Church News – Weekly Scripture Reading

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!

Written by Dale Buchanan

Gayle and I caught up with Victoria on a recent Friday morning in the office at Big Red where she was busy folding the monthly newsletter “The Grapevine.”  Preparing this mailer is a labor-intensive project that requires hours of work. Your reporter knows from experience the volunteer labor required to get this mailer to your mailbox.

Victoria is a thirty-four-year old single mom who is always busy and on-the-go. To illustrate this, she just returned from a trip to Hawaii with her two sons Max and Rex. “It was a last-minute decision. We just went!  Traveling is a vital part of my life. In fact, by the time I was twenty-two years old I had visited twenty-two countries.”

At one point while she was folding hundreds of Grapevines, I asked her what she reads. With a disarming smile she said, “I belong to a book club so I read lots of books, but my joy is reading children’s books to Max and Rex.”  This is a perfect illustration of a mother’s love.

“My home, my children, my church and the communities they provide have proven to be the foundation that I am building on as I take on the responsibility as Chairperson of Christian Education and as I continue my education and look forward to a career as a teacher.”  

Dale Buchanan is a member of FCCF with a passion for stories and writing. In between penning his own memoirs, he is helping us get to know our members, one pew at a time.

By Dale Buchanan

About nine months ago I was commissioned by the Communications Committee to write this “From the Pews” weekly column in the GrapeLeaf. This assignment was my first step from the pews at Big Red. It has been an exciting time. Many of you did not know me nine months ago. Many of you still do not recognize me except as that old guy who shows up with Gayle Thornton most every Sunday morning. And that is alright too.

During this time I have had the privilege of sitting down with forty of you pew members and recording your stories. Without a doubt the most rewarding church experience of my life. Nine months is not a traditional anniversary celebration, but being a non-traditional person and a writer of memoirs, this marker seems to be a good time for me to reminisce and say thank you for the response to my efforts to record your stories.

When Randy Oftedal approached me with this idea, I was excited and immediately agreed to give it a try. I had no idea what this project was going to involve. I had only been a member at Big Red for about two years, and my first excuse was “I don’t know very many people. Where would I start?”  Randy looked at Gayle who introduced me to the Big Red Church and said, “Start with her.” I did and after that I was on my own. This paragraph is my thank-you for allowing me the privilege of getting to know so many of you in such personal settings. I have met with you in the Fellowship hall and other nicks and crannies of Big Red, in your homes, and in coffee shops and restaurants where interviews never fail to turn into conversation and a telling of personal stories.

I write my own stories and memoirs, so in the beginning I supposed that this would be a snap. I thought I could handle it all by myself. Wrong!  It became obvious to me right from the start that I had bitten off more than I could chew. The remainder of this personal memoir will be an attempt to give an account of the “nuts and bolts” of this “From the Pews” weekly column.

My first realization was that I needed help with the interview. Not only is the eyeball-to-eyeball conversation important, it is the vital element of the whole thing. It was essential that I have a transcriber. I did not have to look far. My friend Gayle from the outset was proof-reading my essays. She has been a member of Big Red for years and is well acquainted with most everyone and was the perfect one for me to use in setting up meetings where I suggest that Gayle and I would like to get together with them. At this juncture I was conferring with Gayle and others about prospective interviewees. Then I spoke to the person at church service, by phone, or Facebook. The “nuts and bolts” were beginning to take shape.

Once the appointment is set, we meet with our “From the Pews” person. I have a set of prompts meant to encourage the interviewee to talk and Gayle begins the process of making copious notes. Some ask “How long will it take?” and I respond, “It depends on you. Short answers, short interview, long answers, long interview.”  Because these interviews are actually more like conversations between friends, these get-togethers tend to be longer than shorter.

My stories and memoirs have always been a private affair and jealously guarded. It became obvious that I not only needed a proof-reader, but I was in desperate need of an editor!  There is an extensive body of literature dealing with the relationship of writers with editors. Since I had no previous experience with editors, I turned again to Gayle. After all, what could go wrong!  

Let me tell you there is a difference between a proof-reader and an editor. An editor is a horse of an entirely different color. A proof-reader corrects your spelling, grammar, and punctuation. An editor, on the other hand, presumes to change your words, delete complete sentences, and add things that make your words flow better.

Gayle and I have been friends for exactly three years, and there has been no stress at all between us. The writer-editor connection proved to be a challenge. This part of the process also required “nuts and bolts” to fit together. As soon as I finish an interview, I take Gayle home and we review her notes. I then take her notes and go home. Usually I let them stew for a day or two and then compose. This takes anywhere from one to three days. Once this is finished, I go back to Gayle, and we begin the job of editing my precious words. I am defensive and she is determined. She says you don’t need this sentence. I say you can’t cut this—it is the heart of the piece. She acts hurt and I pout. We converse and search for the right words and eventually find consensus. Then Gayle becomes the proof-reader, takes our revised draft, and types a corrected version which is sent to Kim in the church office just in time for the Wednesday at noon deadline.

And I begin searching for the next “From the Pews” person. Maybe that will be you!

By Dale Buchanan

Cliff invites those of us who read this column to come share a nostalgic walk that will take us from the past right up to the present day. This chronicler found himself pulled irresistibly into Cliff’s narrative as his story awakened in me the commonality of the lives of working people of that era. It is my hope that Cliff’s story arouses a personal recognition of the small dramas and major catastrophes that define your story as well.

Sitting in Cliff’s front room with a glass of wine, a platter of cookies, and Gayle furiously long-handing notes, I sat back and listened as this new friend shared his story.

“I was born here in Fresno in 1945 and immediately given up for adoption. Sixteen days later my parents took me home to Porterville where dad was a barber and mom a homemaker. My mother of fair complexion and red hair had the brown-eyed, black-haired boy she had always dreamed of.

We lived there until dad bought a barber shop on the corner of Echo and Weldon here in Fresno. Our first home was on the corner of Michigan and Clark—on the east side of Blackstone. Our elementary school was on the west side of that busy street. Walking to and from school was an ongoing adventure with parents on the east side of Blackstone constantly lobbying for a foot bridge that never got built.

Dad was a fisherman and took me with him in his aluminum boat. Both mom and dad were bird hunters and had shotguns. Every year we went to the Sacramento area to hunt. They loved it. I hated it. It was cold, foggy, and damp. I stayed in the car!

Dad bought a television before there was a broadcast station. I watched the Indian test pattern and if that was not available, I watched snow. Later as a latch-key kid when mom was working at Sears, I came home from school and watched Nancy Allen’s Matinee Movie.

Just down the street from our house was a small Mom and Pop store. They had an old coke machine where the sodas were kept cold in ice water. To remove a coke, you lifted the bottle and popped off the cap. What made this exciting was finding the right cap good for a free ticket to the Saturday matinee at the Crest theater. A city bus picked us up and delivered us down town. This matinee was a child’s delight. Chaos and mayhem ruled the day. We purchased ten cent bags of popcorn—not to eat—but to use as missiles to bombard anyone within reach. We went swimming in the Michigan Clark plunge.

I guess life was just about perfect for me until dad passed away in 1954. I was nine years old. Then things literally went south. The barbershop was sold and mom and I moved south to L.A. where her people lived. When I was sixteen and mom was on disability, we came home to Fresno. We bought a house in the Olive Chestnut area. I enrolled in McLane High School where I graduated in 1963.

It was time for me to go to work. I got a part-time job at Sears, graduated from 4C’s Business College, and then the part-time job at Sears turned into my full-time day job for the next thirty-six years. From Sears I moved to Thermo King. Like at Sears, I sell parts and this has been my day job for seventeen years and counting.

My passion has always been food. For a good part of my life I was actively involved in the catering business. I indulged in this exciting pastime on evenings, weekends, and holidays loving every minute of it. I met the most interesting people. Primarily I tended bar, served food, and my favorite thing was being a taster and getting paid for it. I was working with Jimmy Pardini when President Reagan came to Fresno to endorse Pete Wilson who was running for governor. I was chosen to be his personal waiter and was the only one allowed to approach the president’s table. I still have the paper instructions: (1) no tomatoes on salad, (2) jelly beans next to his plate.

Dale, after you and Gayle left last night I reminisced about a number of things and would like to add a P. S. to our interview. I remember watching out the window for the flash when the government was testing nuclear bombs. I know my folks loved me unconditionally and worked passionately to give me a good life. After my dad passed, I became the focus of my mother’s life. She was my role model and best friend. I remember her as a happy, laughing, hard-working woman who passed on to me her powerful work ethic.

My family came to Big Red Church because The Reverend Gregg came to dad’s shop for his hair cuts. I attended off and on until mother passed away and officially joined the church in 2008. Shirley Carlson and Ruth Gadebusch were influential and encouraged me to be active in the ministries of the church which led me to serve as chairperson of Church Life.

Today I enjoy putting on an apron and helping Paula Roberts in the church kitchen on special occasions. I love raisin pie. My favorite meal is prime rib with all the fixings. I read novels on my Kindle and still love watching TV—happy that I have more to watch than the test pattern of my youth!

 

Dale Buchanan is a member of FCCF with a passion for stories and writing. In between penning his own memoirs, he is helping us get to know our members, one pew at a time.

Written By Dale Buchanan

This reporter first met Sandy at the various volunteer functions of the Big Red Pantry Ministry. He is there every time there is a project, and he works tirelessly doing any and everything he is called to do without question or complaint. He did, however, confess that he is not keen on meetings so does not attend them.

Gayle and I met Sandy at a coffee shop in the Tower district one day last week. I was especially excited about this interview and Sandy seemed nervous at the outset. I suggested that we were there to encourage him to share his story with the members of Big Red. His response was, “I can do that.” And with the icebreaker out of the way, Sandy began. He is a natural storyteller.

“Death and illness have played significant roles in shaping the contours of my life. When I was in the fourth grade my brother died. He was three years older than me. We were Andy and Sandy, and we were buddies. Of course, I knew he was sick, but the thought of cancer taking him away was beyond my comprehension. He was my big brother and a star baseball player who still holds the record for home runs, with a trophy to prove it, and an annual Andy Klassen award still given for home run hitters. On the day Andy died, my folks told me that he would pass that day and gave me a choice: go school or stay home. I went to school.

Shortly after Andy’s death, I was diagnosed with a tumor at the very core of my brain. It was determined that the tumor was not growing and except for minor seizures from time to time, medication held the cancer in check. That changed drastically at the beginning of my junior year in high school. The tumor was growing and the prognosis was not good. Local doctors were anxious about doing the surgery because of expected side effects. An aunt who was a nurse in the Bay area talked to a surgeon who was optimistic about the results and did the surgery. The operation was a success, the doctor let me keep my green Mohawk, and we celebrated Christmas that year on my hospital bed. I came home and continued high school eventually graduating from Kingsburg High School.

Today I am half blind. The peripheral vision in my left eye is gone. For instance, as I sit here facing you and Gayle, I can see her and not you at all. Of course, when you think about it, not seeing you is not necessarily a bad thing. However, being half blind ain’t easy! I went to the Fresno Fair this past October and saw the big welcoming sign ‘Fresno Fair’ as ‘no air.’ Most of the time I have to read backwards and then forward again. On the way here, I saw a dog being led by a ghost—or so it appeared. The dog was there and a leash was attached to his neck, but no human was to be seen as the leash disappeared up into thin air. This is weird but real. I live in a ghost world.

My grandpa was born in Russia the child of German Mennonites. On a Mennonite boat he traveled to the United States with other farmers and settled in central California. I remember working in the packing shed on grandpa’s farm in Dinuba. My grandma spoiled me and let me come in the house for a special lunch while the other hands had to eat outside.

I was born in Fresno and we lived near Barstow and Maroa before moving to Kingsburg. A vivid memory of Fresno is of climbing fig trees on West Shaw and Valentine. I grew up in Kingsburg where much of my adventurous spirit was developed. I rode BMX bikes and skateboards. I went swimming in the Kings River. A favorite game was to walk out on the trestle and leap into the river just in front of a crossing train.

Dad was a long-haul truck driver and tagging along with him was the greatest of adventures. I loved sleeping in the sleepover compartment behind the driver’s seat. But best of all I relished eating in greasy truck stops along the old 99 Highway.

My mom held down a full-time office job, but her real occupation was to hold us all together as a family. She specialized in calming dad down and was an expert in stabilizing me. I was a mess and broke the law a few times.

I am always searching for new adventures. I have two great passions: concerts and traveling. Because of being half blind, I travel by bus and train and stay in hostels. My handicap has turned into a blessing because I meet people from all over the world. My next trip is Monterey and Salinas. In Salinas I will adopt two Peking ducks for pets. My hobbies are movies, gardening, and reading Kindle books.

I love Big Red and the opportunities and adventures that it provides. My first contact with the church was the Gay Pride parade with so many Big Red folks marching, and I thought this must be a neat group of people. I attended and found that is true.

You asked about my favorite food. Since I am on a diet, I guess right now I like best of all spinach and green tea.”

This last response was delivered with a perfectly straight face. Your faithful scribe does, however, suspect that Sandy was pulling my leg. Spinach, really?!

Dale Buchanan is a member of FCCF with a passion for stories and writing. In between penning his own memoirs, he is helping us get to know our members, one pew at a time.