Church News – Weekly Scripture Reading

A column dedicated to the folks in the pews.

Written by Dale Buchanan

Stepping from the pews this time is Bill May. My first question was, “Bill, what brought you to Big Red?” His reply set the tone for the ensuing interview. He looked at me smiling with a twinkle in his eye, “Why, Dale, I came here because this church is open and affirming.” Until Bill and I sat down we were not acquainted. I knew he sings in the choir, we had said good morning a time or two, but this first response assured me that we were going to be friends. When lunch was finished and talking complete, I had a new friend at Big Red.

Born Horace William May in May, 1942, Bill and I missed sharing birthdays by just a couple of days. I had been thinking of him as a nice, old man only to discover that I am older by a few days than he is—which, of course, necessitates my reconsidering my notions about younger and older.

Bill’s surname May traces back into antiquity and Roman mythology. Maja was a Roman earth goddess and wife of Vulcan, and probably traces back to a root word translated, “She who is great.” His given names are equally interesting. The name Horace goes back to one of the most famous ancient Roman lyrical poets, and when spelled “Horus” the etymology takes us back to ancient Egypt and the Falcon god. His second name William is an old high German compound word: willeo (will or determination) and helm (protector and helmet). Literally: resolute protector.

When questioned about his parents, Bill’s first response was, “Dad was a jokester and loved tennis. The sport was his passion and his dream was for me to become a professional tennis player. I liked tennis all right, but my passion was music. I have often wondered how my life would be had Dad encouraged me as much in my music studies as he did in my tennis lessons.”

“My mom was a strong, midwestern woman, a devout Christian and famous for her home-cooked meals  An Indian baby drowned in the river and the community where Mom was born became Weeping Water, Nebraska. On a visit from California, Dad met her and they were married on Gospel Hill. Dad was forty-seven years old and Mom was thirty years old. She was married twenty years and lived a widow thirty years. She read to me!”

“I was an only child and grew up in many respects lonely. I guess I was what we today call a latchkey kid. My parents shared a great ambition for me to be successful in life. With their support I pursued my education from Kingsburg elementary and high school to Reedley Community College and finally graduated from Fresno State University with a degree in engineering. In 1967 I found myself with a wife and a position in upstate New York with Westinghouse. From New York we moved back to Central California and a long career in a construction related branch of Westinghouse. We were married seventeen years and blessed with two sons.

It seems to this reporter that at some point inspired by the music he loves, Bill found his true calling and spent the last fifteen years before retirement teaching emotionally disturbed children ages seven to twelve. Even today when he speaks of music there is a sense of joy and happiness in his telling that seems to have always been with him from the marching band in high school, to the California Opera choir, to an active part in a local band, and to participation in the choir at Big Red. Music has been and no doubt always will be Bill’s motivation and life force.

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.

A column dedicated to the folks in the pews.

Written by Dale Buchanan

This week our “from the pews person” is Gonnie Crone. Friend Gayle and I have been helping her with transportation as she battled cancer. Thankfully the new treatment is working, and the doctor just pronounced her cancer free. All of this driving back and forth between Kerman and Fresno has given me time to appreciate this witty, fascinating woman.

Gonnie was born in Utrect, Holland, the youngest in a family of seven children. Her father was a contractor and built the 3-story house they lived in. Utrect is about twenty miles from Rotterdam which was totally flattened by the Germans in WWII. Utrect was bombed extensively also. Gonnie was five years old when the Germans occupied Holland and ten years old when they were driven out. Gonnie tells harrowing stories about those five years of her life, but she cannot write them down and asked that I not write about them either. They are tender stories of a little girl. Perhaps too tender.

“Gonnie, tell me about your name. I’ve never heard the name Gonnie before.”  “Well, first I will tell you that my maiden name is Kroon and my married name is Crone and both mean “crown.” Now I will tell you about my given name because I am very proud of it. It is Hillegonda  and is an ancient Viking word that means ‘courageous heroine.'” She tried to teach this “red-neck” to correctly pronounce this name to no avail. She went on to tell me, “Upon arrival at Ellis Island I was informed that Hillegonda was too long, and my name was arbitrarily shortened to Hilda. “Hilda? But we call you Gonnie.” “Yes, Gonnie is a nickname for Hillegonda, but officially—like at the doctor’s office—I answer to Hilda. You can call me Gonnie.”

“Okay, Gonnie, I have another question. How does a girl from Utrect, Holland end up in Kerman, California?” Gonnie is a natural storyteller and this is quite a story, so I will have to shorten it a bit.

“I had just broken up with my boyfriend, an American lieutenant, and bought myself a motor scooter. Some friends invited me to a get-together and there was this young man there who had a small Fiat. I was interested in his Fiat and he was interested in my motor scooter. That’s how I met my husband. We had been seeing each other just a short time when one day he said to me, ‘I am getting a Visa to go to America. Would you like to go with me?’  That was his marriage proposal! I said “yes” on two conditions: (1) there was enough money to return to Holland if we did not like it there, and (2) my piano must go with us!” They stayed in America and the piano now sits in her front room.

Her husband was a sugar beet specialist and went to work for Spreckels in Woodland, California. “When they built a new plant in Mendota he said ‘no’ to transferring the first time, but they would not take ‘no’ for an answer the second time. We found a house in nearby Kerman and moved ther e in 1967. I was pregnant with my second child.”

Gonnie would have three children—Jennifer, Jay, and Bert. Her son Jay is a music professor and an accomplished musician. He is known to us at Big Red because when he comes from Virginia to visit his mother, he stirs our hearts with  his trombone or euphonium.

Gonnie raised her children, taught paino lessons, played the organ at the Methodist church in Kerman for 45 years, and found a church home with us at Big Red a few years ago and occupies a place in the pews when her health allows.

This “courageous heroine” has been labeled “fiesty” at the Cancer Center where she has been going for infusions. Indeed, I agree!  She is a fiesty woman and the courageous heroine in her life story.

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.

A column dedicated to the folks in the pews.

Written by Dale Buchanan

Your “pew” reporter has just returned from a conversation with Frank. I called him this morning and inquired about an interview for our Grapevine series, “Getting to Know You.” He graciously agreed. I asked about a convenient time. He said, “Can you come this morning?” And just like that in less than an hour I was sitting in his office at The Center Bridging Body, Mind, and Spirit. Hand shaking and small talk were quickly dispensed with and we got right down to business. I suggested my format for these informal interviews and this remarkable gentleman was ahead of me every step for the next two hours.

Frank explained that Saxton means Saxons Town and that his genealogy has been traced back five generations in England. Then the history becomes murky and the trail goes cold.

I asked Frank where he was born and raised. He responded, “I was born in Santa Paula and raised everywhere. I consider the Owens Valley as my formative home. I attended twelve different elementary schools and finally graduated from Bishop High School.”  He matriculated at UC Berkeley, Bakersfield State University, and finally at Fresno State University.

I asked about Faye. That was the magic question. I never had to ask another. “I married Faye in 1967. Music is the tie that binds us together. Married for 51 years we have been singing together for 52 wonderful years. No matter what comes or goes, regardless of the circumstances, we always have music.”

This onrush of precious memories carried Frank back in time on a sweet journey to their youth. With a serene and contented expression of love on his face, Frank shared his memories with me and by extension all of you. “Faye and I traveled to Europe for a prestigious music competition. On the last day after all the judging, our group had won. I walked my girl to her lodging place and on the back porch in that distant land, I kissed her for the first time. I have never been the same.”

This shared memory opened the floodgates. I listened spellbound as he recalled his mother and her strong sense of duty. “Mom was spiritual but not especially religious. She grounded in me a sense of ethics that has served me well all these years.”

Frank’s birth father was killed during the carnage of World War II, and his mother remarried. He explained emphatically that this man was not a step-father, he was his dad. The ensuing two children were his siblings and they were a family. “My dad was an outdoorsman and he taught me to love and respect nature. His woodsman friends advocated always leaving a clean camp. Dad said, ‘Don’t even leave your footprint’”

Seamlessly this eloquent storyteller returned to the reasons for his successful 51-year relationship with his partner and life-long companion. “As I said, music is the cement that sealed us together. The second vital ingredient is family. Raised in strong caring families it seemed only natural to build a strong family where someone always has your back. The third indispensable characteristic of this union is space.” I reluctantly interrupted, “What does that mean?” He smiled and pointed around the warm friendly office that we were sitting in. On the opposite wall were two desks. “One is hers and the other is mine. Faye is visiting a client and I am here. We have made it a rule to give each other space and to offer support rather than control.”

Again as if crafted, Frank, without my prompting, moved to his art. He collects and plays Native American flutes. When he played for me I was enchanted. The music composed and improvised from his heart is hauntingly beautiful. He showed me one of his collection of  tongue drum, and in almost reverent words he described rain sticks which are made so they sound like rain when shaken.

Frank works with Kim on the photographs that grace our Sunday bulletins, and using these photographs they are preparing notecards for the boutique sale at Big Red.

I suppose it is evident that your reporter gave up any semblance of objectivity early on and sat mesmerized through the process. I did not interview. I soaked up wisdom and delighted in Frank’s sense of nature and spirit.

Frank is an artist. His chosen palette is Earth photography. Early on when Frank talked about this I did not understand. However as I took my leave, he took me on a guided tour of all the public spaces in the Center—including the bathrooms—and I was treated to a breathtaking exhibition of earth photography. I got it!

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.

a column dedicated to the folks in the pews

Written by Dale Buchanan

Gayle and I caught up with Pat coming from French class for lunch at Jack’s Urban Eats. The place was jumping with a group of high school students. I apologized for the ruckus. She responded, “Dale, I was born to be a teacher. The hubbub of these teenagers is music to my ears. I taught thirty-five years from second to twelfth grades, although third grade was probably my favorite.” With my mind settled, we were off to the races and two hours of pleasant conversation. I asked general questions and allowed her to go where her thoughts took her. 

“Pat, why are you taking French lessons?” “My mother’s folks, my grandparents, came to Fresno from France. Grandpa opened a French Bakery in downtown Fresno near the present Wells Fargo Bank. He did well with the bakery, but Grandpa wanted to be a dairy rancher. He built a French style house in an L-shape in which the house and the barn were connected. Although this is common in France, it was unheard of in California and the neighbors scoffed at the idea. Grandpa so wanted to be an American that he tore down his French house and built a two story colonial style house with a white picket fence. I have always been interested in my French background and lived in France for a while as a young woman and even owned a house there for a time. So, in answer to your question, improving my French speaking seems appropriate.”

“Pat, perhaps you might speak to your childhood.” “I was born in Colton and raised in Covina—both cities in Southern California. Covina was beautiful when I was a child. Orange orchards and walnut groves dominated the landscape. I remember my dad and one of his friends speaking about the coming freeways:  ‘I just don’t get it. They say there are no stop signs. How do you get on the thing?’ ‘They tell me there is something called a ramp. You get on this ramp and merge. That makes no sense to me.’”

“Pat, I think our readers would be especially interested in reading about you as a child.” “I was painfully shy.” I have known Pat for several years and I would never use the word shy to describe her. I laughed at the thought and begged her to continue. “Okay, Dale, stop laughing and I will start over. I was bashful to the max and extremely timid. I was the second tallest girl in my school and hated that the most of all.” Try as I might, I could not wipe the smile from my face. “I wore glasses and thought for the longest time that my name was Four Eyes. On top of that I had buck teeth.” I will never look at Pat the same again and I was hopelessly lost in mirth at this image she was sharing. Pat was on a roll now and described in detail the little girl fitted with braces to fix those buck teeth.

“Okay, Pat, tell me about your passions and what you are pursuing now.” “My passion is service. My goal is to make an impact on society and the lives of others. Dale, as a child I did not want to play nurse like my girl friends. I wanted to play school and be the teacher. Right now I am involved in a mentoring program with other Big Red members at Alexander Hamilton Elementary School. My heart breaks when I sit down with children who are not learning to read. I am so proud to be a part of Big Red’s participation in the Every Neighborhood Partnership to help teach first and second graders how to read.”  

It is true that Pat will at the drop of a hat talk to you about the interface between psychology and spirituality, a seemingly esoteric movement called Pachamama, or the Enneagram along with many more ideas that require thinking outside the box.  It is also true that this teacher and idealist is blessed, perhaps obsessed, with a sense of humor that will lighten your mood and make you eager to say “yes” to volunteering when you see her coming.

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.

a column dedicated to the folks in the pews

Written by Dale Buchanan

Our special person from the pew this week is Norma Olsen, and she reminded me immediately that it is Olsen with an “E.” While every “pew person” is special, I must explain right from the outset that Norma is 104 years old. Norma, her husband, and their two children were members of First Congregational Church when it moved in 1948 from its location on San Pablo and Divisadero to the present location which became affectionately known as the Big Red Church.

Norma was born in Fowler in 1914. One of the places she lived as a child was Badger, California, a small community in the hills of Tulare County. There is a photo of her at age six in the woods of Badger. At age fourteen her family moved to Cambria on the Central coast. Her reply when questioned about where she grew up was, “I grew up on the beach, in the mountains, and in the valley.”

The opportunity to visit with Norma was a privilege. She lives in a lovely apartment at San Joaquin Gardens. It is in this homey space that Norma has tastefully created an enchanting collage of those things that have marked her life.

Gayle took me with her on one of her regular visits to Norma. I was seated in a comfortable overstuffed chair, Norma in her special chair, and Gayle in a kitchen chair pulled up near this regal lady. They were immediately engaged in conversation. My voice was in a range that Norma had difficulty hearing so Gayle led the discussion, and I occasionally asked a question which Gayle relayed to Norma, and so we proceeded.

Sitting as a centerpiece on a table between Norma and me, I spotted a small glass display case chocked full of tiny, but to me unidentifiable objects. “Gayle, ask her about these things in the case.”  “Why they are thimbles,” Norma replied. Tenderly, almost reverently, the case was picked up, the door opened, and a tiny thimble was removed. “This one belonged to my grandmother. Look how tiny her finger must have been.”  Grandma’s thimble went back into the case and another appeared in her hand delicately held by her thumb and forefinger. “This one came from Alaska and was made of sealskin.” It turned out that this little glass case of tiny thimbles collected from everywhere she and her husband traveled was a treasure of history and memory.

On the shelf across the room was a neat stack of books. I pointed at them and Gayle asked her to tell us about them. “Oh, those are my memoirs.”  That got my attention. “Norma, why did you start writing memoirs?” After raising my two children and retiring from many years of teaching second graders, I was tired of sitting around doing nothing. My niece Janice Stevens had just started a class teaching memoirs and I went to that and just kept writing.”  Now I was really excited because Janice Stevens teaches the memoirs class I attend. Such a small world!

Her niece Janice wrote this about Norma:
Aunt Norma is a treasure trove of family history. She has always inspired me with her wit and creativity! Her latest collection of memoirs, poems, and family pictures, Final Finale, adds to the decades of life history she has shared with us.

Around the room we went with Gayle gently prompting, me scribbling as fast as I could, and Norma sharing what niece Janice calls “decades of life history.” A cut glass dish that she bought at a Big Red rummage sale gave us a glimpse into her many years of involvement in Women’s Fellowship preparing meals and having rummage sales. This led to Norma’s recollection and joy in being a part of the Women’s Rhythm Choir which introduced sacred dance to worship. She recalls fondly their performance of the Lord’s Prayer. The Rhythm Choir survives today as the Morning Star Dancers and is an integral part of the music program at Big Red.

Norma was getting tired, I was wanting more, and Gayle said, “The towel, Dale,” which is her way of saying, “Enough already!”

Norma graciously escorted us to the door and her last comment was, “My life has not been remarkable or especially noteworthy, but it has been rewarding in a host of ways.”

“Dear Norma, would that I should experience such an ordinary 104 years!”

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.