but my great passion is music. I sing with the Fresno Chorale and the Big Red choir. Music is in my DNA. My mom was choir director and dad played the piano for Sunday School.”

By Dale Buchanan

Stepping out of the pews this time is Char Lund—a most interesting woman with a story worth telling. Gayle and I met Char in a quaint tea shop in the Tower district—a first time experience for this country boy. I think I might learn to like it!

Char admitted to being nervous, but after I explained that we just wanted her to share her story the nervousness disappeared and for the next hour plus Gayle and I were treated to a condensed version of this woman’s life story.

“I was born in Oakland, California, and christened Charlene Olivia Lund. As a small girl, the children called me Olive Oyl, a nickname I hated. Needless to say, I did not use that middle name as I grew up. And yes, my maiden name is Lund. I have always retained it, and I shortened Charlene to Char and became Char Lund in my twenties. It works for me.

My family lived the first four and a half years of my life in San Lorenzo. I was the fourth of ten children. When Mom was expecting number five, we moved into a large house in the Oakland hills just above the public rose garden. It seems my folks were determined to fill that large house. We ten children arrived in batches of three or four often with several years between the batches. Basically, we were three generations.

The sister just behind me was like a twin. We spent our teen years finding ways to get into trouble. We loved to dance and often used the IDs of older sisters to go to bars and dance our little hippie hearts out.

Despite all the above, we were a very traditional family. The five girls were pink—meaning we were expected to help with the house and yard work. The five boys were blue which translated into sports and freedoms we girls only experienced on the sly. Dad came home to his slippers, newspaper, easy chair, and a home-cooked meal every night. While it is true that he was treated like a king at dinner time, he prepared breakfast every morning for us all. Mom worked the graveyard shift as a nurse and arrived home at 8 a.m. We children saw love and affection between our parents with their hugs and kisses. Living close to his insurance office made it possible for Dad to come home at 10 a.m. for a coffee break with Mom. They sat at the kitchen table talking and drinking their coffee.

Looking back my childhood was pretty much a fairytale come true. We lived in a beautiful house at the top of a wooded hill above a beautiful rose garden. I had a loving family and a neighborhood of children to play with. I attended good Catholic schools. All was well and my future was assured.

At fifteen my fairyland world began to collapse before my eyes as my mom and dad’s marriage began a long downward spiral toward an ultimate divorce. My way of dealing with all this was to internalize it.

I continued my education and while in nursing school at the University of California, San Francisco, I met my first husband. Having just finished medical school, he was coming to Fresno and I followed him. A Bay area girl, I almost died from the heat that first summer. I was twenty-four years old at the time and considered myself a hippy. This man I had married wanted an open marriage. I found out that in some respects I was still a good Catholic. My head could deal with it but not my heart.

I met Tim in 1978. He grew up in Fresno, graduated from Fresno High, and got his Bachelor’s degree at Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Our mutual love of the outdoors cemented us together. We bought a house where we have lived for forty years. After overcoming my fears, we married and at age thirty-seven we were blessed with daughter Whitney. Today I am the grandmother of a beautiful five-month old grandson Archer. Let me show you some pictures that I just happened to have in my purse 😊.

I grew up a good Catholic, but my faith suffered as I began to question. When I went home and went to church with my folks, it seemed like a fashion show. After Whitney was born, I began to feel a tug in my heart. Looking for a church I could not find the right fit until Linda Berg’s daughter Emily invited Whitney to a sleepover. Whitney called seeking permission to attend church with Emily and her family the next morning. Concerned, I attended Big Red with them. Pastor Frank Baldwin’s sermon that morning was ‘Spirituality in Nature.’  I was home at last.

Later Shirley Carlson convinced me to become involved in a ministry—first Outreach and now Worship. I have sung in the choir for seven or eight years. My first love is playing the bells which I became involved with when Scott Horton arrived twelve years ago. Yes, movement and dance have always stirred my spirit, so being a part of Morning Star Dancers is a natural for me.”

Char’s chronicle ends here, but this story has many more chapters to be told.

By Dale Buchanan

Hank has sat in a pew directly in front of us every Sunday for about three years. Last Tuesday evening Hank sat in Gayle’s living room to be interviewed. Gayle served lemonade and cookies. We engaged in pleasant small talk. Then I asked, “Where were you born and what is your heritage?”

“I was born in Boston and lived there until I was eighteen years old and left for college. My dad’s father was born in Italy and his mother was born in this country a child of Italian immigrants. My mother was born in this country the offspring of Scotch-Irish immigrants. My family is a perfect example of the American ‘melting pot.’

To understand my story let me tell you about my sister Pam. Two years older than me, she lives in Portland, Oregon. Born with a genetic bone disease called Osteogenesis Imperfecta (O. I.) also known as Brittle Bone disease, she broke her leg for the first time when she was three. More broken bones, surgeries, and hospital stays followed. The Delcore household revolved around my sister’s illness with doctor appointments, braces, and wheelchairs. Was I neglected? This might happen in some cases, but it was never true with me. These difficult times brought us closer. We were family and still are!

I believe that this story explains my folks and the way we interacted as a family. Dad was always there and found time to take me to baseball and hockey games. Mom was an expert homemaker and a good cook. In short, she was a traditional wife and mother. On their 50th wedding anniversary, Andrea and I hosted a surprise party for the folks. My toast to Dad was, ‘You worked hard to provide for your family and were always there for us’ and to Mom, ‘You taught me unconditional love.’

Growing up with my sister was not all operations, braces, and wheelchairs. At the holidays we children performed variety shows which resulted in lots of fun for everyone.

Pam was a rabid Red Sox fan. I recently found a box containing all of her Red Sox memorabilia. That brought back a fond memory. The Rex Sox and Yankees had finished the season tied, and in a one game playoff the hated Yankees had won. My sister in her Red Sox tee shirt and Red Sox hat was heart-broken and bawling like a baby!

My favorite teacher was in middle school. He taught me to inquire and he listened. High school was an all-boys Catholic school taught by Christian brothers. I went to Georgetown University where I received by B.A. degree. From there it was to the University of Wisconsin where I earned a doctorate in cultural anthropology in 2000 and came directly to a teaching position at Fresno State University. Today, no longer mistaken on campus for a student, I find that even with the passing of almost twenty years, I am still excited to be learning, understanding, and keeping up with changes in my field.

At a gathering of students and faculty, Lisa a former student brought Andrea and I asked, ‘Who is that beautiful woman?’  We didn’t speak to each other, but with Lisa’s encouragement, Andrea ‘poked’ me on Facebook. I poked her back. Finally, I asked her for a date and the rest is history.

How do I describe my wife Andrea? I guess the best way is to tell a story. We have been married ten years now, and on a recent trip to a conference in Portland, I found tucked into my luggage a sweet note expressing her love. That describes Andrea perfectly.

Our two sons are Henry nine years old and Sam eight years old. They have blessed our lives. They came to us as infants—Henry twenty months old and Sam just four months old. Raising my sons is challenging and often stressful. Along with the worry there are signs of growth and maturing. We read as a family every night. Currently we are reading The Chronicles of Narnia. In a recent reading one of the characters remarked about a person whom he thought was a friend only to find out it wasn’t true. Henry said, ‘Dad, that happened to me at school.’

The boys and I bounce on the trampoline that I assembled in the back yard for Christmas two years ago. We do jigsaw puzzles and a host of family activities. When the kids are down at 8 p.m., I like to read and watch soccer and hockey games on TV. Andrea and I often relax with a favorite TV series.

Raised Roman Catholic, I went to mass every Sunday and took all the sacraments. When I went to college, I stopped. Going through a rough patch later in my life, I met a Protestant minister who was on the same wave length with me. He explained the story of Jesus weeping at the grave of Lazarus saying, ‘Your grief is real, Hank. God is sad when you are sad’ and that made sense to me.

After a long search, we came to Big Red, loved that it was traditional and it felt like church. We went to fellowship time where we met Ruth Gadebusch. This sincere, open, and affirming Christian woman was the catalyst that settled my doubts. We had found a church home.”

By Dale Buchanan

Your “From the Pews” reporter along with Gayle have just spent a delightful evening with Tracy. We had dinner at the Patio Cafe in Fig Garden Village. The atmosphere was great—a small, quiet space with live music from a classical guitar. It was simply the perfect place for our interview. The food was good, the music set the tone, and the conversation and interview just flowed along. We talked, we laughed, and before we knew it, we were through eating and I had completed the interview process. Gayle had captured Tracy’s rich descriptions of some high points in her life leaving the scribe with a smorgasbord of scrumptious stories. With no particular chronological order, the following is a condensed version of the conversation with Tracy. It is my hope that the reporter and notetaker more or less disappear and the Tracy we had dinner with becomes a likable, interesting person that you would enjoy getting to know more than a handshake and “hello” on Sunday mornings.

“I met Joel when I was twenty years old. We dated for four and a half years before he went and asked my parents for permission to marry me. We have been married twenty-two years. For me, it was love at first sight. I remember as if it were last night the very first date at the old Clovis Theater. It was a double feature: ‘The Hand that Rocked the Cradle’ and ‘Beauty and the Beast.’  That was good, but what sealed the deal was that he read ‘Green Eggs and Ham’ out loud to me—just about the most romantic thing that ever happened to me.

My dad was born here in Fresno a first-generation American Armenian. My grandparents were both genocide survivors. Mom was born in Texas a descendant of German immigrants. They were wed in the mid-sixties when it was still unheard of for an Armenian man to marry a white woman. They have been married fifty-five years bound together with a love surpassing all prejudice and cultural differences.

For me, growing up in Fresno was great. My childhood could be a scene from a Saroyan play. We had a swimming pool which made our backyard the summer gathering place for all the neighborhood children. My mother taught Sunday School at Holy Trinity Armenian Church and was a stay-at-home mother. She said that Dad made the money and she did everything else. My favorite memory of Mom is Sunday mornings on the way to church. We were not allowed a lot of sweets, but we always stopped at the Bulldog Donut Shop for a Sunday morning treat. Dad stayed at home Sundays and made a pot of hot soup for us when we got home. I still crave soup on Sundays.

I was the middle sibling and as the only girl, I was without a doubt ‘Daddy’s girl.’

Family, church, and food are the focus and core of Armenian culture. These central characteristics are woven together with powerful traditions. When Joel and I watched the movie ‘My Big Fat Greek Wedding,’ Joel said, ‘That’s us!’  I grew up speaking both Armenian and English. Joel came from a mid-western family, but he was baptized and married in the Armenian church. I sometimes wonder if he is not more Armenian than I am!

We did not have children until four and a half years after marriage. We had developed a clear blueprint. I would work until the first child arrived, stay at home until the second child was in the sixth grade, and then go back to work. We have dinner every night at six o’clock, everyone comes to the table, and we always say grace. We have family structures. We encourage our children to excel at school. Our motto is ‘God gave you a brain, use it.’

The arrival of children in our lives was not the most important thing, it is everything! You don’t know fear, love, or pride until you experience the joy of your own children.

My father was raised without grandparents. Mine have been blessed with them. My dad was always in the backyard, and when Spencer was little, he thought Grandpa lived there.

I think of life as a painting. My prayer is that I succeed in leaving behind an honest portrait of the person I have been. My children, both of them, are just beginning to paint their pictures. Joel and I have tried to build solid frames for them that will last a lifetime as they create their personal portraits.

Today I am watching Georgia become an adult. I am observing Spencer take tentative steps toward becoming the person he is going to be, and I am still developing the picture of my life. My full-time job as a one-on-one instructional aide with a severely physically handicapped first grade boy is adding new dimensions to my painting. I am forever grateful to Mom and Dad for providing me with a frame and canvas.

 

By Dale Buchanan

I am a memoir writer and a storyteller. I showed up at the Big Red Church three years ago at the invitation of Gayle Thornton. I had not attended or been active in church life of any kind for several years. In response to your questions about me, this short memoir is intended to reveal just a little bit of me by talking about the “Getting to Know You” column and its effect on who I have become.

My reception at Big Red has been nothing but amazing. It is true that I have for some time written memoirs and for a long time told stories. The truth is that these activities have never been a public endeavor. With Gayle’s help and the gracious consent of so many of you, I have been privileged to share your stories with the congregation for just shy of a year.

Recording and sharing your stories has had a positive effect on my life and has been my best church experience ever. With humor and candor, everyone of you have given me a boost and a sense of renewed faith. The diversity of this fellowship is overwhelming. Your open and affirming stance is not just words but is made evident in the people who come through the doors every Sunday morning. I grew up in a homogeneous church family. Indeed, we were for the most part blood-related. This weekly peek into your varied backgrounds has broadened my horizons.
I was not a happy camper when I came here. You accepted me and not only that, I have been trusted to spotlight a “person from the pews” every week. The effect on me has been nothing short of a radical change in my attitude and my life.

Thanks again to the leadership, the Communications Committee (COMCOM), the congregation, those folks who have stepped out of the pews and shared details of their lives, and especially to my note taker, editor, and best friend Gayle. I remain your faithful scribe, Dale.

By Dale Buchanan

“If you want to get to know people, listen to their stories.” — Andrew Fiala

Gayle and I have just passed a delightful hour and a half interviewing Michael and Angel. Actually, I hesitate to use the word “interview.” Gayle as usual took copious notes and tried to keep yours truly from talking too much. She did a good job with the notes and not so good in limiting my rambling stories. Michael and Angel inspired me to share, and the three of us spent the time swapping stories.

Michael’s story:

“I was born in Whittier, California, on October 2, 1981. When I was four or five years old, we lived in an apartment that Dad managed. One of our favorite things was to watch mud wrestlers on T.V. Dad took his tractor out back and scooped out a large round hole. He filled the cavity with water and threw the excavated dirt back in. This created an amazing mudhole that was an immediate attraction for all the neighborhood children. The hole was not too deep, but we managed to get muddy from head to toe. A great pastime for kids.”

(This was a perfect spot to insert my own childhood mudball story involving a neighbor’s white-washed garage. Of course, when I got Gayle’s notes she had disappeared it!)

“My large extended family gathered for holidays and visits at Grandma’s house. This involved traditional meals and touch football games with macho uncles and cousins who played a rough and tumble game while I helped Grandma cook in the kitchen.

My mom took me to church and introduced me to music and the performing arts. Although an alcoholic, my dad always worked and we always had food and a roof over our heads. He has been sober for six or seven years. Unfortunately, his affliction was passed on to me. Today like him I am sober and active in AA, and with Angel’s help I hope to stay that way.”

Angel’s story:

“I was born in Sanger in 1999 and grew up in Parlier. My mother was in trouble with the law, in rehab, or doing odd jobs most of the time. My siblings and I basically grew up with my grandma serving as our mother. It was a tumultuous childhood, and we kids learned early on to tease and rough house. I remember one time when, as the youngest at that time, I was aggravating the older siblings and they told me that if I did not shut up they would duct tape me to a chair. I would not shut up, so they did. It was all in fun and they soon released me. This rambunctious play was a good education and taught us children to watch out for each other’s backs.

My father left when I was in the third grade. My siblings and I still refer to grandma as Mom. She worked in the Dinuba School District office, and after school I would go to the office and help her. Bouncing between Dinuba and Parlier for school left me with no set friends and a less than stable childhood. I graduated from Parlier High School in 2017, and I am now going to Fresno City College and studying American Sign Language.”

Our story:

Michael: “We met through one of Angels former friends who complained about Angel. It was Fate that brought us together. I wanted to hear Angel’s side of the story, so I contacted him. I was pretty down and out. Actually, I was hungry. We arranged to meet at the Family Dollar Store. Angel asked me what I wanted and I replied, ‘Soup.’  So, on our first date Angel bought me soup.”

Angel: “When I was eighteen and had never had a real job, my mother gave me an ultimatum, ‘Angel, help out or get out.’  I had no one to turn to and no place to go. It was in this desperate state that I met a man who helped me with a job for which I paid a physically abusive price. It was in that Dollar store with Michael and later when we were cooking together, laughing, and being goofy that I found true happiness.”

Michael: “I told Angel that I was not ready for a relationship and making all these plans. And Angel impishly replied, ‘Along came a spider,’ and I was caught in his web. I married Angel because he understands addiction. I warned him from the beginning that I was carrying a heavy load of baggage. The truth is, since Angel, I grow happier and happier every day.

We live with Scott and Jason and are forever grateful that they are supportive of us in every way. They support my AA meetings and brought me back to church. They helped Angel let go of his feelings about not being accepted by the church. This has allowed him to come back to his Christian faith on his own accord where he rejoices in the respect and acceptance he has found at Big Red.”

Angel: “Our dream is to have our own place, enough money to be comfortable, and a sense of humor to last a lifetime. Today we are blessed to be best friends and that we have been granted another chance. Actually, blessed with a multitude of second chances.

We were married on November 24, 2018. It was the most beautiful wedding ever. Michael, who graduated from culinary school and is a chef, prepared a feast for the wedding party. We were surrounded by a host of friends and family. What a perfect way to start our life together!”

By Dale Buchanan

Our “From the Pews” guest this week is Paula, a native of Fresno. This scribe is always delighted to meet someone who was actually born in our fair city. I was born here also, but not my parents. The diversity of ethnic backgrounds always amazes me. It seems that, for the most part, even those of us native born have parents from elsewhere. Paula’s dad was born in Texas, but her mother was born here. Paula’s story is unique in that it begins here and is played out exclusively in this Central Valley city.

Paula grew up and came of age when children still played in the streets and life looking back seems innocent and moved at a less hectic pace. The following is not an autobiography or even a biography, it is a story structured and written with the intention of revealing the essence of Paula’s life. And just perhaps, if you are a native you will identify with Paula’s account of growing up in Fresno. If not, maybe you will better understand why we are like we are.

“Dale, you have tapped a stream of memories that go back almost to my birth. Here is my earliest memory. I was in a park at a family picnic. I was two or three years old and very annoyed. I was the only girl among the cousins. The boys were climbing a tree, and I was not allowed to climb!
Birthdays were a source of contention. My brother showed up three years and three day after me. With our birthdays so close, my parents declared that we would celebrate our birthdays together with parties alternating between his and mine. An old photograph shows me at about age five standing in a blowup pool with my gaggle of little girl friends. Another photograph from that same age shows me standing beside the family car beaming with delight and wearing a humongous Easter hat.

Another significant memory involves beans, a pressure cooker, and an explosion. Mom and dad were not home. My brother Ken was way out in the backyard doing whatever little brothers do. I, on the other hand, was cooking beans in the pressure cooker. Why I had decided to cook a pot of beans I have no idea. What I do know is that the pot exploded and beans were EVERYWHERE—and I do mean EVERYWHERE! Ken heard the explosion and came flying in. I was not hurt, and after surveying the catastrophe of a bean bombing in mother’s kitchen, we got busy and had the worst of the damage cleaned up before the folks got home.

There were four of us girls growing up in the neighborhood just west of McLane High School. Ginny has been my friend since we were three years old. She was the one I moved into an apartment with when I was eighteen. Next was Gwen who lived directly behind me with a connecting gate to our backyards which proved very convenient. Judy who arrived from Nebraska when we were all in the seventh grade. We were inseparable. We rode our bikes all over the neighborhood and played every game from Simon Says to Mother May I. In the summer time we left the house in the morning and came home for supper. A favorite pastime was watching when the ditch overran its banks and turned Millbrook Avenue into a pond. Chaos ensued when cars blindly passed the hump in the road and landed in the middle of a street turned to a lake.

In first grade I rode the bus to school. I often missed the morning ride, but never missed the trip home. Mom never understood. I always thought, well, duh! Grade school was wonderful, junior high was fun, and high school not so much because new boundaries sent some of my friends to another high school. I was always a good girl, but in high school geometry class I got caught exchanging notes with Judy and Bob. The teacher put the notes under a binder on his desk. Bob asked the teacher to explain a geometry problem, and when he turned to the blackboard, Bob stole the notes. Whew! Nothing was ever said. My record remained spotless!

When I graduated from McLane High School in 1965, career choices were limited to teacher or secretary. I trained as a legal secretary at 4C’s Business College. At my first law firm all six attorneys wanted to be first. I learned early on about rush jobs. On the corner of my desk I had a stack of papers marked “rush.” When a lawyer came in all agitated and told me this is a rush, I said put it on the bottom of the stack. He always left in a huff. I left there after two years and took a job selling and teaching about word processors. Then it was ten years with another attorney. After that I bought a secretarial service that was my bread and butter for twenty years along with the catering business Mom and I ran for twelve years of those years. Next it was ten years working as a vocational rehab counselor for the County Behavioral Health Department. Wow, it is no wonder I am tired!

Dale, you asked what I do if I have a spare hour or two, and my answer is that I would invite someone to lunch and the movies.

Mom and I found the Big Red Church in 1995. I was soon involved in Church Life Ministry and perhaps from my catering experience I gravitated toward the kitchen where preparing meals for the congregation has been my ministry for twenty years. The Big Red Church has been something I can hang on to and a place where my faith is fed and nourished. I trust that I am always safe here and have always found support and encouragement when I needed it.

By Dale Buchanan

Stepping from our pews this week is Zorayda, a perfect representative of the diversity found at the Big Red Church. She was born in Nicaragua, a Central American country set between the Pacific Ocean and the Caribbean Sea. It is known for its dramatic terrain of lakes, volcanoes, beaches, and beautiful Spanish Colonial Architecture. Thus, her birth place alone makes her a most interesting pew person. I also find her name fascinating. Zorayda can be translated “enchanting” or “dawn.” Her nickname Xochitl means “flower.” So, a literal translation would be “enchanting flower.” To this reporter who loves words, Zorayda is an interesting person even from an etymological standpoint.

“Dale, my memories of Nicaragua and home are colored by politics and civil war. In spite of those violent years of political upheaval, my parents managed to provide us children with a more or less normal lifestyle and my childhood recollections are mostly pleasant.

My mother was and is the bedrock foundation of the family. She made our home a refuge and sanctuary. Her sweetness remains a fundamental element of my childhood. Her humble personality and loving character are the glue that has always held us together as a family. Today she is ill and facing surgery, and I hope to be able to go home to see her soon.

My dad is an ordained Baptist minister. He is my hero. We lived in the city and owned a farm that was leased out to tenants. I guess my favorite memory was going with him to the farm every Saturday and riding the horses. This joy did not come without cost. The deal was I could go to the country and ride horses if I typed his sermons and helped with his necessary paperwork. Dad was a strong and brave man. He was respected and trusted by all of the many factions of that civil war that caused so much havoc in our country for so many years. As an activist he ministered to those who suffered imprisonment and persecution.

We were six children and did everything together as a family. Our home environment was very structured. For example, if dinner was announced to be at six p.m., it was served exactly at that time. If one or all of us were late, we missed it. It was understood and believe you me, we got to the dinner table on time.

My friend Mayra lived next door. She and I along with a host of other children grew up playing in the relatively safe streets of our neighborhood. We collected chalk. I don’t know why, but collect it we did. We rode bicycles and played kickball in the quiet streets. A favorite summer game was to climb the trees that line a nearby river and leap like monkeys into the gentle stream. I remember that there were many children. One family on our street had twenty-three children. We were never lonely.

As the civil war wound down and the political tension grew, my parents arranged for the two youngest of the family—a brother and me—to escape the chaos. My brother went to Costa Rico, and I moved to California. I made that journey in 1994. I spoke no English and traveled alone. I faced a new lifestyle and a totally different culture. It was not the easiest of transitions.

While living in the Bay area, I met and married a man from Jordan. After several years of marriage, my husband decided he wanted to go home to Jordan. I agreed to move there with him, and again I moved into a new world and a culture completely foreign to the Nicaraguan world and lifestyle I grew up in.

Thanks mostly to my father-in-law, my time in Jordan was bearable and life was fairly agreeable. Things got worse, however, as time passed, and I wanted to come back to California. My husband gave me permission to get a divorce, but the price was that two of our children would remain in Jordan with him. As always through thick and thin, my father-in-law was there for me.

Although there was no overt pressure, my husband’s family believed that unless I became a Muslim I would die and go to hell. For seven years, they conspired to save me from hell. This gentle coercion to convert reinforced my Christian faith.

When I came to Fresno, I began visiting Spanish-speaking Christian churches. I was not having much luck in finding a place that fit. My friend Cynthia Stevens suggested that I try the Big Red Church. I did and I liked it. I did not want to be at a place where everyone had brown skin, and at the same time, I did not want to be the only person in the place with brown skin. I realized that I was seeking diversity. I was searching for a family of people who were truly comfortable together, and I found that feeling alive and well in this open and affirming congregation of diverse Christians

Dale, I have found at the Big Red a place where I feel truly loved and believe that we are living what we preach. One last thought, I love children and am currently involved in nursery care which is the icing on the cake for me!

By Dale Buchanan

Your reporter has spent the last hour reading Gayle’s notes collected during our interview with David. They are extensive! Let me mention that we have another David Brown here at Big Red, thus the use of his middle initial “W” to distinguish him from The Rev. David Brown.

We met for this interview in the Fellowship Hall. David is a most interesting gentleman. The atmosphere was congenial. Other folks realizing what we were up to smiled and greeted us as they passed by the benches where we had settled toward the rear of the hall.

Earlier David had told me that he was born in New York City. I got excited spent the next week thinking about growing up in the Big City. Imagine my chagrin when David responded, “I was born there but only lived in the City for nine months.” It was here that the story got interesting.

“It was 1931—the middle of the Great Depression—and my folks were desperate. Dad was out of work and mother earned extra income playing the piano on a steam driven calliope up and down the streets of New York neighborhoods. Dad was an accountant and finally secured a position in upstate New York in a small mill town near Syracuse called Fulton. It was in Fulton that I grew up.

“My father was of Boston lineage and his ancestors can be traced back thirteen generations to England. My mom’s ancestors arrived here during the Irish potato famine. Dad was English through and through and fit the stereotype of the reserved English gentleman—very cautious and conservative. I don’t remember him ever hugging me. Still he provided me with a work ethic and the opportunity to work in his company gaining the experience that taught me how companies worked and businesses operated.

My mother, on the other hand, was adventurous. I decided at one point that I would become a professional photographer. My plan was to buy a van and convert it into a traveling studio complete with a dark room. Mom was excited and said, “Let’s start shopping for the van.” I think maybe she envisioned traveling with me, while my ambition was to get out of Fulton and on my own.

As an only child I grew up in a quiet house. Dad was always busy at his desk with his accounting work. Mother worked full-time as a homemaker. I did, however, have three or four close buddies and we managed to get into a fair amount of mischief. A particularly fun time was Halloween. We would stand two on each side of the road holding an imaginary rope pretending we were stretching it in the path of an oncoming car. How fun it was to watch the cars come screeching to a halt!

Mother was a Methodist. I was a skeptic. A change in my attitude came when a Sunday School teacher made the Bible stories seem real.

I sailed through high school making no plans for college. A friend named Bob whose father had a car was going to Clarkson University to be an engineer. He invited me to go with him and be an engineer too. My family never had a car. In fact, I remember my mother taking my red Radio Flyer wagon and walking two miles to the A & P to do her grocery shopping. Because my folks didn’t drive, I accepted Bob’s offer and this set the direction of my life. I started majoring in mechanical engineering, but soon realized that it was not for me and switched to Business Management in Industrial Engineering. I was on my way.

I began my career at a most opportune time. The computer world was exploding with new and exciting opportunities. I spent most of my working years with DEC (Digital Engineering Company). At one point I was sent to be a plant manager for a struggling plant where we manufactured printers, computers, and assorted peripherals and employed 1800 people. I remember getting lost in that huge building just trying to find the men’s room and cafeteria.

I have lots of work-related stories but let’s talk about my family. While serving in the Signal Corps, I married a Georgia peach named Nell. A precious memory is when I saw my first-born son Eric in his bassinet in the hospital. Nell blessed me with two more sons, Nathan and Jeremy. While this marriage ended in divorce, I still maintain a relationship with my sons.

Many years later in Boston I found Mary—the love of my life. We had two daughters, Laura and Jessica. These two daughters continue to fill me with joy today. Mary died last year after thirty-four years of marriage.

Mary’s family were Armenian exiles from Russia. I asked a friend’s advice about this marriage and he said, ‘Watch out. Your proper New England culture bumping up against her Armenian world view will clash like, “My Big Fat Greek Wedding.” But if you combine the best of both worlds you will experience a marvelous love and build a wonderful family.’ He was right. Mary taught me so much and if I had it to do over, I would marry an Armenian sooner.”

My last prompt was, “David, what is your ambition for the future.”  Without hesitation he responded, “I want to write my memoirs.” A great ambition. Go for it!