Church News – Weekly Scripture Reading

By Dale Buchanan

Greetings, Big Red friends and family! I recently spent an afternoon with Gayle Thornton and Dale Buchanan. The following is an abbreviated account of our conversation.  So here goes.

I am an introvert. Let me be clear, being in introvert does not mean that I am shy. It means, I enjoy being alone. I NEED to be alone. Other people are basically “energy vampires.”   This is not that I am afraid of them, it just means that like being exposed to the sun, I must avoid over exposure lest they burn me.

My husband, Tony, who by the way is a great guy, and I have been a part of Big Red since our son Miles was about five years old and we wanted him to be involved in Sunday School. He is thirty now, so that was twenty-five years ago when we began searching for a church home. When we visited the Big Red Church, I remembered attending a Shakespeare play in the courtyard there some ten years previously. We found the Big Red Church a good fit for us.

Early on I became acquainted with my neighbor, Jean Linder, and a friendship was formed that has lasted through the years both as neighbors and members of the Big Red Church. Tony had never been a camper, so camping was not on our agenda as a family. Enter my friend Jean. “Listen you guys, little boys need to go camping, how about going with us to family camp at Camp Tamarack.”  We accepted and it was a great experience.

As I was growing up, music was hugely important to my family. Classical and jazz were a part of our daily diet. Mom was a musician and determined that her children would experience the joys of making music. In our first home we had an organ. For five years I was required to take lessons. My teacher’s name was Gertrude Deltch and to this day that name encapsulates the misery of those lessons. I never left a session that I was not in tears. Finally, we moved and the organ was left behind for a new house with a piano. The piano and piano lessons were a good memory. However, right on the heels of that pleasant memory came junior high and a talent show where I sang, “Cockles and Mussels.”  I am still embarrassed about that performance. Things evened out in high school when a girl friend invited me to try out for the choir at Hollywood Presbyterian Church. To my amazement I was chosen and not my girlfriend.:) 

When Tony and I landed at Big Red, I was totally involved in my career and family, so music was not high on my list of priorities. Enter again my friend Jean. “Hilary, why don’t you join the choir with me. I know you can sing.”  I offered excuses but finally submitted to her gentle persistent arguments. The years have flown by and lifting my voice with the church choir continues to bless me.

One of my favorite things is playing in the Big Red bell choir. This is another thing I owe to my friend Jean. My phone rang and it was Jean. “We have an emergency and need a bell ringer. You have to come to the rescue.”  That was many years ago. I still approach playing the bells with an intensity and reverence not easily explained. I play eight bells and it is demanding, but I joke that it is staving off dementia. 

Dad had his pilot’s license and we often took family vacations flying. One such memorable trip was to the southern tip of Baja. The plane had no instrument control and all navigation was visual. My two brothers and I entertained ourselves with word games and song ditties. To our mother’s consternation, we kept chanting “the family that flies together, dies together” as Dad searched for visuals that would deliver us safely to our destination.

With a BA degree in Spanish from USC in hand, and married to Tony—the new District Attorney in Fresno—I  went to night law school and loved the classes. I feel blessed to have spent my career in areas where it was possible to make the world a better place. My professional life can be divided into three phases. I spent the first phase prosecuting bad guys in the DA’s office here in Fresno.

The second phase materialized when a colleague asked me to run his campaign for state legislature. I took a leave of absence and got involved in politics. After a successful campaign, my colleague was elected and offered me the position of chief of staff. I accepted this challenge and spent the next ten years involved in the mechanics and intrigue of state government commuting weekly from Fresno to Sacramento.

I am now on the third phase of my career serving in the Residency Program at the University of California, San Francisco as Risk Manager and Privacy Officer. My job here is far removed from the days I served as a criminal prosecutor to now being charged with civil law ranging from how to handle law suits to teaching. 

My story ends more or less where it started. When son Miles was about eight years old, I answered the phone and it was friend Jean Linder. “Hilary, there is a dog that needs and a home and he would be the perfect pet for your family. He is a Border Collie and his name is Kid. He could be Kid Ross. Round up Miles and I will take you to meet him.”  The owner said we could take Kid home for the weekend. I knew Tony did not want a dog, but we risked it and took him home anyway. Tony protested, but the next morning I overheard him cancelling a golf date because HE had a new dog.:)  

By Dale Buchanan

I am happy to introduce today’s “From the Pew” person: Ron Atteberry. He and his wife Shirley were among my first acquaintances at Big Red. In the beginning I would have described Shirley as extroverted and social and Ron as introverted and reserved. I had Shirley pegged right from the get-go. 😊 Ron is a different kettle of fish. Although introverted and reserved he is a man not quite as reserved as one might think!

Recently Gayle and I knocked on Ron and Shirley’s front door. After pastries and ice tea, I explained how we would proceed. “If I ask a question you don’t want to answer, just say “no.” Ron nodded in agreement. “Where were you born?” His deadpan reply “no,” caught me by surprise and was the first of many examples of Ron’s sense of humor and dry wit.
This storyteller prides himself on the use of poetic license. I quickly realized that I was in the presence of a man who tells his true stories giving his imagination full play. I like to feel in control when stories are being told, but I gave up and allowed this quiet man to tell his story in his own words.

“Dale, I was born in Amarillo, Texas.” I knew better, but even knowing he was setting me up I asked, “Where did you grow up, Ron?” “Well, sir, I haven’t grown up yet,” a line delivered with just enough Texas twang to say, “Haw! I got you again, boy.” This time I truly gave up and allowed Ron to tell his story in his own way.

“What I remember about Amarillo is that the summers were hot, the winters were cold, and I loved to play outside the year round. This love of the outdoors has been with me until this day. After Word War II, work was scarce to non-existent in Texas. We moved to Sacramento where I attended first grade. Sacramento was not a good fit for my family. Dad found a job with the railroad in San Francisco and we lived in Daly City where I attended school from second grade through ninth grade. We then moved to Sunnyvale where I graduated from high school in 1959.

Before I talk about college, just a bit more about childhood. In Sacramento we lived with my grandparents and I loved it. Their house was in the city with running water and an indoor toilet. Baths were in a wash tub on the back porch. The neighborhood was filled with children, and I spent every possible moment playing with those kids. In Daly City it was the same thing. Hours spent playing childhood games from tag and hide and seek to baseball in the street. A favorite memory, which seems almost unbelievable now, was riding my bicycle to the airport and pedaling out to the maintenance area where I was allowed to sit in the cockpit of those planes. Such a different word and a wonderful time to grow up worry free and playing. 😊

Back to college and the real world. The years, more or less, ran together as life happened. It took nigh on to thirty years for me to earn a Bachelor’s degree in Business and a Master’s degree in Systems Management. My first college experience was San Jose State and after three semesters studying electrical engineering, I knew it was not for me. I dropped out and joined the Navy. My plan was to see the world and get training in electronics. I never set foot on a ship, so I did not see the world, but the Navy taught me a trade, self-reliance, and discipline for which I am most grateful.

After the service I went to work for IBM and was trained internally as an IBM programmer. I spent seven years working for IBM and this experience opened the doors for all my subsequent work experiences. San Jose, Fresno, San Diego, Reno, marriage, children, divorce, education and a thousand other experiences have blended together to form the collage which is my life’s story.

I began losing my hearing while still in the Navy. Today without my cochlear implant I hear nothing. This implant has been a life changer. I had it implanted on my right side so I could hear Shirley talking as we traveled in our RV. (Dale’s aside: this is true love)
I met Shirley at a management meeting when I was Director of Information Systems for the school district and Shirley was an elementary school teacher. This meeting proved to be another life changer. We courted for a year and a half and were married in April 1993. I cried and my beloved smiled.

Forgive me for waxing philosophical. As a boy I had two great ambitions—major league baseball player and airline pilot. Neither of these dreams were to be. A pilot was out because of my poor vision and I couldn’t play baseball because I was klutzy.
I retired from Fresno County as Manager of Computer Operations. My retirement pleasures are spending time in our pool, barbequing, going on cruises, collecting and reading hardback thrillers with lots of Russian spies. I do crossword puzzles in ink and want to get back to playing golf.

I am drawn to Big Red by the music, the people, and am pleased that it is an open and affirming congregation that is as liberal as I am. It is a good fit.

I love Italian food and Shirley.

This is my story and I am sticking to it. 😊

By Dale Buchanan

Every Sunday morning at Big Red Church something wonderful happens.  Well, the truth is many wonderful things happen. However, my very favorite wonderful thing is when the pastor sits on the chancel steps and that familiar tune, “Draw the circle wide,” invites our children from the pews.  Until those familiar chords are struck by the choir master everything is under control—stately and beautiful. The happy sound of that delightful gathering song elicits a joyous explosion as the children from Big Red pour out of the pews and head toward Pastor Raygan who sits on those steps grinning from ear to ear.

I happen to believe that this a magical moment—not just for the children, but for all of us.  Those children scurrying to that Sunday morning rendezvous provide a welcome sense of joy to all of us who have occupied the pews for many long years.  A casual glance around shows smiles everywhere as the children step out of the pews. Little boys not to be restrained fly down the aisle bent on being first.  Little girls already determined to behave as mothers have instructed move lady-like to their places near the pastor. Young mothers and an occasional father bring the tiny ones, reluctantly release their hands and anxiously take a seat on the front row to be ready to rescue the baby if needs be.  Next, the pastor welcomes them with a “Good morning!” They respond half-heartedly and then roar when it is suggested that they can do better. The delightful sound of happy children reverberates off the walls, and this old man is reminded that Jesus said, “Suffer them to come unto me.” Surely this moment of shouting by youngsters, who are comfortable in a place of worship, is a “good suffering” for those of us not so young anymore. 😊

Pastor struggles and imposes a semblance of order while old guys like me are actually praying for the kids to respond innocently to his questions in some totally unexpected way that leaves him stammering and us laughing out loud.

Last Sunday Pastor had in mind to teach the kids about giving and receiving.  To accomplish this goal, he and several helpers handed out big handfuls of pennies to all the kids.  Then he asked how they would spend these pennies. While most answered with “feed the hungry” responses, there were just enough off-the-wall answers to keep most of us smiling if not laughing out loud. 

This holding of pennies went on just long enough to let the kiddies establish a sense of ownership before they were instructed to go down into the pews and give away all of their newly acquired loot.  

I thought, “Well this is a hard lesson,” and I half expected grumbling and perhaps even downright refusal.  There was a quiet moment and more than one of those precious children opened their clutching hands and stared at those pennies.  Then Pastor signaled for them to go and as one they all moved into the pews and with radiant smiles began learning that it is better to give than to receive.

The little boy who approached me had a big smile on his face and handed me his last penny.  I said, “Thank you!” and he replied, “You’re welcome,” and in that moment we were both blest.

Thank you, Big Red Church, for sharing the blessing of your children in a joyful and meaningful way.  Thank you for making our gatherings truly sacred family worship experiences.

By Dale Buchanan

A little over a year ago I agreed to write a weekly column called, “From the Pews.”  It has been an adventure from day one. Having a deadline was my first shock. Wednesday at noon my weekly piece must be in Kim’s hands.  When that was explained I had no idea how quickly Wednesday at noon would roll around. So I learned early on that the deadline is an integral part of writing a weekly column!

I realized early on that I could not wait until Tuesday night and just knock out a piece for the next day.  To meet this Wednesday deadline there are more details that Carter has little liver pills. There is prospecting for participants, overcoming stalls and objections, negotiating a time and place for the interview, and the actual interview itself—which in my opinion is the best part.  This is the first part of meeting the deadline and should happen at least 10 days before the magic Wednesday. Obviously this means that at least two columns and deadlines are always being juggled simultaneously.  

All of the above and I have not written a word.  Your prospective columnist understood immediately that to go forward he had two choices: (1) give up; or (2) enlist help and this is where Gayle, she with the broken arm, comes into play.  Gayle Thornton is one of those Christian women who cannot say “no” when called on to volunteer. I called her with my spiel written down and a list of counter arguments to her stalls and objections.  She answered the phone. We chatted and I made my pitch. When I paused for a breath, she said “yes” leaving me more than a little disappointed that I did not get to use my carefully prepared arguments to her objections.

The interview is the heart of the column.  Gayle, she with the broken arm, is charged with making copious notes.  I prompt the pew person who is encouraged to talk. From there it is to Gayle’s house and a review of her notes.  I take them home and if time allows, let them percolate for a couple of days. It is only then that I try to put anything on paper.  Next it is back to Gayle’s house and editing.

I mentioned above that the interview is my favorite part of the process.  My least favorite part is the editing. The sweet woman you all know is ruthless with her red pencil.  She corrects my spelling, finds endless mistakes in my grammar, and then goes to work on the content of the manuscript itself.  And the frustrating thing is that after I see the results of her critique, the column is always better.

Saturday before last we had a column ready for Wednesday’s deadline and a prospect for this week lined up.  Things were looking good! I was at Gayle’s house watching football. She said, “I am going to get my mail.”  I grunted okay and she strolled to the mail box. The next thing I knew, the neighbors came bursting through the back door half dragging the staggering Gayle into the house.  She had fallen face first on the asphalt drive that connects her condo to the other five units.

Shaking like a leaf, she had abrasions and bruises all over the place especially on her hands, her left arm and shoulder, and both knees.  She refused to go to ER and went to church on Sunday where she served as liturgist. On Monday morning she made a doctor’s appointment and after several days of consultations and at least three X-rays, it was determined that she has two fractures—one just below the elbow on her forearm and the other on her elbow.  Both should heal without surgery or casts, but the elbow will be Xrayed again and if it moves it will need to be pinned.

The week has brought more adventures than we bargained for.  One last thought. If you have been avoiding us, don’t relax.  Gayle has a sling and we will catch you sooner or later. 😊

Written by Dale Buchanan

Last Thursday Gayle and I met Bob for lunch at La Boulangerie.  It was a beautiful October day. The blistering summer heat seemed to be behind us.  It was Bob’s lunch break and he insisted on treating. We had Monte Carlo sandwiches.  Gayle & I had potato salad and Bob had onion soup with his sandwich.

Meeting Bob was not a strictly social occasion although it was surely that also.  Bob had agreed to step out of the pews and share his history and story.

After we ordered and the food was being prepared, we settled down to the interview which has morphed into more of a conversation than a straight interview.  The conversation was lively and continued uninterrupted when the food arrived. This interview does not follow a strictly beginning to ending pattern. We were three friends sharing lunch and memories and one thing led to another, not necessarily in chronological order but in a free moving conversation.

Bob noticed Gayle taking notes and asked if she took shorthand.  She replied, “No, but my mom did.” Bob smiled and said, “So did my mom.  As a young woman she attended a business school in Visalia and was still proficient at her shorthand until she passed at age 102.”  And I had my first story about Bob’s mother.

“My surname is McParland, an Irish name, and my family heritage is Scotch-Irish.

When I was seven years old, my dad had bought me a Daisy BB gun and on a visit to my grandparent’s farm, I aimed up in a tree and killed a mockingbird.  Mind you, I had never shot anything and standing in Grandma’s front yard, I had killed a living thing with my gun. With that dead mockingbird lying at my feet, I was in a state of shock and very near tears.  Mom came out and comforted her boy explaining that it was all right since Grannie did not like hearing that mockingbird singing at night.

I was born in San Francisco and lived there until I was two years old.  We then moved to Burlingame and lived there through the fifth grade. When I was four or five, I hit a bump while riding my tricycle.  The handle bar jammed into me and caused a hernia. They took me to St. Mary’s Hospital in San Francisco for surgery. I don’t remember much about that except that I was not supposed to drink water.  The father of the boy in the bed next to me sneaked me a glass of water that tasted so good. Ironically, they were from Fresno.

The dampness of the Bay area caused me to develop asthma.  It was so bad that the doctor told my folks they needed to get me to a drier climate.  We moved here to Fresno when I was ten years old and ready to start sixth grade. In Burlingame I could only ride my bicycle a block or so without having to stop to catch my breath.  It was a new world to me to be able to play outside with no asthma!

Mother was the stalwart in our family and faced all problems stoically.  Raised a Roman Catholic, she left that church and remained unchurched. Dad had no spiritual leanings.  I did try going to Sunday School a couple of times, but there were just a bunch of rowdy kids and I never went back.  As a Fresno High School student, I went to the Big Red Church’s Sunday evening forums, but that was the extent of my experience with churches.

After graduating from high school, I enrolled at Fresno State.  Dad got sick and I dropped out to help with his business which was eventually sold.  Next it was to U. C. Berkeley until dad again needed my help with his builders’ hardware business.  I was married then, drafted, and divorced with no children. I returned to U.C. Berkeley and finished my degree in Business.

I married a second time for twelve years to a woman who had three young children.  We had three more including a set of twins for a total of six kids. It was with these children in tow that we started coming to the Big Red Church.  

Looking for a job, I went to work for A & M Carpets where I worked for seventeen years.  Thirty-one years ago, I opened Valley Rolls and Remnants at McKinley and Blackstone. We have just relocated to Blackstone and Lansing with a staff of eighteen people including salesmen, installers, and office personnel.  We sell wall-to-wall carpeting, area rugs, laminate and wood flooring, and some ceramic tile.

In high school there was a group of ten of us that ran around together.  Nine of those ten knew what they wanted to do. I was the odd ball and stumbled around for several years.

In my early twenties a good friend and I bought a sailboat and sailed from St. Thomas running into a bad storm.  We tried to weather it but ended up ship wrecked on a deserted island called Dog Island. After four days some native fishermen saw smoke from our fire and rescued us.  

I plan to keep working for another two or three year and dream of passing on the business to my son.  I am married to my business, so I am happy when it is doing well. I enjoy reading and am currently reading Apostles of the Revolution. 

Chief on my bucket list when I retire is to get back to fly fishing.  

What I cherish about the Big Red Church is the social relationships I have there.

Written by Dale Buchanan

The diversity of the congregants of Big Red Church never fails to amaze me. Stepping from the pews this week is Rosalie Brown. This woman is a perfect example of the wonderful and amazing variety of Christians who worship and fellowship at Big Red. 

Rosalie was born in Jamaica City, a middle-class neighborhood in the New York City borough of Queens. For me, this fact alone is enough to establish the veracity of my claim to our diversity. I was born and raised in Fresno, the offspring of depression era Okies. As far as I know, I had never met anyone born in Queens. I most certainly had never heard of Jamaica City, and here I was sitting across the table from a woman with stories to tell. 

Gayle and I met Rosalie in the church parlor one afternoon last week, and we talked. Scheduling this busy woman had been difficult and Rosalie was pressed for time with another meeting right after our interview. I was so excited that I could hardly sit still as we engaged in the mandatory preliminary chit-chat. I got my chance when the ladies spoke of the Transitions group which was Rosalie’s next stop. The Transitions group is another of those groups that meet at Big Red that I had no idea existed. I asked, “what is a Transitions group?”   That question opened the door and we were off to the races. 

“Transitions is a small group of folks who fall into a broad category each of us trying to make sense of our lives. We deal with aging and provide emotional and mental support.”

My next question was, “How long did you live in Jamaica City?”  This led to a discussion of her childhood.

“We lived there just three or four years. Dad was a skilled mechanic and worked in the instrument shop of American Airlines. He organized the workers in a union. Management recognizing his business acumen, moved him into management which resulted in in a series of long-distance moves. This was good for dad’s career, but now so good for little kids.

Our first stop was Tulsa, Oklahoma. The school I attended when we first moved there was old and worn with no electricity—only natural light. We lived in Tulsa from kindergarten to fourth grade. My favorite memories of those years are learning the Golden rule, playing in the dirt, and loving the kids next door. It was there I learned a powerful lesson. Two girls get along fine, but add a third and someone gets picked on. In my case, it was me who got stuffed in a toy box with the lid slammed shut. They eventually let me out, but I was scared to death. Oh, and I remember I had a boyfriend in Tulsa at that tender age who gave me rides home from school on his bicycle. 

Next it was on to Dallas, Texas, for the fifth and sixth grades. I remember vividly the Russian Sputnik and its voyage into outer space. Then it was back to New York for junior and senior high school.

Mom was a creative artist. She worked on Fifth Avenue creating high-end jewelry. What I remember most is that she was a trusted employee who walked without fear from her place of employment to Saks Fifth Avenue with large sums of money. Another precious memory of mother is her taking us outside after a fresh snow and placing us on cookie sheets for sleds so we could slide gleefully down the driveway. 

After graduation from high school, I enrolled in Stonybrook State University as a chemistry major. I discovered almost immediately that this was not for me!  Dad took me to the University of Arizona in Tucson where I felt at home in the Architecture department. It was there that I met a fellow student named Wayne. We courted mostly at school. He was a year ahead of me and critiqued my presentations. Our common interest in architecture led us to marriage and children. We have been blessed with three sons and a daughter. The responsibilities of motherhood cut my studies short.”

Gayle asked, “Did you ever get your degree?”  “Yes, I did. When we moved to Fresno, I enrolled at Fresno State and received my B.A. in Landscape Design. With that degree in hand, I worked for three different landscape architects and then ran my own business. Much later I went back to school and obtained a teaching credential.”  I taught third grade for four and a half years, and now l substitute but only in high schools. 

To relax I read, practice yoga, and do weight lifting. I especially enjoy spending time with friends. I am a docent at the zoo and love to teach visiting classes about the Arctic and the Rain Forest.”

Rosalie, “I have noticed that you sing in the choir. Has music been a part of your life?”  “I sang in choirs in high school and college and have been in the choir here at Big Red for twenty-five years. And, we always had music in our home growing up. My father played classical music and mother loved dancing to waltzes. In fact, my mother and father met at a New Year’s Eve dance. 

Music has a long history in my family. My grandfather was a church organist. Grandma was teaching me to play the piano while my brother was getting professional lessons. When my parents decided to sell the piano, I was heartbroken. I put a note in that old upright piano begging the new owners to take care of my piano. Even now that makes me tearful.”