The

DOUGBATCHELOR

Story

AstoldtoMarilynTooker

EditedbyMarvinMooreIllustrationbyLarsJustinenCoverDesignbyPennyHallCopyright©1991by

5431AuburnBlvd.,SuiteA-l•Sacramento,CA95841AllRightsReservedPrintedintheUnitedStatesofAmericaRemnantPublications,Coldwater,MichiganThiseditionprintedin2005LibraryofCongressCatalogCardNumber:89-62156ISBN0-8163-0876-491929394•5432

Contents

1.OutWithaBang!2.MilitarySchool3.Runaway4.FreeatLast!5.TheSecretCave6.CrimeDoesn’tPay7.ShippedOut!8.OntheRoad9.TheArabsAreComing!10.NewMexicoandBack11.DiscoveringtheTruth12.StarforaDay13.TryingtheChurches14.IfatFirstYouDon’tSucceed15.ButLord,ICouldNeverBeaPreacher!16.IndianTales17.GoingHome18.TheRockThatWouldNotRoll

1

OutWithaBang!

Isatontheedgeofmybedinmymother’sNewYorkapartmentandburiedmyfaceinmyhands.Tearsrandownmycheeksandseepedthroughmyfingers.Iseldomcried,but this time, something reallybroke loose. I hadbeen in fightsalmostsincethedayschoolstarted,andhereIwasintroubleagain!IwonderedifIwouldeveramounttoanything.Ijustcouldn’tseemtocontrolmytemper.

IfMomwere here,maybewe could talk things over, but that night shewas gone. Since the divorce, sheworked full time and had less time than shewould have liked formy brother andme. Evenings, she eitherwent outwithfriends,orsometimeshadapartyatourapartment.Weseldomhadaneveningathometogether.ButnowFalcon,mybrother,bestfriend,andworstenemy,hadgonetolivewithDadinFlorida.Withhiscysticfibrosis,Falconneededamilderclimate, so here I was in the apartment, alone, and desperately in need ofsomeonetolovemeandcarewhathappenedtome.

I thoughtofmybeautifulmother.Shehad lotsof friends,mostof themactors,writers, and singers.Her talent and good looksmade her the queen ofeveryparty.Shewasdrawntoshowbusinesslikeamothtoaflame.HercareerreallytookoffwhenshestartedwritingsongsforElvisPresley,butshehadbeeninvolved in showbiz in one capacity or another ever since I could remember.ShewrotemusicalsforTVandplays,didbitpartsinmovies,andworkedasafilmcritic.

SheusedtotakeFalconandmetoworkwithherduringsummervacation,andweenjoyedalltheattentionfromthestars.Theywouldcomeoverandtalktousandtellusjokesbetweentapings.Someofthewell-knownonesthatIstillremember were Red Buttons, Frankie Avalon, Nancy Sinatra, Rowan andMartin,Maureen O’Hara, and Lloyd Bridges, but our favorites had to be the

ThreeStooges.Howtheymadeuslaugh!Yetsomethingabouttheexcitingpeoplewhomadeuptheworldoftheater

bothered me. As I got old enough to understand, I noticed that a frighteningpercentageofthemwerehomosexuals,anditseemedthatmanyofthemwereondrugsoralcohol,orboth,yettheyweren’thappy.“Whydotheyworksohardtoachievefamewhenitmakesthemsomiserable?”Iwondered.

IfMomevernoticedthediscrepancyintheir lives,shenevermentionedit. For her, the more excitement, the better. She used to have parties at ourapartment,butalltheguestswantedtodowassitaroundandtalkandsmokepot.Theywoulddodumbthingslikepopthebonesineachothersbacksandlaughattheirown stupid jokes.Someof themwere sooutof touchwith reality!Theylookedlikeghostsas theyfloated inandoutof theirownworld.Theyseemedweirdandlonely.

Lonely.HowIhatedtheword!Sittingbymyselfontheedgeofthebed,theeventsofthedaycrowdedbackintomymind,andasIrelivedthefightI’dbeenin,thescorchinglecturefromtheprincipal,andmyteacher’sdisapprovingscowl,Ifeltlowerthanaclam.WhowasI?WheredidIcomefrom?WhywasIhere?Thosewerenotnewquestions.Ioftenstaredinthemirrorandwondered.I’dbeentoldthatIwasjustanotherstepintheprocessofevolution—anoverlydevelopedmonkey.Ifthat’salltherewastolife,whynotgetitoverwith?

Iwasn’tafraidtodie.Whenyoudied,youjustrottedandturnedbackintofertilizer—orsoour teachers toldus. Idecided toswallowabottleofsleepingpills,liedownonmybed,and’neverwakeup.Simple.

Resolutely,Istoodup,wipedthetearsoffmyhandsontomypants,andstrodeintothebathroom.Openingthedoorofthemedicinecabinet,Istaredatallthebottlesandjarslinedupneatlyontheshelves.Whichonehadthesleepingpillsinit?IknewMomtookoneortwoeverynighttogotosleep,butIhadn’tpaidthatmuchattentiontowhichbottlesheused.Ibegantakingthemdown,onebyone,andreadingthelabels,butnoneofthemsaid“sleepingpills.”FinallyIfoundonethatsaid“Takeoneatbedtime.Valium.”Iwasthirteenyearsold,butI’d never heard thatword. I put the bottle back and continued the search, butnothing else sounded right, so I returned to the Valium. I unscrewed the lid,pouredthewholebottleintomyhand,andreachedforaglassofwater.Myhandpausedmidair.What if these weren’t sleeping pills?What if they were somekindofpillsforladies?Whatiftheyjustmademesick?Ididn’twanttogetsick.I’dhadenoughpainandmisery.Iwantedtodie!

Ileanedoverandrereadthelabelonthebottle,butIfoundnonewclues,soIstoodthereforalongmoment,tryingtodecidewhattodo.SlowlyIreachedforthebottleandpouredthepillsbackinside.I’dfindabetterwaytokillmyselfanotherday.

Lookingback,IwonderhowIcouldhavebeensoblindtothecluesthattoldmeMomcared.She tried toexpressher love inherownway.Shewouldwriteamusicalplayforourclassandputmeinastarringrole.Sheworkedveryhardatit,too:casting,costumes—evenconductingtherehearsalsherself.Ittookherawayfromherwork,whichmeantsmallerpaychecks.

We enjoyed a certain togetherness before Falcon left. Sometimes wewould sit around in the living room togetherwatchingTV.Momand Iwouldsmokepot,butFalconcouldn’tbecauseofhiscysticfibrosis,soshemadehimcookies, putting in a generous amount of marijuana or hashish. Hashish washarder to findbecause itcamefromTurkey,andsheonlygot itwhensomeofherfriendsbrought itbackfromtheir travels,butshewouldusesomeof itforFalcon’scookies.Ithought,“Thatshowsshemustcare.”

Mom’s maiden name, Tarshis, betrayed her Jewish heritage. MygrandparentsusedtosaywewererelatedtoSaulofTarsus,butIthinktheywerejoking.Whenwemoved toNewYork,mymomfound thathalf thepeople inshowbusinesswereJews.ShewasproudofherJewishheritage,butshehadnointerestinreligion.

Whenmyreportcardcameoutafewweeksafterthebigfight,Iopeneditwith fear and trembling.My eyes scanned the page. Sure enough,my gradeswereadisaster.QuicklyIcloseditandshovedit intomypocket.HowcouldIshowthistoMom?

Athomethateveningmyheartwasfilledwithdread.Iknewshewouldyell and be upset, and probably end up crying. Again my thoughts turned tosuicide.MaybeIcouldjumpofftheroofofourapartmentbuilding.Iwonderedifthedoortotheroofhadbeenleftunlocked.Itooktheelevatortothetopfloorandwalkeddownthehalltothestairsthatledontotheroof.Itriedthedoorknob,anditturnedeasily.Iopenedit,wentupthesteps,andwalkedoutontotheroof.Iclimbedoutontotheledgethatranaroundtheedgeofthebuildingandlookeddown. Sixteen stories. The street noises floated up to my ears: cars honking,engines revving, and sirenswailing in the distance. The people on the streetsweresofarbelowtheyseemedlikeantsscurryingabout,allinahurry.

“Whydotheyrunaroundlikethat?”Iaskedmyself.“Wherearetheyall

going?”Iknewmanyofthemwerehurryingabouttryingtomakemoney.I thought ofmy father.Hewaswealthy—amultimillionaire.He hadn’t

beenbornwithasilverspooninhismouth,either.Hisfatherdiedwhenhewasonly seven.Theoldest of four sons, he didwhat he could to help support thefamily.Hesoldnewspapersonstreetcornersanddideveryoddjobthatcamehiswaytohelpfeedthehungrylittlemouthsathome.Whenhisyoungerbrothersgotalittleolderandbeganworkingandcontributingtothefamilyincome,myfathertookoffattheripeoldageofsixteenwithjustafewcentsinhispocket.World War II found him in the air force, flying and soaking up as muchinformationaboutairplanesashecould.

Followinghisdischargeat theendof thewar,hestruckoutonhisown.Hehadakeenmindandasharpbusinesssense,andsoonhewasbuildinghisempire.Eventuallyheownedtwoairlinesandhadnumerousaircraftcompanies.HelovedflyingandairplanessomuchthatwhenmybrotherwasbornhenamedhimFalcon, after the Falcon fanjet.He namedmeDouglas, after theDouglasaircraft.IthinkIcameoutahead!

Flying his own plane became my father’s favorite form of recreation,along with racing cars, whenever he could find the time, which wasn’t veryoften.Whenhemoved toFlorida afterhe andMomseparated,he livedonanislandsoexclusivethatspeciallicenseplatesorpasseswererequiredtoentertheplace.WhenIwent tovisit, Iwasgladhehadamaidandabutler.Often theywereall Ihadbywayofcompanionship.Dadcametobreakfastwithmeeachmorning, but he generally held a newspaper between us. If I spoke, hesometimesloweredhispaperandanswered,butothertimeshewouldjustgrunt.Iwastooyoungtorealizethathisbusyschedulelefthimnofreetime,andthefewminuteshecouldcatchinthemorningwithhisnewspaperwastheonlytimehehadtohimselfallday.Yes,hehadaLearjet,aRolls-Royce,securityguards,and his own yacht, but he didn’t seem happy. He was a driven man, for hedeterminednevertobepooragain.Hislifewassointensethatheoftenworkedsixteen-hourdays,sixdaysaweek.

He grew up a Baptist, but religion had been thrust upon him by well-meaningfamilyandfriends,andhewantednopartofit.Whenhisfirstwifeandbabysonwerekilledinaplanecrash,Ithinkhelostwhatlittlefaithhehadandconsideredhimselfanagnostic.

Agust ofwind broughtmy thoughts back to the present.Withmy toes

pokingoutovertheledge,Ileanedovertheedgeofthebuilding,hopingthenextgust ofwindwould blowme off so Iwouldn’t have tomuster the courage tojump.AsIstoodtherehesitating,Irememberedreadingafewdaysearlierinthenewspaper about amanwho fell eight stories. He lost an arm and suffered abroken back, but he did not die.What if I didn’t die?What if I ended up acrippleinconstantpain?Ishuddered!

Somethingelserestrainedme.Ihadachroniccaseofcuriosity.IfIdiedtoday,whatwouldIbemissingtomorrow?MaybeI’dbetterstayaround.

Thenicethingaboutsuicideisyoucanalwayspostponeit.AfewyearslaterIwouldpointthatouttoMomwhenshecalledandtoldmeshewasgoingtocommitsuicide.Itsavedherlife.

Iclimbedbackofftheledgeandsatdowntothink.Thewordstoabeercommercialpoppedintomymind:“Youonlygoaroundonceinlife.Graballthegusto you can.” That idea appealed to me. I would grab all the fun andexcitement I could find.When I’dhadenough, I’ddo somethingbig.Whygooutwithawhimper, like takingsleepingpillsor jumpingoffabuilding?Whynotgooutwithabang!

2

MilitarySchool

WheneverIgotintoenoughtroubleatschool,Momwouldtrytobailmeoutbyfinding another school for me to attend. In nine years I attended fourteenschools.Ifonlymyparentshadrecognizedthismisbehaviorasacryforloveandattention,howdifferentlifecouldhavebeen!Buteach,drivenbygoalsofhisorher own choosing, had things to think about other than a kid. I seemeddeterminedtogetintotroubleandrealizedthatmylifewasoutofcontrol.Themoreschools Iattended, the less I learned. IcouldseeIneededdisciplineandstructureformylife.

OnedayMom’sfriendMilliedroppedbyforavisit.“I’mgoingupstate[NewYork]tovisitmysonsatthemilitaryacademytomorrow,”shesaid.“Whydon’tyouandtheboyscomealong?I’dlikealittlecompany,andI thinkyourboyswouldenjoyseeingtheschool,wouldn’tyou,boys?”ShehaddirectedthequestiontoFalconandme.

“Sure,”wesaidreluctantly.I could still remember attending Black Fox Military Academy in

California. Just five years old, I had been the youngest cadet at the school.However,whatIrememberedwaspleasantenough,soIdecidedthatImightaswellseethisone.

“It’sthebestmilitaryschoolinthecountry,”Millieboastedaswedrovealong.“Peoplesendtheirkidsherefromallovertheworld.It’scalledNewYorkMilitaryAcademy,butactuallyitisliketheelementaryschoolofWestPoint.”

In my wildest dreams, I had never imagined such a school. Spaciousgreen lawns stretched up to colorful flowerbeds next to ivy-covered stonebuildings.Ahuge football field completewithbleachers lay at one endof thegrounds,andtheschoolhadthelargestindoorswimmingpoolIhadeverseen.

Mostintriguingofallwasthehugegym.Boyswrestledonmatsinonearea;twoteams played a lively game of basketball in another. I peeked in doors thatopenedoffthemainroomandsawboysliftingweights,beatingpunchingbags,playingtabletennis,andparticipatinginallkindsofwonderfulsportsthatIhadonly heard about. All this seemed a far cry from the brick or brownstonebuildings behind chain-link fences I had attended in Manhattan. Ours wereasphaltorconcretepaved,withneverabladeofgrass.IwasimpressedwhenIsawthecadetsintheirsharp,handsomeuniformsdrillinginperfectformationontheparadeground.

Imayhavebeenoutofcontrol,butIwasnodummy.IknewthatwhatIsawwas the resultofdiscipline,obedience,andstructure.Something insideofmecriedoutforthiskindoforderinmylife.

“Mom, I’ve got to go to that school!” I blurted out afterwe got home.“I’m in trouble all the time, and I’m not learning a thing. This is justwhat Ineed!”

“Idon’tknow,Doug,”Momsaid.“It’sexpensive,andI’mnotsureyouwouldfitintosuchastrictprogram.You’dbetakingordersalldaylong.That’samilitaryschool.”Icouldn’tblameherforbeingskeptical.Ihadn’tmadegoodatanythingyet.Whywouldthisbeanydifferent?

AswesataroundtheTVthatnighteatingicecream,MomandIsmokingpot,thehappeningsatthemilitaryacademycrowdedmythoughts,andIbroughtup the subject of school again. “Please, Mom,” I begged, “ask Dad what hethinks.Itmightbemylastchancetomakegood.”

“Askformetoo,”Falconpipedupduringacommercial.“Seeifwecanbothgo.”

SuddenlyMom’s face lightedup,and Iknewshehadan idea.“Iknow;let’sasktheOuijaboard!”Althoughshehadnoparticularreligiousbeliefs,sheleaned toward the occult. Many of her friends in show business were intoastrology,palmreading,andseances.MomwenttotheclosetandhauleddowntheOuijaboard, andwewarmed itupbyaskingsome trivialquestions.Then,with the threeofus restingour fingertips lightlyon the indicator,Momasked,“ShouldDouggotomilitaryschool?”Wewatchedwithbaitedbreath.Slowly,itmovedupandpointedtothewordyes.Itdidn’tseemverysupernaturaltome,becauseIhadgivenitalittlenudge.

“ShouldFalcongotomilitaryschool?”sheaskednext.Itcircledarounda

little, thenmoved slowly to thewordno.Thena surprising thinghappened. Itmovedup to thealphabetacross the topof theboardandspelledout thewordguns.Welookedateachother.

“Noguns!”weeachsaidinturn.Iknewnoonehadhelpedit thattime,and I couldn’t understandwhat I had just seen. It didn’t botherMom, though.ShegotonthephonethatverynightandtalkedtoDad.Intheendheagreedtoletmegiveitatryandsentthemoneytofinancethenewventure.

Imoved into the dormitory just after the new year. Carefully I putmybelongingsawayindrawersandhungmyshirtsandcoatsinthecloset.“They’llbeimpressedwhentheyseehowneatIam,”Isaidtomyself.

IhadnoideahowmistakenIwas.Therewasaplaceforeverything,andeverythingmustbeinitsplace.Therewereregulationsaboutwhereclothesweretobehungandinwhatorder,andtherewereregulationsastowhereourbooksweretobekept.Therewereevenregulationsonhowlong,wide,andthickourunderwearmustbefoldedandinwhatdraweritwastobestored!

The new guys were recipients of ridicule at every turn. We werefrequentlystoppedinthehallbyanyonewithstripes.Wewererequiredtostandatattention,pullourchinsinsofartheydoubledup,andrepeatthisphrase:“Anewguyisthescumoftheearth,sir.”Withsirbetweeneachword,itwentlikethis:“Asir,newsir,guysir,issir,thesir,scumsir,ofsir,thesir,earthsir,sir.”Andallthishadtobesaidwithastraightface.Ifyoudidnotsayitperfectly,youhadtodoitagain.Thiswouldhappenfrequently.

Ourdaybeganearly.Reveilleblastedover thepublic address systemat6:00a.m.,andwecouldn’tdawdle.Rollcalltookplaceontheparadegroundsat6:30,andshowershadtobetakenbeforethat.Inthewinter,ifyouhadn’tdriedyourhairthoroughlybeforehurryingoutontotheparadeground,itmightfreezeon your head. If you were one second late, you were late and dealt withaccordingly.

Nextwehurried to cleanour rooms.Sometimes, if aguy’s roomdidn’tpassinspection,thesheetswererippedoffthebed,hisroomwastornapart,andhehadtostartover.Thesheetshadtobestretchedsotightthataquarterwouldbounceoffthem.Yethavingtodoyourroomoverwasnoexcuseforbeinglate.Wemarchedtomealsandmarchedback,usuallyatdoubletime.

They never hesitated to use corporal punishment—but not from acorporal! It was administered by the teacher, usually a hard-boiled military

officer. Iwell remember the first time a teacher orderedme to bend overmydesk. He drew back his army field belt, complete with metal grommets, andwallopedmyposteriorwithallhisstrength.MydeskandIwentflying,crashingintotwootherdesks.Iletoutayelp,andtheroomexplodedwithlaughter.Iwasonlyelevenyearsold,buttheteacherkeptsaying,“You’reamannow;you’reaman.”Isoonlearnedyoudidn’tcry,andyoudidn’tcallhomeandcomplain,oryou’dbelaughedrightoutofschool.

Theydidn’talwayswhipyouwithabelt.Sometimestheyjustjerkedyouaroundbythehairorwhackedyouonthehead.Eventhoughalltheseboyswerefromwealthyhomes, theofficerspamperednoone.MyfriendRafaelTrujillo,sonof thedictatorof theDominicanRepublic,was justanotherguyatschool.RafaelandIweregoodbuddiesandweretogetherwhenhereceivedwordthathisfatherhadbeenkilledinanaccidentinSpain.

TheyhassledmeabouttherequiredchurchattendanceonSundays.“Youmust choose a church and attend everySunday,” they said.Thiswas for theirattendancerecord,ofcourse.

“Ican’t,” I told them.“If I attendonly Jewishservices,mydadwillbemad.IfIattendonlyProtestantservices,mymotherwillbemad.”Theydidn’tlike it, but therewasn’tmuch they coulddo about it. I alternatedbetween theJewishandProtestantservices.OneSundayIattendedaCatholicchurch,butitbotheredmethatthepriestsmokedcigaretteswhileconductingtheservice,soIneverwentthereagain.

The picture ofGod that I hadwas not very pretty. In theCatholic andProtestantservices,theytoldus,inessence,thatifyouweregood,you’dgotoheaven, but if you’re bad, watch out! God had a torture chamber called hellwhereyouwouldrollandblisterinmoltensulphurandbrimstoneforalleternity.Itdidn’tseemfairtomethatGodwouldpunishthecreaturesHecreatedforeverandeverjustforthesinsofoneshortlifetime.Italsodidn’tmakesensethatGodwould throwsomebody inhellbefore judgmentday. I thoughtGodwascruel,and I couldn’t see howanyone could loveHim.Later in life Iwas pleased todiscoverthatthispictureofhellwasnotbiblical.

That summerFalcon and Iwent to campon an island in theCaribbeanwherewesnorkeled,water-skied,anddidalltheotherthingskidsdoatsummercamp. I was bitten by a poisonous spider and almost lost my leg from theinfection, and then tried to steal a sailboat and run away to a deserted island.Otherwise, it was a normal summer. Even though I enjoyed my freedom, I

chompedatthebit,readytotakeonanotheryearatthemilitaryacademy.The second year hardly resembled the first year in any way, though. I

soonfoundmyselfcompanyclerkwiththerankofsergeant.Eachcompanyhadonlyoneclerk,andmyheadswelledwithprideasIlookedatthenewstripesonmyuniform.NowIgavetheordersinsteadoftakingthem—toothercadets,ofcourse. I typed out reports, delivered papers, chased downmedicines, and didanyothererrandsthatneededtobedone.Itwasajobmadetoorderformyfreespirit.NowIhadalegitimateexcuseforbeinglateandgoingwhereverIwanted,wheneverIwanted.Bestofall,Ifeltgoodaboutmyself,andIdidmyjobwell.

Comingfromparentswhoweredriven,Iwasnaturallyverycompetitive.Our roomwon inspection time after time, and I wonmedals in many sports,including wrestling, soccer, swimming, and diving. My grades took a sharpupwardturn,andforthefirsttimeinmylifeIdidwellscholastically.Iwasmorethan a little pleased to be asked to teach others how to give shoes and beltbucklesaspitshine.Thatyearwillalwaysstandout inmymindasoneof thehappiestandmostrewardingofmyschooldays.IamsureIwouldhaveturnedouttobeanabsoluteslobhaditnotbeenforthetrainingIreceivedthere.

Butsinceweattendedanall-boysschool,we thoughtagreatdealaboutgirls.Infact,eventheeight-andnine-year-oldstalkedoflittleelse.I’msuretheyweren’treallyasinterestedastheytriedtopretend,butitwasthemachothingtodo, and they braggedwith the best of us. I finally decided that girlswere themostimportantthingforme,andtherewasn’tasingleoneonthewholecampus.

Well,Ididn’thavetogotothisschool.NextyearI’dgowherethereweregirls!

3

Runaway

After a pleasant summer of snorkeling, water-skiing, and chasing girls, Ireturned to New York. Mom had found a private school called Bentley withmostlyJewishkidsattending.Thegirlsassociatedanyonefromthemilitarywithglamour,andhereIwas,aprimespecimen,physicallyfit,tanned,andconfident.The boys respected me because I could fight, but my new-found acceptanceproved to be my undoing. So desperate was I for love and acceptance that Iimmediatelyfellintobadhabits.First,Ibegantostealacigaretteeverydayfrommymother’s stash so I could hang around and smoke with the others beforeschool.ButIdidn’tstopthere.IbegantakingtwoadaysoIcouldsmokeoneontheway home, too, and before long Iwas stealingmoney so I could buymyown.

Iwoulddoanythingmyfriendsdaredmetodo.Once,inMiami,Ievenjumpedoffabridge into thebay.Thecrazier Iacted, themoreattention Igot,andthekidsbegancallingme“wildman.”Mygradesgrewprogressivelyworse,untilIfoundmyselfoutofcontrolandveryunhappy.

Onedayafterschoolagangofuswerehangingaroundthebusstopafterschool,smokingandtalking.Twoofthegirlswerereallycute,andIwantedtomakeanimpression,soonanimpulseIsaid,“Thisschoolisarealdrag.Nothingexcitingeverhappensaroundhere.IthinkI’llrunaway.”

AcutelittleblondenamedLougasped.“Oh,no,Doug!Youcan’tdothat.Wherewouldyougo?”sheasked,hereyeswidewithconcern.

“What would you do for money?” asked a good-looking brunette withcreamycomplexion.

“Aw,hewon’tgo.He’sjustmakingnoise,”Rodchallenged.Somethingofabully,Roddidn’t likeall theattention Iwasgetting.Before Iknew it, Ihad

backedmyselfintoacorner,andtheonlywayoutwastogothroughwithitorbelaughedat.Andthat,ofcourse,wasunthinkable.

I layawake thatnightplanningwhat todo. IknewwhereMomhidhercash,soItook$300andcaughtabusnorthtowardmyoldstompinggrounds.Ihikedupintothehillsnearthemilitaryacademyandcampedforafewdays.Icouldseethebuildingsfrommycamp,andIlongedtobeback.EverydayinthewoodsIgrewlonelier,untilatlastIgaveupandreturnedhome.Atleastnoonecould laughatmenow.Lookingback, IwonderhowIcouldhavegrievedmyparentslikethat,butatthetimeIdidn’tthinkanyonecaredaboutme,soIdidn’tcareaboutanyoneelseeither.

My first runaway experience spawned an idea for real adventure, andsoon I began formulating a newplan.With a couple of friends Iwould go toMexico,wherewecoulddoaswepleasedandsupportourselvesbygrowingpot.Ihadone friend I liked, inparticular.DavidMcLean,aguy fromIndia,hadawinsomedispositionandgoodlooksandaflashysmile thatattractedgirls likehoneyattractsbees.Itmademefeelpopulartobewithhim.Helikedmeformycrazy,daringways,sowehititoffwell.Wewouldneedathirdpersontohelpus,butwho?

“Let’saskVictor,”Davidsuggested.“I’veheardhimtalkabout runningaway.”

“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.“Heseemslikeanerdtome.”Butlookingoverthefewpossibilities,wefinallydecidedtoaskVictorandseeifhe’dbeinterested.Hejumpedattheidea.

“Bringyourpassports,”Itoldthem.“Wedon’twantanytroublewiththeMexicangovernment.”

“Wherewillwegettheseedstogrowthepot?”Victorwantedtoknow.“Noproblem,”Iassuredhim.“Iknowafriendwhowillsellmeenough

seedtostartafarm.Theproblemwillbehowtogetitintothecountrywithoutbeingcaught.”Wediscussedseveralideas,butfinallyhitononewefeltwouldbe theperfect solution.We cut a hole in the pages of aBible and stashed theseedsthere.Atfirstitseemedsacrilegious,butsincetheyraisednoobjections,Istifledmyconscience.

Welaidourplanscarefully,andatlastthedayofdeparturearrived.“We’llmeet at the train station,” I told them. “Wear good clothes and dress neatly.They’llspotusinaminuteifwedresslikerunaways.”

ButVictorwouldn’t listen.Whenwemet at the station hewore an oldarmy coat, a dirty mechanic’s cap, and tattered blue jeans. He had hispossessionsinabundleonhisback.Hemightaswellhavecarriedabigsign:“Iamarunaway!”

Weboughtourticketsandlinedupforthetrain.Whilewewerewaiting,three policemen came our way. I held my breath, but they walked right pastDavidandmeandsurroundedVictor.Theybeganaskingquestions.DavidandIactedasthoughwedidn’tknowhimandboardedwiththeotherpassengers.Wefoundaseattogetherandsatdown.

“Wow!Thatwasaclosecall.Yougot it rightabouthowtodress.Theydidn’tevenlookatus!”Davidsaidexcitedlyunderhisbreath.Foracoupleofhourswerode, talkingunderourbreath,butour freedomwasshort-lived. InasmallPennsylvaniatown,severalpolicedetectivesswarmedaboardthetrainandcameslowlydowntheaisleofourcoach.

“They’relookingforus!”IwhisperedtoDavid.“Let’sgoouttheback.”Butotherofficerswerewaitingforusthere.Theyhadnotroublepickingusout.Victorhadsquealedonus,toldthepoliceournames,whatourplanswere,andwhatwelookedlike.Wesoonfoundourselvesincarceratedwithaten-year-oldboy who had killed an old woman with a baseball bat for her money. Justlookingathimmademyfleshcrawl.

Themanat juvenilehall treateduswithgreatkindness,but I’mafraidIdidn’tappreciatehisefforts.BeingaChristian,hetriedtotellusaboutGodandHis love,but IwassofilledwithprejudicefromthingsmyJewishfriendshadsaidagainstChristianitythatIdidn’twanttohearwhathewassaying.

Wehad been in juvenile hall for two dayswhenwe heard a key in thelock.Thedoor swungopen, and there stood twowell-dresseddetectives. “Getyour things, boys. You’re flying home. Your mothers and some officers willmeetyouattheairportinNewYork,sodon’ttryanyfunnystuff.”

The knot in my stomach relaxed, and relief floodedmymind. I didn’trelishfacingMomwiththedetectives,butmaybesomethingwouldturnup.

As we boarded the plane, they returned our money and our personaleffects.Wow!Whatadumbmove!Thatwasallweneeded!

At the airport inNewYork, attendantswheeleda setof stairsup toourplane, the hostess unlocked the door and opened it, andwe could see people

waitinginside.DaveandIfiledoutwithalltheotherpassengers,butinsteadofgoingintotheterminal,wejumpedsomebarricadesandran.

Weexpectedtohearapolicewhistleorsomekindofdisturbance,butnoone seemed to notice us. We hailed a cab and rode a few miles north. Wewatchedthemetertickingawayandglancedateachotherwithworriedlooks.

“Letusoffatthetrainstation,”Itoldthecabby.“Wedon’twanttouseallourmoneyforcabfare,”IsaidundermybreathtoDavid.“Thetraindoesn’tcostmuch.”

“Fine,”hesaid,“butwhereshallwego?”“They’llthinkwewentsouthagain,”Isaid.“Let’sgonorth.Howabout

Haverstraw?Ihearthat’sanicelittletown.Wecanbuysomecampinggearthereandgoonupintothemountains.”

“I’mwithya,”Davidagreed.Wepurchasedour ticketsandboarded thetrain.

InHaverstrawwepooledourmoneyandboughtatentandonesleepingbag.Itgotdarkearly,andaswehikedthroughacemeteryIcouldfeelmyheartthrobbinginmyears.Thebackofmynecktingledasthehairstoodup.

There were many strange contradictions in what I had been taughtgrowingup.Ontheonehand,IwastoldthatthereisnoGod,thateverythingisjust a big biological burp,with no life after death.But on the other hand, thesame people toldme there was amystical side to life—awhole spirit world.Sometimesinourhomewewouldhaveseancestocommunicatewiththedead.This, plus all the horror films I had seen while growing up, didn’t help thesituation. I was surewewould never survivewalking through a graveyard atnight,especiallyinafullmoon.Ikeptexpectingsomewerewolforvampiretojumpoutofthegroundanddousin.

Ihadn’treadEcclesiastes9:5intheBible,whichsays,“Thelivingknowthattheyshalldie:butthedeadknownotanything”—orverse10,whichsaysthereisnoknowledgeinthegrave.Ialsodidn’tknowthatJesussaidthedeadwillsleepuntiltheresurrectionattheendoftheworld.Iheavedasighofreliefasweputasafedistancebetweenusandallthosetombstones.

Asthemoonrosehigher,wepushedonandfoundatrailthatledupintothemountain.Thehigherwewent,thedeeperthesnowgot,butbeingcityboys,wedidn’t realize that the snowwouldbedeeperand itwouldbecolderat thetop.Eventuallywecametoasmallclearingamongthetrees,andIdroppedthe

tent.“Thislooksgoodtome,”Ipuffed.“Yeah!”Davidagreed.“Noonewillfindushere,andI’mwipedoutand

cold.”Wesetabouterectingthetent.Themoonshiningonthewhitesnowgave

usquiteabitoflight,andwesoonhadthetentsetup.Withashelteroverourheads,ourthoughtsturnedtoouremptystomachs.Thoughourfingerswerestiffwithcold,weslowlymanagedtoopenacanofbeansandheatitoveracanofSterno.

“I’m gonna leave the Sterno burning,” David said after we finishedeating. “Maybe it’ll warm the tent a little.” We both struggled into our onesleepingbag fullyclothed.Graduallywegrewwarm,and, thoughfeelingveryuncomfortable,wefinallyfellintoanexhaustedsleep.

Wehadgone tobed early, butwewokeup a coupleof hours later in apuddle of freezing water. The heat from the flame combined with our warmbodieshadmeltedthesnowunderthetent,andweweresoakedtotheskin.Wecrawledstifflyoutofthesleepingbagandstoodlookingateachother.Ourteethchattered,andourwetclothesstucktoourbodies.

“Idon’tknowaboutyou,”ItoldDavid,“butI’mgettingoutofhere.”“I’mwithyou,”hesaid,“butwhatarewegoingtodowiththetentand

sleepingbag?”

“Leave‘em,”Isaid.“Thesleepingbagiswetandheavy,andI’mtoocoldtotakedownthetent.Let’sgetgoing.”

Westumbledalongdownthemountaintrail,whichhadacoupleofinchesoffreshlyfallensnow.Icouldn’tremembereverbeingmorecoldandmiserable.We finally reached town, and the only thing still open was a small bar andrestaurant.Wegazedlonginglyatthewarmglowwithin.

“Let’sgoinandgetwarm,”Isaid.Weenteredandstoodlookingaround.Wesawapooltableatthebackoftheroomandacoupleofcustomerssittingonbarstools eatinghamburgers andFrench fries.They stoppedand looked inourdirection.I’msurewelookedlikesomethingthecathaddraggedin,butweweretoocoldandhungrytocare.

We climbed up on the stools and placed our orders. I had less than tendollars inmy pocket, but thatwas enough for amealwith a little to spare. Iordered a hamburger and a double order of fries. I wolfed down the burger

almostwithoutchewingit.BythetimeIstartedtheFrenchfriesIhadstoppedshivering,and I feltevenbetterafter lightingacoupleofcigarettes.Webegantalkingtoeachotherinlowtones.

“Thisplaceisniceandwarm,”ItoldDavid.“Let’sstayhere.Idon’twanttogooutinthatcoldagain.”

“But how?”he asked. “They’ll soonbe closing, and thenwe’ll have togo.”

“Let’splaypool,”Isuggested.“Doyouhaveanymoneyleft?”

“Alittle,”hesaid.“Good,” I said. “Let’s play as long as our money lasts.We’ll think of

something.”We played pool and smoked cigarettes until closing time. By then our

clotheshaddriedout,andtheworldlookedbrighter.Theownerapproachedus.“Timetoclose,fellows.You’llhavetoleave,”hesaid,almostapologetically.Welookedateachotherhelplessly.

“Wecan’t,”Davidblurtedout.“Imean,wedon’thaveanyplacetogo.”“Yeah.We’re looking for a job,” I lied. “We got laid offwork inNew

York,andwedon’thavemoneyforahotel.”Theownerdidn’tseemtoknowwhattosay.Afteralongpause,hesaid,“Hangonaminute.”Heleftandwentintothekitchen,wherehiswifebusiedherselfwithclosingthingsdown.Soon,hereturned.“Wouldyouliketostaywithusafewdays?Wecanputyouupandgive

you a little work. Maybe by then you can find something.” We gratefullyacceptedhisoffer,gladforthepromiseofwarm,drybedsandfood.

Butournewhomelastedonlyafewdays.Theyfiguredoutthetruthandreportedustotheauthoritiesasrunaways.Thepolicepickedusupandtookusto the station, and it didn’t do any good to try to fool them. They dealt withrunawayseveryday.Theysoonknewwhowewereandcontactedourparents.David’smotherpickedhimupthenextday,butapolicemanescortedmebacktotheairportinNewYork,whereMomwaswaiting.

“Thanks,Officer,”shesaid.Icouldseethatshewasreallyhurtandangry.“Howcouldyoudo this tome,Doug?”shecried.“I’vedoneeverything that Iknowtodoforyou.Ican’ttakethisanylonger.You’regoingtolivewithyour

father!I’vealreadyboughtyourticket.Yourplaneleavesinanhour.”Astrainedsilencehungbetweenusaswewaitedformyplane.Ifeltsorry

forher.Shewaswearingsunglasses,butIcouldseethathereyeswereredandswollen.Wesaidstiffgoodbyestoeachother,andIboardedtheplane.Slumpingintomyseatandstaringblindlyoutthewindow,Iburnedwithangeratmyselfandtheworld.TheonethingIdidn’twanttodowaslivewithmyfather.Hewastoostrict.

Iarrivedsullenanddepressed,andsoonfeltlikeanoutsiderinmydad’shome. I couldn’t help being jealous ofmy stepmother Betti and her son. Shereallytriedhardtobenicetome,butIdidn’tgiveherachance.IfeltsounlovedandunwantedthatImadelifeabsolutelymiserableforeverybody.Bettifinallyissuedanultimatumtomydad:“Eitherhegoes,orIgo.”Nooneseemedverysurprised.

Dadmovedmeintoahotelthatheowned,andeverydayhewouldsendacar topickmeup.Underthenewarrangement,Iworkedhalfadayforhimattheairporthangarsandattendedschoolhalfaday.Ifeltlikeaslavewithnosayaboutmylife,andIhatedit!

Dad began to get phone calls from the principal about once a week,reportingthatIhadcutclassorwasn’tdoingmyworkorwasbeingdisruptive.ThenDadwouldpickmeup,takemeouttodinner,andwewouldtalk.Ilikeditwhenhetalkedtome.Ifeltthathereallycared,buthehadtroubleverbalizinghisfeelings.

Hewasverbalaboutonething,though.HetoldmethatifIdidn’tshapeup, my next stop would be reform school, and I knew he meant it. I triedcooperatingforalittlewhile,butfinallyIcouldn’tstanditanotherday.Iranoffagain.

ButIwasintroublebeforeadaywentby.MyfriendJoeandIdecidedtogoswimmingin theocean.Neitherofushadbathingsuits,but itwasdark,sowewentskinny-dipping.Weswamandplayedinthebreakersforabouthalfanhour.ThenIsaid,“I’mgett’nhungry.Let’sgrabourclothesandruntothatoldabandonedbeachhouseoverthere.Wecanstayintheretillwe’redry.”

Wescrambledout,snatchedupourclothes,andstreakedtotheoldhouse.The door creaked as we pushed it open.We closed it behind us and walkedthroughthehouse.

“The wind’s really starting to blow,” Joe said. “Listen to those oldshuttersbang.”

“Inoticedthat,”Isaid.“Let’slookaroundandseeifwecanfindanythingtouseforatowel.Weneedtogetdressedbeforesomeonecomestoseewhat’smakingalltheracket.”Westartedcheckingtheroomstoseewhatwecouldfind,whenthefrontdooropenedandinwalkedtwopolicemen!

I’mnotproud to say Iwasarrested for indecentexposure. I couldhavediedfromembarrassment,butIputupaboldfront.Theytookustothepolicestation and interrogated us, trying to find out who we were, but I carefullyconcealedmytrueidentity.Iknewtheywouldreleasemetomyfatherassoonastheyfoundoutwhohewas,andthatwasthelastthingIwanted.SoItoldthemmynamewasAdamFisherandthatIwasfromNewYork.Theykeptmeinjailaboutaweek.

IbegantowonderifIhadmadeamistake.Whiteboysinthisjailwereintheminority,andtheblacksandCubanswereprettyhardonus,butIhungon.Everyday,theofficerswouldquestionme,untilonedayIunintentionallygavethenameofarealschoolIhadattended.WithinhourstheyhadfiguredoutwhoIwasandcalledmyfather.

I sighedas Iclimbed intohisnewLincoln.Hedidn’t sayawordaswedrovealong,butIknewhewasathiswits’end.

Mom, always ready to try something new, discussedmy situation withDad.“Heneedsaschoolwherehecanexpresshimself,”sheargued.“I’vefounda school calledPinehinge. It’s an experimental free schoolup inMaine.Theirphilosophyisthatkidswilllearnthethingsthatareimportanttothem.YouknowDougwillneverstudythingsheisn’tinterestedin.Thisschoolismadetoorderforhim.”

Althoughhefavoredaschoolwithstrictdiscipline,Dadallowedhimselftobepersuaded.Afterall,hisideashadn’tworked,either.

4

FreeatLast!

MomwasexcitedaboutPinehinge.“You’llloveit,Doug!Youcanchooseanyclassyouwish,andtherearenorequiredsubjects.Youcanstudywheneverandwhateveryouwantto.It’scalleda‘freeschool.’”

Itsoundedgreattome.Infact,itwasevenmore“free”thaneitherofussuspected.Theteacherswerelaid-backhippies,andtherewereonlythreerulesattheschool,whicheverybodyignored:“Nodrugs,nosex,andnofighting.”

The dormitories were coed, and the rooms, too, for thosewhowished.Therewereaboutfortystudents,ranginginagefromeighttoeighteen.

Youdidn’thavetogetupifyoudidn’twantto,youdidn’thavetogotoclassifyoudidn’twantto,andyoudidn’thavetogotomealsifyoudidn’twantto.Thatlastbitoffreedomwouldeventuallycausetheclosingoftheschool.

Wehadbeentoldwecouldlearnwhateverwewantedto,andwedid.WelearnedhowtosniffglueandhowtomakebeerandLSD.Inclasswesmokedcigarettesifwewanted,eithertobaccoorpot.ThereImetakidfromBrooklynnamedJaywhointroducedmetosomeofthefinerpointsofburglary.

JayandIhadsomethingsincommon.HismotherwasJewish,likemine.His father had hadMafia connections, but had been killed.Although Jaywasfifteen and had a brilliantmind, the onlywrittenword he recognizedwas theSTOP on stop signs. Other than that, he could not read. He had a dreadfulBrooklynaccentthatevensomeNewYorkersfounddifficulttounderstand,andIthinkhewasevenwilder,crazier,andmoresuicidalthanI.OnwinternightshewouldtakemeouttothevacantsummercabinsupinMaineandshowmehowtobreakinandwheretostoretheloot.

Sincewedidn’thavetogotoclassunlesswewantedto,Iattendedveryfew classes. I just wasted my time with friends and chased the girls. I did

participateinthePE.program,especiallythesnowskiing.Mostofushadseasonpasses toMt.Abrams, and the school transportedusup to the ski resort threetimes aweek. I got to be a good skier that year.My friend Jay and I used tosmokepotonourwayupthechairlift,andthendocrazy,daredevilthingsonthewaydowntheslope.Wedidn’tworryaboutgettinghurtorevengettingkilled.Iwoulddarehimtojumpoffahighplace,andhe’ddoit!Hewouldfindahigherplaceanddaremetojumpoff.Wefrequentlywentoutofcontrolandcrashed,butsomehow,weneverbrokeanybonesorinjuredourselvesseriously.

OnedayIsawanoticeontheschoolbulletinboard:

SILVAMINDCONTROLLearnhowyoucan

winlotteries,healpeople,makethingshappen,andcontrolyourlife.

Nowthatsoundedlikeaclassworthtaking!Idecidedtogo.Theclass lasted for about twoweeks.The teacherwouldpresent anew

concept,andwe’ddiscuss itandaskquestions.Thenwe’dbreakupintosmallgroupsandpractice. “The subconscious ismorepowerful than theconscious,”ourteacherexplained.Byatypeofself-hypnosis,weweretaughttoreachintothe deeper levels of our mind. It was represented as working with God—somethingofwhichGodapproved—whenitwasactuallytheopposite.“Jesus,”ourteacherexplained,“haddiscoveredhowtousethepowersofthemind,andthat’showHehealedpeople.Godiswithinyou.Youaregod.”NotknowingtheBible, we didn’t realize that we were cooperating with Satan. We had neverheard that sorcerywas forbidden in Holy Scripture and that Satan transformshimselfintoanangeloflight.IhadneverheardofEphesians6:12,sowesimplybelieved what our teachers told us. A supernatural power attended ourexperiments,andwefeltit.

Somestudentsboastedoftheirnewlyacquiredpower.Agroupofusstoodinthehallonedayexcitedlydiscussingthe“experiments”wehaddone.

“I don’t believe it!” Laura said scornfully. “You think something ishappening,butit’sreallyallinyourhead.”Laurahadnottakentheclass.

“Butsomethingdoeshappen,” Ideclaredconfidently.“There’spower in

thisthing,andIcanproveit.”“Oh,yeah!Howareyougoingtodothat?”Lauraasked.“I’llheal somebody,” I said.“No, I’lldiagnoseandheal them.You just

tellmewhoyouwanthealed,andI’lldoit!”Ichallenged.“You’re on!” she said, lookingme squarely in the eye. “Name the time

andplace.I’llbethere.”Wedecidedtomeetintheloungeatseveno’clockafterdinner.Iarranged

acoupleofchairsinaquietcornerwhileIwaited.“Sitdown,”Iinvitedwhenshearrived.Wesatfacingeachother.“What

doyouwantmetodo?”Iasked.“Iwantyoutodiagnosesomeonewhoisill—tellmewhat’swrongwith

her.”“You’ll have to giveme her name and address,” I said, and she did. It

took onlyminutes forme to reach that state of self-hypnosis called the alphabrainlevel.Apictureofawomanflashedontomymentalscreen,andIbegantodescribe her. “I see a woman, about forty-five years old. She’s a brunette,wearingglasses.Sheismediuminbuild.”

“Oh,no!Ican’tbelievethis.That’smymother!”Lauraslappedherhandtoherforehead.

Then I began a journey down through her mother’s body to locate theproblem.WhenIcametoherreproductiveorgans,Icouldseesomethingwrong.“Yourmotherissterile,”Iannounced.Shecan’thavechildren.”

Laura’smouthdroppedopen.“Howdidyouknowthat?Howcouldyoutell? I’ve never told anybody, but I’m adopted becausemymother can’t havechildren!Canyouhelpher?”

“I’lltry,”Isaid.Iwentdeeperintomysubconscious.Wehadbeenwarnednottogotoodeep,orwewouldlosecontrol.Ican’trememberhowIdidit,butIperformed some kind of psychic surgery. I never learned the results. If I hadknownthenwhatIknownow,Iwouldhavebeenfrightened.

EvanOwens—amost unusual personality—and I became good friends.Hewasonlythirteen,buthehadanIQof165.HisparentssenthimtoPinehingeinhopesoffindingsomethingthatwouldchallengehisgenius,buthetooklittleinterestinanything.Heenjoyeddrinkingandsmokingpotalongwiththerestofus.SomebrightkidsIhadknownwerebores,butnotEvan.Hehadawit that

keptus laughing.Heevenlookedcomical.Hishair,whichheworeinanAfrothatstoodoutaboutafoot,contributedtohisfunnylooks.Itmadehisheadlooklike a giant ball of dandelion fuzz.When he got up in themorning, he reallylookedstrange,becausehishairwouldbeflatonthesideheslepton.

“Let’sgototownandgetacoupleofsix-packsofbeer,”Evanproposedoneday.“It’stooquietaroundhere.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said. I had a driver’s permit from Florida onwhich I had changed my date of birth from 1957 to 1952, which made me“legally”oldenoughtobuyalcoholicbeverages.

The staid little town of Waterford, Maine, with its respectable,churchgoingpeople, lookedwithdisgustat thestudentsofPinehinge,andwithgood reason.The students not only looked like somethingout of a baddreamwiththeiroldclothesandlong,greasyhair,theyalsoinsultedtheresidentswithobscenities and bad language and were accused of teaching Communism andsellingtheirchildrendrugs.

Aswemadeourpurchaseinthestore,Inoticedamanglaringatus.Hewasdressedinacamouflagesuitandhunter’shat.I triedtoshrugoff thechillthatgrippedme,becauseIrecognizedthatinsanelookofviolencefrommydaysonthestreetsofNewYorkCity.Whenhefollowedusoutthedoorandclimbedintohispickup,Iknewhewasuptonogood.Iglancedathispickupandnoticedagunrackintherearwindowthatheldarifleandashotgun.Evannoticedtheguns too. When we were about a quarter of a mile down the road, the manstartedhismotorandbegantofollowusslowly.

Itwasn’thardtoguesswhathehadinmind.Heplannedtofollowustotheedgeoftown,andwhenwewerefarenoughintothewoods,hewoulddoina couple of hippies.No onewould know the difference, and even ifwewerefound,noonewouldcare.

EvanandItookturnslookingbackandtryingtoactcool.Suddenly,Evangasped.“Doug!He’sstoppedthetruckandisgoingforhisgun!”

“Let’sbeatit!”Isaid.Welefttheroadandcrashedintothewoods,littlenoticingthebriarsthatgrabbedandscratchedusorthelimbsthatslappedusinthe face.Withall thatadrenalinepumping throughour systems,our feet fairlyflew.Wesoonoutdistancedhim,andwhenwefeltwewerefarenoughaway,wedivedintothebrush.Ourheartspoundedinourears,andpainstabbedourchestsasweforcedourselvestobreathequietly.

We heard him go tromping by not far away. Soon he stopped, and weknew he was waiting for us to come out. Then he began shooting into thebushes, trying to flush us out. The report from the gun was so loud that Irememberleavesfallingfromthetrees,justfromthesound.Abulletzingedoverourheadsandslammedintoa treebehindus,showeringmore leavesdownonus.Afterafewminutesweheardhisstepsrecedinginthedistance.

We lay on the ground for an eternity. I heard a paper bag rustle, and Ilooked at Evan, startled.He pulled a six-pack out of the bag as quietly as hecould.

“Whatareyoudoing?”Iaskedincredulously.Ithoughtwithhiscreativegeniushemightbeplanningadiversion.Instead,hepulledacanofbeerfromitsplasticcollarandproceededtopopthetab.Thebeerspewedhighafterthegoodshaking it got fromour running.Evanput the can tohis lips anddrewa longswig.

“If I’mgoing todie, Iwant tobedrunk,”hewhispered.Bythe timehehadguzzledhis secondcan,his inhibitions fell away.Hestood tohis feetandbegantopeekthroughthebushes.

“He’sgone!”hewhisperedloudly.Igottomyfeetasquietlyaspossible,andwebegantiptoeingtowardtheroad,watchingallsides,lookingforaplacetojumpifwesawourassailantagain.

About150yardsdowntheroadwesawhim.“Therehe is,sitting inhispickup,” I whispered in a panic. Apparently he decided to wait us out. Heprobablyfiguredwe’deventuallyreturntotheroad.

“Ihear a car coming!” I toldEvanbreathlessly.Wewatchedas it cameintoview.OurheartsskippedabeataswesawDottie,oneoftheteachersfromPinehinge,behindthewheel,drivingsomestudentsbacktoschool.Weranoutof thewoods and stood in themiddle of the roadwaving and yelling, “Stop!Stop!” She had no choice but to stop or run us over. She rolled down herwindow.

“Ican’ttakeyoubacktoschool.Mycarisfull,”shesaid.“You’ve got to!” I yelled. “Do you see the guy in that truck down the

road?He’sbeenshootingatus!”Hehadjuststarteduphistruckagain.Shetookinthesituationataglance.

“Getin,quick!”sheurged.Wepiledinontheotherkidsandslammedthedoorbehindus.Shepeeledout,drivingfuriouslytowardtheschool.Alittlelater,

whenshecheckedtherear-viewmirror,hewasgone,andwebegantobreatheagain!

Sincesomeofusseldomgot tomeals,wehadtofindanalternative.Atfirst we raided the kitchen and helped ourselves. Then one day we found apadlockonthedoor.Noproblem.Wesimplytunneledintothebasement,wherethefoodwasstored,andhelpedourselves.Theykeptchangingthepadlocks,buttheyneverlearnedaboutthetunnel.Westolesomuchfoodthattheschoolwentbankruptandfinallyhadtocloseitsdoors.

Didallthis“freedom”makemehappy?Hardly.I’msurethatwasoneofthemostmiserableyearsinmylife.Icouldseenopurposetolife.Iwashappierinmilitary school with all of its rules than at the free school with no law orregulations.

5

TheSecretCave

Colorful rumors reached our ears about the hippie communes and the greatclimateofsouthernCalifornia.Itnevergotcold,eveninwinter.Youcouldcampoutandeatoff the land.“That’s thekindof lifeIwant!”I toldJay.“Iwant toliveoffthelandandnotbeaccountabletoanybody.”

“Yeah,man!”he said enthusiastically. “We’re fifteenyears old.Wecantakecareofourselves.Let’sgolookitover!”

During spring vacation we took off from Pinehinge, hitchhiking tosouthernCalifornia.WecampedontheoutskirtsofPalmSprings.Onedaysomehippiesgaveusarideintotownintheiroldvan.“Where’sagoodplacetohangout?”Iasked.“Youknow,aplacetoparty.”“TahquitzCanyoniswherewego,”thetall,beardedguytoldus.“It’sfarenoughfromtownsothecopsdon’tbugus,andwecansmokeourreefers,drinkbeer,andmakeallthenoisewewant.We’reheadingoverthisafternoon.Wannacomewith us?” I looked at Jay. “Far out!” we said in unison. Although TahquitzCanyon is fifteen miles long, most people went only to the mouth by PalmSprings topartyandwaste time.Thebeautyof theplace tookmebysurprise.There were trees and grass tucked away in this remote desert valley, and thewaterfallcaptivatedme.Itseemedtobealivingcreatureasitcascadedoverthegreat, smoothboulders. It took the longplunge to the rocksbelow,and then itroseup ina silverycloud, andas the sunlight caught thedroplets, it createdalovelyrainbow.Nowondersomeofthemoviedirectorsuseditasabackdropfortheirfilms!

While wewere all kicking back and smoking pot, aman and a youngwomanwalkeddownoutofthecanyon.Hislonghairhadbeenbleachedwhiteby the sun, and his dark, leathery skin and shapeless beard remindedme of a

mountaingoat.Hisbarefeetalsointriguedme.Howcouldhewalkbarefootedwithsomuchcactusaround?Iwondered.

Shefollowedalongbehind,abeautifulgirlabouteighteenyearsold,withlargebrowneyes, flowingdarkhair, and smootholive skin.She looked like amixtureofHawaiianandItalian.Inabackpackseatshecarriedamostcurious-lookingbaby.Hissun-darkenedskincontrasteddramaticallywithhiswhitehairthat stood on end as though he had stuck his finger into an electric socket. IlearnedthathehadbeenborninTahquitzCanyon,andtheynamedhimTeweyTahquitz.

“Whereyacomin’from?”Iaskedtheman.Hepausedandlookedatme.“Fromhome,”heanswered.

“Yameanyouliveupthere?”Imotionedtowardthecanyon.“Wa’d-yalivein?”Itriedtoimitatethehippielingo.“Oh,acave,”hesaidnonchalantly.

Nowthiscityboycouldhardlysuppresshissurprise.“Man!I’dsureliketoseeyourplace.MindifIgobackwithya?”Iaskedeagerly.

“Bemyguest,”he answered. “We’rehiking into town t’panhandle, getsomegroceries,andtryt’giveawaythesecoyotepuppieswhilewe’rethere.”HehelduptwoofthecutestpupsIhadeverseen.

“The mother is part dog, part coyote,” he explained. “The father’s allcoyote.We’llprobablybebackinacouplea’hours.Yacanfollowusupwhenwegetback.”

Iwaitedimpatientlyfortheirreturn.Jaylayonthegroundwitheyeshalfopen,toostonedtoknowwhatwasgoingon.Whentheyfinallyreturned,Ifellinbehindthem,andwestartedupthecanyon.

“Myname’sJim,”hesaidaswewalkedsinglefileupthewindingtrail,“andthis’sm’wife,Sunny.”

I asked lots of questions aswewalked, but soon the gentle grade gaveway to a steeper, rockier path. I was breathing so hard I had to stop talking,thoughIdidaskeverylittlewhile,“Howmuchfarther?”

Jimwouldsay,“Oh,notfar.It’sjustaroundthehill.”I saw a small hill ahead and felt sure I could make it that far. I soon

learned,however,thathewastalkingaboutthemountainupahead.Itdidn’ttakeme long to discover how soft I had become. After leaving military school Istartedsmoking,andnotjustcigarettes.Infact,Ihadsmokedpotthatveryday,

whichmadeclimbingevenharder,buttheywalkedon,talkingandlaughingasthoughitwerenothing.Hecarriedaforty-orfifty-poundbackpackoffood,andshecarriedfoodandababy.Ihadonlymyselfandcouldhardlykeepup.

Thesunwentdown,anditgrewdarkeranddarker.Iwonderedhowtheycouldseewhere togo.Icouldonlysee the topsofSunny’swhitesocksaboveherboots.Theyseemedtojumpupanddownasshewalked.Istumbledalonguphillafterher,sometimesonallfours,tryingtokeepup.Finally,Iaskedhim,“Don’tyouwanttostopandtakeabreak?”

“Naw,thisain’t theplacewhereweusuallyrest,”hesaid.Fortunately,Ibumpedintosomechollacactusacoupleoftimes,andthoughitstungpainfully,atleasttheystoppedandwaitedformetopickoutthestickers,whichgavemeachancetocatchmybreath.

“Howmuchfarther?”Iasked.“Oh,justalittlefarther.”InNewYork,“alittlefarther”meantablockortwo.Tohim,however,it

wasmorelikeamileortwo,anduphillatthat.Finallywereachedthetopoftheridgeabout4,000feetabovePalmSprings.Whatanincrediblesight!Wecouldlook down on the dark desert and see the lights of Palm Springs, Desert HotSprings, Cathedral City, Palm Desert, and Indio spread out below us. Theysmokeda littlepotwhilewerested. Ihad justbegun tocatchmybreathwhentheypickeduptheirpacksandsetoffagain.

“Isitmuchfarther?”Iasked.“Naw,”heassuredme.“Fromhereonit’sdownhillmostoftheway.”It

wasdownhill,allright,butitwassosteepthateverystepjerkedmylegs,andIhad todig inmyheel tokeep fromsliding.Then Inoticed thesoundofwaterrunning, and soonwe began zigzagging across a creek.They knewwhere therockswere,but Ikeptslippingandgettingmyselfwet,not tomention the treebranchesthatkeptslappingmeintheface.Thedesertfloorhadgivenwaytoajungleupherewheretherewaswater.

JustwhenIthoughtIcouldn’ttakeanotherstep,wereachedthecave.Jimlitacandle,butIwastootiredtolookabout.IjustwatchedasSunnyunrolledadamp sleeping bag. “You can sleep here,” she said. “We’re going up to oursummercave.”

“Summercave?”Iaskedapprehensively.Theydisappearedintothedarkandleftmeallaloneinthiseeriespot.Icrawledintothedampsleepingbagand

curledupintoa tightball.IcouldhearrustlingnoisesthatI later learnedweremice,butinmymindtheycouldhavebeenslitheringrattlesnakesoramountainlion creepinguponme. Iwas too tired to care. I finally feltwarmenough todropofftosleepwiththesoundofthecoyoteshowlinginthedistance,mournfulowlshootingintothenight,andtherustlingnoisesinthecave.

WhenIwokeupthenextmorning,ifIhadn’tbeensosore,IwouldhavethoughtIhaddiedandgonetoheaven.Thesunshoneinallitssplendor,aquietpoolofclearwaterfedbyasmallgurglingstreamlayalmostdirectlyinfrontofthe cave, and some birds warbled cheerily not far away. Jim and Sunny hadreturnedandweresunbathingonarocknotfarfromme,wearingtheirbirthdaytuxedos. The baby played by the water, and nearby the mother coyote dogsprawled,nursingherremainingpuppies.Thesmelloffoodcookingontheopenfire remindedme that I hadn’t eaten for a long time, and the aromamademymouthwater.

Ihardlyknewhowtoactinthepresenceoftwonakedpeople.Ineverdidgetcompletelyusedtoitatthattime,butafterawhileitseemednaturalenoughthatIcouldpretendnot tonotice. I foundtheirwayof lifemuchtomyliking.Theylived, toagreatextent,off the land.Therewerewildgrapesandberries,Sunny made a tasty dish from a certain part of the cattails, and they had avegetablegarden.Theyevengrewtheirownpot.Wildbighornsheeproamedthemountains.Though thesheepwereprotectedbynow,when theywantedmeat,Jimwouldsimplygooutwithhisgunandbringhomeasheeporadeer.

IknewIcouldn’tstay.IhadleftJayincamp,andhewouldbeexpectingme,butImadeupmymindthatsomedayIwouldbeacaveman.

ThenextdayJayandIhittheroadagain.WeendedupinSantaMonica,verynearlybroke.The sunedged toward thehorizonas thedriverpulled to astopatacorner.

“I’llletyououthere,”hesaid.“I’mturningeast.”“Thanksfortheride,”webothsaidaswepulledoutourpacksandshut

thedoor.“Well,wherewegonnaspendthenight?”Jayasked.“Iwouldn’twantto

sleeponthestreetshere,notknowinganyone.”“Let’sasksomeonewherewecangetacheaproom,”Isuggested.“Hey,man,Idon’thavemuchmoneyleft,”Jayobjected.“Meneither,butmaybewecanfindsomethingrealcheap.”Downatthe

corner,somestreetpeoplesatsmokingandtalking.Iapproachedthem.“Isthereanywherearoundhereapoormancaneatandcrashforthenight?”

One of thempointed down the street. “There’s a flophouse a couple ofblocksthata-way.Youcanstaythereforthreedollarsanight.”

“Yeah,”anotherspokeup,“andthere’samissiontwoblocksoverwhereyoucangetafreemeal.Allyouhavet’doislistentotheirpreachin’,andtheyfeedyou.Justbethereateighto’clockinthemorning.That’swhentheyclosethedoorsandlockthem.Ifyou’renotthereontime,you’llgetleftout.”

“Thanks,” we said, and we started walking in the direction of theflophouse.

Thewoodworklookedgrimy,andstripsofwallpaperhunginplacesattheoldhotel.Wepaidourthreedollarsandweregivenasetofsemicleansheetsandatowelapiece.

“Youcanhaveroom218,”theclerkatthedesksaid,handingusourkey.“Thebathroom is down thehall onyour right.”Theplacehad an “old” smellaboutit—acombinationofstalecigarettesmoke,cheapwine,andurine.Atleastthesheetsweresupposedtobeclean.

Itwasn’teasytogetupearlythenextmorning,butalongwithtwentyortwenty-five others, we gathered in front of the mission. The doors openedpromptlyateighto’clock,andweallpouredin.JayandIsatneartheback.

ThegroupatthemissiongaveaniceprogramandtreatedTheRichestCaveman

uswithutmostcourtesyandpatience,regardlessofhowwebehaved,whichwasawful.A smiling baldman stood up and gave his testimony,while the peoplearoundmeweretalkingandmakingjokes.Oneslobburpedloudly,andeveryonelaughed. But through it all the bald-headed man continued his testimony,radiatingasmileofgenuinehappiness.Someoneintherowinfrontofusthrewupalloverthefloor,andoneofthemissionstaffrushedoverandcleaneditup,while anotherhelped thepoor fellow to thebathroom.Afterhis testimony thebald man sang us a song. All this time people were passing out, some deaddrunk, others from fatigue or hunger.God’s angelsmust have beheld uswithpity.

One of the young men who helped with the program had a compact,

muscular body likeMr. Universe’s. He could have taken two or three of theloud-mouthedtroublemakersandbashedtheirheads together. Instead,hestoodupandgavearingingtestimonyofwhatJesusChristhaddoneforhim.Attheend he invited us to give our hearts toHim too. I detected his sadnesswhennobodyresponded.

When the program ended, we were ushered into a back room, wheretableswerecoveredwithwhitetableclothsandeverythingappearedclean.Imusthavebeenexpectingbreadandwater,becauseIrememberhowitsurprisedmetobeservedsuchgoodfood.Westoodinlinetoreceiveourration—alargebowlofhomemadestew,agenerousservingofbread,andacupofcoffee.Theyevengaveusdessert—cherrypie!

Icouldn’tunderstanditatall.Herewewere,dirty,uncouth,andrude,yetthey treated us with dignity and respect, as though we were decent humanbeings.Somehowitdidn’ttrackwithwhatIhadbeentoldaboutChristianity.

Weheardabout anotherplace that served freemeals—theHareKrishnatemple.Onedaywedecided to try it.Wehad toattend their service too—twohours of it. Some people claimed that itwas a counterfeit religion, and it diddifferwidely from anyChristian service I ever attended.Themen shave theirheads, leavingonly a little ponytail inback.Their saffron robes are loose andflowing.Thewomenalsowearloose,flowingrobesinpinks,blues,andpurples.Whilethebassguitaranddrumsplayamonotonousbeat, thepeopleswayandjumpinrhythm,shaketheirtambourines,wavetheirarms,andleapthroughtheair.Astheyaredoingthis,everyonechantsamonotonouschant:“HareKrishna,HareKrishna,Krishna,Krishna,Hare,Hare;HareRamah,HareRamah,Ramah,Ramah,Hare,Hare…”

Icouldseeimmediatelythatthepeoplewerebeinghypnotized.Ihadbeenaround show business enough to recognize that. Hypnosis takes advantage ofcertain properties of the optical and auditory nerves. The thumping, thumpingrhythm puts the person into a hypnotic state. When a nonsensical phrase isrepeatedover andover, themind formsa subconscious thought.After awhilethemind is so filledwith these empty, vain thoughts that it blots out the realworries and frustrations of life, giving a false sense of peace—a kind ofeuphoria. This inner peace is supposed to be God. Under this spell peoplehappilygiveawaytheirpropertyandmoney.

When I sawwhatwas happening, Iwent into the bathroom and stayedthroughoutmostoftheservice,especiallyduringthechanting.WhenIcameout

I noticed that Jay seemed to be enjoying it, and I began toworry about him.After a meal of yogurt, which I’m afraid I didn’t appreciate very much, IgrabbedJay,andwegotoutofthere.

Springvacationhadbeenoverforseveraldaysalready,andherewewere,clearacrossthecountryfromourschool.

“We’dbettergetbacktoschoolifwe’regoingto,”Isaid.“What’sthehurry?”Jayprotested.“Thisisspringbreak,remember?”“Yes,andIalsorememberthebreakendedtwoweeksago,andit’lltake

usanotherweektogetback.Comeon.Let’sgo.”

6

CrimeDoesn’tPay

AfterschoolatPinehinge,IreturnedtoFloridatospendthesummerwithDad,but it just didn’t work out. Pine-hinge had fed my thirst for unrestrainedfreedom,andmyfatherfoundmecompletelyunmanageable.

“Doug,”hesaidtomeoneday,“Iamatmywits’end.Idon’tknowwhattodowithyou.Ifyoucan’tcooperateandlivelikeadecenthumanbeing,you’llhavetoleave,”andwithabrokenheart,hewatchedmestormoffintotheworld.IhadturnedsixteeninMarch.

Hurt,bewildered,andangry,Isetout,notknowingwheretogo.Ireachedthe turnpike and headed north on Interstate 95. I joined upwith a tall fellownamed Scott. He had amuscular build, and the glasses hewore gave him aneducatedappearance,thoughhehadscarcelybeentohighschool.

Together we hitchhiked from Miami to Boston, where Scott had beenliving before hewent toVietnam.We soon found jobs andwere doing fairlywell,butbeforelongIrealizedthatScottwassupplementinghisincomewithaburglarybusiness.GraduallyIfoundmyselfgoingalongwithhimand,beforeIrealizedwhatwashappening,Ifellintoacompletelifeofcrime.

Forthenextfewmonths,Ireachedalowthatcausedmetodespisemyselfand all mankind. Scott and I lived in flophouses and stole cars, TVs, andanythingwecouldthatcouldbeconvertedintocash.

TryingtoliveonyourowninabigcitylikeBostonhasitsdrawbacksforsomeonewho isonly sixteenyearsold,butbefore long Iwasable toobtainaMassachusetts driver’s license that said I was eighteen. With my false I.D. Ifound a part-time job as a security guard with a company called BusinessIntelligence.Itcamecompletewithabadge,uniform,andbillyclub.Itmademefeel important toput thebadge inmywalletandflash itwhenbuyingalcohol.

Mynewpositionalsogavemeinsideinformationforburglaryjobs.Whileworkingasasecurityguard,ImetayoungmannamedBradwho

wasalsoasecurityguard.Aratherquietfellow,hewasinvolvedinanEasternreligioncalledShakti.Bradknewaboutmystealing. “Doug,”he said, “you’regoing to pay forwhat you’re doing some day.You aren’t really getting awaywithanything.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”Iasked.“Imean,that’syourkarma.Whatgoesaroundcomesaround.Thethings

you’redoingtootherpeoplewillbedonetoyou.“That’s crazy,man!” I cried. “I stole a TV; I got rid of it. I didn’t get

caught,andIneverwill.”“You’llsee,”hesaidsimply.AfewdayslatersomeonebrokeintomyapartmentandstolemyTVset

anda radio,andboy,wasImad!ThenIbegan tonotice thatwhenever Istolesomething,itwouldbestolenfromme.WhenIstolemoney,itwoulddisappear!I learned later thatScottwas stealing fromme! I stoleacarandpromptlygottwoflattires.Whatreallyconvincedmewasasmalltrifle,butthecoincidencewas so remarkable that it frightenedme.While at someone’shouse, I stole anunopened box of Krusteaz wholewheat pancake mix with the price $1.19stampedonit.(Idrank,smoked,anduseddrugs,butIinsistedoneatingwholewheatbecausethatwashealthful!)WhenIgothome,Ifoundthatsomeofmyfriendshad comeby andhelped themselves tomybrandnew jar ofTang anduseditall.Bytheemptyjarwasthelid,withapricetagonitthatsaid$1.19!

“This is spooky!” I said to myself. “Somebody out there sees me andknowswhat I’mdoing!”For the first time inmy life, I really believed inmyheartthattherewasaGod!

WhenBradinvitedmetooneofhismeetingsafewdayslater,Iquicklyagreedtogo.Asamatteroffact,Iwenttoseveralinthecomingweeks.Ididn’tunderstandmostofwhatIheard,butIusuallycamehomewithmorebooksandlessmoney.

As I sat reading the newspaper one evening, a piercing scream andfootstepspoundingdownthehallcatapultedmetomyfeet.Iopenedthedooracrack,andIcouldseeSugarman—ablackpimpwholivedonourfloor—beatingoneofhisgirls.Shebrokeloosefromhisgraspandran.Hehurledabroomafterher,andIclosedthedoor.

“Ihopehedoesn’tkillher,”IthoughtasIsankbackintomychair.Fightsandstabbingswerecommonplaceinthisrundownroominghouse,butIcouldn’tgetusedtoit.Iflickedtheashesfrommycigarette.“WhatamIdoinglivinginthisdumpandsharingabathroomwiththesecreeps?Ican’tevensleepatnightwithallthepartyingandcarryingon.I’msickofthisroom,andI’msickofthiskindoflife!”

Thephonerang,andIpickeditup.“Hi,Doug.ThisisDad!”saidthevoiceattheotherendoftheline.“I’ve

been up toNewYork on business and stopped off to sayHello.”He soundedcheerful,andIwasgladtohearhisvoice.“Wouldyouliketogettogetherforanhourortwo?”

“Sure,Dad.Can I takeyou todinner?” I asked. Iwanted tobe sureheknewthatIhadmyownmoney.

“Well,Iplannedtotakeyoutodinner,butwhynot?Justtellmewheretomeet.”

IknewsomefancyrestaurantsinBoston,andIwantedtoimpresshim,soInamedthemostexpensiveoneIcouldthinkofandgavehimtheaddress.

Iarrivedaheadofhimandstoodoutsidewaiting.Soonacabpulledup,andDadclimbedout.Afeelingofgladnesssweptoverme,andIlongedtorushoverandthrowmyarmsaroundhim,buthuggingjustwasn’tdoneinourfamily.Wejustgrinnedateachotherandshookhands.

Intherestaurant,thewaiterseatedus,andwechattedashortwhile.Afterwehadordered,hecametothepointofhisvisit.“Doug,IfeellikeI’vefailedyou,andI’msorry.Willyougivemeonemorechance?”

Tearsalmostcametomyeyesatthisunexpectedconfession.Ihesitated.“Whatdoyouwant,Dad?”Iaskedcautiously.

“Well, it’s about your education,” he said. “You really should be inschool.You’reonlysixteen,youknow.”

“But,Dad”—my temperbegan to rise—”I’vebeendoing agood joboftakingcareofmyself!”Ipulledalargerollofbillsfrommypocketandhelditoutforhimtosee.Hewasn’timpressed.“Anyhow,youknowhowIfeelaboutschool.”

Heraisedarestraininghand.“Nowwaitaminute,Doug.Hearmeout.Iwastalkingtoafriendofmine,andhetoldmeaboutthisschoolonboardaship.

It’sasailingvessel,anditsailsallovertheworld.Thestudentsarethecrew.Youhaveclassesonboardtheship,andtheymakestopsinallsortsofexoticplaces.Youcancomeandgoasyoupleaseanddoallkindsof things.Youcanscubadiveandwater-ski,andthereareplentyofgirls.Theschoolyearhasjuststarted,andtheshipissomewhereintheMediterraneanrightnow.”

Itsoundedtoogoodtobetrue.“What’sthenameoftheschool?”Iasked,carefulnottosoundtoointerested.

“It’scalledTheFlintSchoolAbroad,”hesaid.“Well, I don’t know.” I hesitated.We sat in silence for a long time. I

wasn’tsureIwouldeverfitintoastructuredprogramagain,whereI’dhavetotake orders. Still, it sounded like fun, and frankly, I was tired of fending formyself.FinallyIsaid,“MaybeI’llgiveitatry.”

Alookofreliefpassedovermyfather’sface,andIcouldseetearsinhiseyes.Inwardly,Irejoiced.IfonlyIhadknownwhatlayahead!

7

ShippedOut!

DadcancelledallhisbusinessappointmentssohecouldflywithmetoGenoa,Italy, where the school was docked.We truly enjoyed being together on thatflight, and I knew he cared aboutme. He even pattedme on the back aswewalked together aboard the ship. After helping me register and carry mybelongingsaboard,hesqueezedmyhandasweshook,andsaidgoodbye.“Goodluck,son.Workhard,andI’llseeyouatChristmas.”

“OK,Dad,”Isaid.AfterheleftIputmybelongingsawayandwentouttoexploreonmyown.

It didn’t take me long to size up the kids who comprised this school.Manywerethesonsofsenatorsandpoliticianswho,likeme,werewild,withoutrestraint,andathreattotheirfathers’reputationsbackhome.Iftheywereoutofthecountry,noonewouldhearaboutthem.Othersweredelinquents,thesonsofwealthyparentswhocouldn’tbebotheredwithalltheproblemsofyouth.Theysimply turned their parenting responsibility over to the school. Several of theboysaccostedmeduringmyfirstfewdays.“Didyoubringanydrugs?”

WhatDad had been told about this school turned out to be onlypartlytrue.Actually,wewereprisoners,inasense.Wecouldnotfraternizewithgirls,and naturally we were not allowed to drink, smoke, or use drugs. They tookaway our passportswhenwewent ashore. In a country like Italy, theywouldlockyouupandthrowawaythekeyiftheycaughtyouwithoutapassport,sowedidn’tdaredoanythingthatwouldattractattention.Ineverdidanyscubadiving,water-skiing,orsportsthewholetimeIwasthere.

The school’s science program centered around the evolutionary theory,andthosewhobelievedincreationwereridiculedasidiots.ThefilmsshowninclassportrayedDarwinasahero.

“ThereisnoGod,”theteachertoldus.“Youhavetomakeitonyourown.If you have to step on somebody to reach your goal, do it. If you don’t,somebody else will.” This cold philosophy left me feeling more lonely andisolatedthanever.

IwasstillsearchingforGodthroughEasternreligionslikeShokti,andIdidn’twantanybodytellingmewhatIhadtobelieve,soIspentmoreandmoretimeinmyroommeditatingandplayingawoodflute.Theboysridiculedmeforit,butIjustletthem.

Allthestudentscamefromaffluenthomes,butyouwouldneverknowitfromthefoodtheyfedus.DessertsweresoscarcethatSnickerscandybarswerelookeduponasararetreatandbecameourbartertobuywhatwewantedfromeachother.Wehadtopay2,500Italianliraforonebar,whichwastwiceasmuchasitwouldhavebeenbackhome.

OnedayaboynamedEricdroppedbymycabin.“Toobadwedon’thavesomeLSD,Doug,”hesaid.“I’djustgiveanythingforalittlewindowpane.”

“Sorry,Idon’thaveathing,”I toldhim,butafterheleft,myconnivingmindwenttowork.LSDiscalled“windowpane”becauseitcomesinsmallclearsquaresaboutaneighthofaninchoneachside.I tookaplasticpictureholderfrom my wallet and snipped two tiny plastic squares. The finished productlookedjustliketwohitsofLSDwindowpane.

The next time I saw Eric, I said, “You won’t believe this, but I justhappenedtofindacoupleofhitsofwindowpane.”

Hiseyes lightedup.“Great!”hesaidenthusiastically.“Willyousellmeone?Howmuch?”

“Well,Iwanttwocandybarsforonehit,”Itoldhim.“It’sadeal,”hesaid.“Ihavethemrighthereinmycloset.”“Nowwaitasecond,Eric.Idon’tknowifthisstuffisgoodanymore.It’s

beeninmywalletalongtime”(whichwastrue,ofcourse).“Hey, it’sOK.”Hewavedmyremarkaside.“I’ll takemychances.”We

madetheexchange,andIturnedtogo.

“Bytheway,youhavetoswallowit,”Icautionedhim.“Thiskinddoesn’tmeltinyourmouth.”Grinning,Iwenttomyroomandsatdownontheedgeofmybed. I tore thewrapper from the first candybar andbit off abig chunk. Ichewedslowlyandsavored thecrunchychocolategoo.“Umm,man!Thiswill

belonggonebythetimehediscovershe’seatingmywallet,”Ichuckled.EventhoughIhadoutsmartedhim,afeelingofguiltnaggedatme.“Oh,

well,”Irationalized,“he’dhavedonethesamethingtomeifhehadthoughtofit.”

Ibracedmyselfthenextmorningwhenheshowedupatmydoor.“NowI’mgoingtogetit,”Ithought.

He closed the door behind him, but he didn’t look angry. In fact, hesmiled. “You know thatwindowpane?” he said enthusiastically. “Well, at firstnothinghappened,andIjustwenttosleep,butthenIwokeupduringthenight,andman,whata trip!Iwastrippingandhallucinatingallnight!”Herolledhiseyesandleanedbackagainstmydoor.

Mymouthmust have dropped open. “Well, ah, what do you know!” Imuttered.Later,whenIdiscoveredtheBiblepassage,“Godbathdealttoeverymanameasureoffaith,”IthoughtofEric.Hesurehadfaithinthatbitofplastic!

Ihadheardthattherearenoatheistsinfoxholes.Isawfirsthandthattherearenoatheistsinstormsatsea,either.OneeveningwewereskimmingalongataprettygoodclipoffthecoastofSardiniawhen,withinamatterofafewhours,the breeze turned into a howling fury and the choppywaves turned into greatmountainsofwatertwenty-fivetothirtyfeethigh.Thebowrosehightomeetthegreat waves, only to suddenly drop into the trough that followed, creating aviolentrisingandplungingmotionthatsoonhadtheyoungseamenhangingontorailsandsurrenderingtheirsuppertothesea.Manydidn’tmakeittotherail,andthe deckwas soon strewnwith the slippery filth as the poor boys heaved andvomited.

“Get away from that railing,” the captain roared. “If anyone is sweptoverboard, we won’t even turn around for you. You’d die of shock and coldbeforewecouldfindyouonanightlikethis.We’djustmarkthemapandshowyour parentswhere you died.” Thiswas probably a bluff, butwe couldn’t besure.

Asthefuryofthestormincreased,thewavesbrokeoverthebowoftheship,pouringtonsofwaterontothedeck,andastheshiptippeduptomeetthenext wave, the water rolled aft, smashing everything in its path. Soon lifejackets,boxes,andotherdebrisbobbedandchurnedonthesurfaceandswirledoffthedeckintotheseaasthewaterrushedfrombowtostern.Theinflatedliferaft, secured precariously by a thread of rope, jerked about dangerously,

threateningtojointhemadrush.“Quick, boys,” the captain shouted atRalph andme, the only twowho

were not laid lowwith seasickness. “Secure the life raft before anotherwavehits.”Ralph,whosemillionairefatherlivedinVirginia,wasabigblondhillbilly—aruggedindividualist.Anotherwavehit justaswereachedtheraft,sendingusflyingheadlongintoit.Ouraddedweightsnappedthestringandpropelledusdownthedeckoftheshiponafootofwater.“Yeehaw!”thehillbillycriedasweflew along, but I could see us heading straight for the railing, and my heartalmoststopped.Whatifitdidn’thold!Itstoppedussosuddenlythatwealmostflew over the sides, but we grabbed the railing and hung on desperately.Somehow we secured the raft and survived that crisis. But before we couldcongratulate ourselves, an even larger wave struck the ship, and the largemainsailripped, leavingusdangerouslycrippled.Ifwelostourforwardthrust,wecoulddriftsidewaysandbehitbroadsidebythewaves.

Everyone came running, sick or not, when they heard the rip. The sailstartedflappingviolentlyintheshriekinggale.Manyhandswereneededtohaulit down, unhook it, and hoist up the spare. We fought the ropes as the shipswayed,andthewaterpulledatourlegsandtriedtodeckus,butwefinallyhadthesaildownandunhooked. Icouldsee lipsmoving,andIknewsomeofmyatheistfriendswerepraying.Wefinallyhadthesparesailattached,readytobehoistedtothetopof themainmast.Someonewouldneedtoridethesaddleorringtothetopofthemastandsecureit.Otherwise,astheboatrocked,theringwoulddigintothemastandpreventitfromslidingfreely.

“Weneedsomeonetoridethesaddle,”thecaptainshoutedoverthewind.“Anyvolunteers?”Helookedaroundwithpleadingeyes.Iwasn’tafraidofhighplaces,andIknewIcoulddoitifanybodycould.Iwasstillprettystrongfrommydaysinmilitaryschool.

“I’llgo,”Ivolunteered.Icouldn’tresistthetemptationtoshowoff.Iclimbedontothesaddle,andthemenandboysbegantopullthewinch.

SlowlyIwascarriedaloft.Whenitwasabouttwo-thirdsofthewayup,theboatrockedfortyfeetforward,andtheringstarteddigginginto themast,makingitimpossibletoraiseitanyfarther.Ipulledandpulledwithallmystrength,butIcouldn’tgettheringawayfromthemast.Icouldheartheropesstrainandgroanasthosebelowcontinuedtightening,andIwasafraidtheropeswouldsnap.

“Stop!Stop!It’sstuck,”Ishouted.Iyelledagainandagain,buttherewas

somuchslack in thesail that it flappedviolently in thewind,makingaracketthatsoundedlikethunder.Eventhoughtheywereonlytwenty-fiveorthirtyfeetbelowme,theycouldn’thearmyshouts.

All this time,as theboat swayeddangerously fromside to side, the tallmastswungingreatarcs,almostdippingintothegreatwavesononeside,thenwhippingmelikearocketthroughtheairandalmostdippingmeintothewavesontheotherside.IknewifitrockedmuchfartherIwouldfalloffmyperchanddrown.Myonlyhopewastojumpfromthesaddletothewebbingthatstretchedfromthesideoftheshiptothecrow’snest.IfIhadbeenatthetop,Icouldhavejustclimbeddirectlyfromthemastontothewebbing,butsinceIwasonlytwo-thirdsofthewayup,thewebbingwasseveralfeetoutfromthemast.Myarmstrembledfromtheexertionof tryingtopull theringout,andIknewtherewasbarelyanystrengthleft inthem.Ialsoknewthat ifI jumpedasweweretiltedoverthewater,Icouldeasilymissthewebbingandplummetintothecoldsea,andthatwouldbetheendofme.

“Oh,God! Saveme, please,” I cried. “Don’t letme die!”With a quickglancebelow,Ileaped.ThankGod,mytimingwasright.Igrabbedthewebbingwithmyhands,hookedmylegsthrough,andhungonfordearlife.Afterrestingaminute,Iclimbeddown.

Bythistimethecaptainhaddiscoveredtheproblemandhadloweredthesail.MyarmsandlegsstilltrembledasIstoodandwatched.

“Doyouwanttotryagain?”thecaptainasked.“Noway!”Isaid.“I’mgoing tomycabin.”Carefullysteppingover the

debris that choked thehallway, I pickedmywayback tomyquarters. I couldhear themoaningandheavingof theotherboys in their cabins.The stenchofdieselandvomitgaggedmeasIreachedmydoor.Ihardlynoticedtheshamblesthe storm had made of my room. I collapsed onto my bunk and held to thebedrail.“I’mluckytobealive!”Ithoughttomyself.Iwondered,asIlaythere,howmanyprayersandpromiseshadgoneuptoGodthatnight.Ialsowonderedhow many of those who prayed would really change their lives if we livedthroughthisstorm.

Somehow,we didmake it through.Whenwe sailed in peacefulwatersonce again, life went on as usual. Everyone acted as though nothing hadhappened.Allprayersandpromiseswereforgotten.IlearnedthatdaywhyGoddoesn’tdisciplinewithfear.Whenthedangerispast,peopleusuallygobackto

theiroldways.Because I arrived at the school late, watch duty had already been

assigned,andmynamedidnotappearontherostertostandwatch.Therewereotherassignments,however, includingscrubbingthedeck,washingdishes,andotherchoresthatIhated.FinallyIrebelledandrefusedtoattendprograms,gotoclass,ordoanyoftheworkassignedtome.Ijustsatinmyroomandmeditated.Beforelong,thecaptaincamebangingonmydoor.

“It’sopen,”Icalled.He stormed in andbegan to rant and rave. “What’s themeaningof this

behavior, Batchelor? You aren’t attending class. You aren’t doing your workassignments.Youaren’tdoinganythingyou’resupposedtodo.Don’tyouknowyouhavetofollowtheruleslikeeveryoneelse?”

“Why?”Iaskedbelligerently.“Ihatethisplace.Ididn’tasktocomehere,andI’mnotgoingtobeaslaveforanybody!”Ididnotfeelintimidatedbyhisangrywords. I had a goldmedal inwrestling andwas used to fighting. I hadneverlostamatch.

When he saw that hewasn’t going to scareme, he changed his tactics.“OK,Batchelor,ifyoudon’twork,youdon’teat!”hethundered.Heturnedonhis heel and stormed off. I wondered what I would do, but I talked myroommatesintosmugglingfoodtome,andIcontinuedinmydefiance.

Moralebegantobreakdownamongtheotherstudents.“WhydoIhavetostand watch? Batchelor doesn’t.” “Why do I have to scrub deck? Batchelordoesn’t.”Thecaptainhadnoanswer.Athiswits’end,hecametoseemeagain.“Batchelor,what do I have to do to get you to behave?You’re destroying themorale of this school. Insubordination is spreading like a plague.” His eyeslookedatmebeseechingly.

“Idon’tknow.”Ishrugged.“Makemeanoffer.”“I’lltellyouwhat.Ifyou’llattendclassandcooperateforacouplemore

weeks, I’ll tell your dad you’ve been well-behaved and let you go home forChristmas.”

Itookadeepbreathandthoughtaminute.“It’sadeal,”Iagreed.HeknewthatifIevergotofftheboatI’dneverbeback.Webothknew,

butwedidn’tmentionit.Ofcourse, thefirst thingIdidontheplanehomeforChristmaswastoorderabeerandapackofcigarettes.Whiletheotherstudentslookedoninhorror,Itoldthem,“You’llneverseemeagain,”andtheydidn’t.

Dadwas so delightedwith the false report ofmy good behavior, I justcouldn’t spoil it by telling him the truth. Instead, I joined in the festivities ofChristmasandtriedtoforgetaboutschool.Butwhenitwastimetoreturn,Ihittheroadagain.

8

OntheRoad

Oh,brother,notanotherone!”IsighedasIpulledmylightjackettightertomybody. A huge red-and-silver tractor-trailer roared past. I counted “one, two,three,” then snapped around and turnedmy back to the icy blast.A cold gustwhistleddownmyneck,andIshiveredforthehundredthtime.Iglancedatmywatchandbegantowalkagain.Walkingwaswarmerthanjuststandingwithmythumbout.

“Almosteighthoursinthismiserableplace,anditlookslikeitmightstartsnowingagain,”ImutteredasmynumbfeetdraggedmealongtheshoulderofInterstate40ontheoutskirtsofasmallOklahomatown.Mystomachgrowled,but I ignored it as I turned to the approaching blue Cadillac and put out mythumb.Thedriverdidn’tevenglancemyway.Ishovedmyhandsbackintomypocketsandbeganwalkingagain.

Dark thoughts crowded into my throbbing head, and I could hardlybelieve that only yesterday I had been in a toasty-warmpool hall inVirginia,drinking, shootingpoolwithsomeofmyfriends,andmakingstupidbets.Themore I drank, theworse I played, and soon I lost allmymoney. I could kickmyself.“Whydidn’tIsavesomemoneytoeaton?WhatafoolI’vebeen!”DidIdaretalktoGod?Ididn’thavemuchtraininginpraying,butIknewGodcouldreadminds,soIprayedinmyheart.

“God, I know I’ve been rotten.Forgiveme for all the people I’ve hurt,andplease, sendme a ride and something to eat and somemoney.AndwhileYou’re at it, please giveme a ride all theway to California—with somebodynormal.”

Thefirst timeIhitchhikedIwasonlyfiveyearsold.Since thenI’dhadsome wild experiences hitchhiking. One man, who was smoking pot, went

drivingdownthewrongsideoftheroadintothetraffic.Anothertimeacoupleweredrunkandswervingallovertheroad.FinallyItoldthem,“ThisiswhereIgetoff,”eventhoughitwasn’t.Iwantedtosurvive!Anothertimeamanandhisgirlfriendwhohadbeendrinkingpickedmeup.Hethoughthewouldimpressusbyturningoffhislightsashedroveandshowingushecoulddriveinthedark.Sometimeshomosexualspickedmeupand tried tomakebargains.OnanotheroccasionIfoundmyselfridingwithacriminal, thoughIdidn’trealizeitat thetime.But thepolicepulledusover,handcuffed theguy,andhauledhimaway,leavingmestandingtherebyanemptycarwithnokeys.SoI thought,whileIwasaskingfavorsofGod,thatIhadbetteraskforaridewithsomeonenormal.Ihadhardlyfinishedmylittleprayerwhenawhitevanpulledupandstopped.

“Whereyaheaded?”thedriveraskedcheerily.“California,”Itoldhim.“PraisetheLord!That’swhereI’mgoing.Hopin,”heinvited.“Oh,no,aJesusfreak!”I thought tomyself,but Igratefullyclimbed in

besidehim,andwewereonourway.IwassogladtogetaridethatIforgotallabouttheprayerIhadjustprayeduntilmuchlater.

After a couple of comments about the cold weather, my benefactorglancedmydirection.“I’llbetyou’vebeenvisitingsomeoneforChristmasandareheadedhome,”hesaid.

“No,I’vebeen living inFlorida,butnowI’mgoingout toCalifornia tolive,”Isaidevasively.“Howaboutyou?”Iwasn’treadyyettodiscussmyplanswithastranger.

“Well, I’mgoing to finda friend in southernCalifornia.But tellme”—andhetookhiseyesofftheroadandlookedrightatme—”areyouaChristian?”

His question startled me. I fancied myself very religious. I could talkabout God, meditation, reincarnation, spiritual science, and the New Agemovement. Iwas conversant on the subject of transmigration of the body andwalkingupwalls.IhadstudiedmanyEasternreligions.ButwhenheaskedifIwereaChristian,Ididn’tknow.WasheaskingwhetherIbelievedtheBibleorwhether I believed in lovingothers?Almost all religions teach thatwe shouldloveothers.

Seeing my bewilderment, he elaborated. “Do you believe in JesusChrist?”

Again, Ididn’tknowhowtoanswer. Ididn’tknowwhether thestoryof

Jesuswasafable,afraud,afairytale,orwhetherHewasjustaniceteacher.Wewere soon discussing Jesus and the Bible and religion. It seemed like hepreached tomeall theway toCalifornia! InColorado, theroads turned to ice.Cars were sliding off the road all around us. I could tell that he was not asfrightenedas Iwas.He justprayedaloudashepickedhiswayalong.Wedidsomesliding,butweneverwentofftheroad.Iwasimpressed!

Heboughtallourmealsandpaidforourmotelrooms.Laterhepickedupanotherhitchhiker.ThisyoungmanturnedouttobeaChristian.Ifeltalittleleftoutlisteningtothemtalk.Hegavethisyoungman$300whenhelethimout!

AsweapproachedCalifornia,heaskedme,“NowwhereinCaliforniaareyougoing?”EventhoughIhadn’tappreciatedthepreaching,Ifeltrealwarmthtowardthismanwhohadbeensuchagoodfriend,andIthinkIstartledhimbysaying,“I’mgoingtosomemountainsnearPalmSprings.I’mgoingtoliveinacaveintheSanJacintoMountains.”

I could feel his eyebrows raise, even though my eyes were lookingstraightahead.“Whoareyougoingtolivewith?”

“I’m not going to live with anyone; I’m going to live by myself,” Iansweredalmostdefiantly.

“Whatareyoutalkingabout?Youcouldn’tbemorethanseventeen.”Hesoundedmorecuriousthanjudgmental.

“I’m sixteen,” I told him. “Anyhow, I’ve been on my own for yearsalready.I’llbeallright.”

Hetookmerighttothemouthofthecanyonandhandedme$40.Ashepulledaway,itstruckme.Hey!GodgavemeallfourthingsIprayedforthatdayin Oklahoma: a ride to California, food, and money—well, almost all four. Iwasn’tsuretheguywasnormal!

9

TheArabsAreComing!

Before hiking up to the cave, I stopped at the store andwent shoppingwithsomeof the$40mykind friendhadgivenme.But Ididn’tknowmuchaboutmeal planning for cave life. I bought several cans of food and some meat—heavyitemsforabackpack.Aftercarefullystashingmypurchasesintomypack,Ipickeditupandstruggledinto theshoulderstraps.Isoonfoundthe trailandleftthetownbehind.

Rememberingthesteepnessofthetrailfromthepreviousyear,Iwalkedslowly.EventhoughitwasearlyJanuary,thedesertsunbeatdown,andbeforelong,Istopped.Isetthepackontheground,peeledoffmyjacket,andstuffeditinto the pack.After a brief rest, I shoulderedmy load again and resumed thepath. I had determined to put as much distance as possible between me andpeople.Iwouldgoforthethirdvalley.

IrememberedtryingtokeepupwithJimandSunny.Thatwaschild’splaycomparedwiththis.Evenwithoutthejacket,IsweatedlikeIwasinasauna.Mybodyached,andmybreathcameingasps.Theweightoftheloadpullingonthestrapscutoff thecirculation, andmyheadbegan toache. I felt likea tinyanttoilingupthebareboulders.SometimesItookawrongturnandwalkedalongwaybeforediscoveringmymistake. Ihadmade the triponlyoncebefore,andthatwasalmostayearago.

Anhourdraggedby,thentwo.Ibegantowonderifpeopleeverdiedfrombeingtired.FinallyIstoodatopthebigridge.Lookingdown,IcouldseePalmSprings4,000feetbelowmeononesideandthethirdvalley1,500feetdownontheotherside.AsIsurveyedthethirdvalley,ahuge,grayboulderarrestedmyattention. Nestled among the trees, it stood almost alone except for a smallerboulderbehindit.Beyondthesmallboulderthesidesofthemountainsroselike

awall.Fromwhere I stoodon the trail, it lookedas thoughastreamran rightnexttothismassiverock.Idecidedtocheckitout.WithrenewedenergyItooklong,joltingstridesdownthetrailintothevalley.

WhenIreachedthevalleyfloor,Icouldseethetopofthelargebouldertomyleft,andIhikedtowarditforabouttenminutes.Iscrambledoveralargelogbetweensomerocks,andthereitstoodafewyardsaheadofme.Thesightofittookmybreathaway!Atthebaseoftheboulderacaveopenedlikeaninvertedbowl.Theentrance,ashallowarchaboutthirtyfeetwide,gapedacrossthefront,andsunlightfloodedtheinterior.Thecreekfloweddownthecanyontotherightofthecave,hurriedoveralarge,smoothboulder,anddroppedintoanemeraldgreenpoolaboutthirtyfeetacrossandtenfeetdeep.Sycamoresandbaylaurelcrowdedabout.Totheleftstretchedalevel,grassyareathatendedinafringeofthicket.Iwalkedtowardthecaveslowly,myeyesdrinkinginthebeautyoftheplace.

Settingmybackpackon theground, Ienteredcautiously. Icouldseenosignsofrecentoccupancy,butIcouldtellfromthesmoke-blackenedceilingthatothershadbeenherebeforeme.Therockjuttedoutagainstonewall,formingalow shelf, andon the shelf lay a blackbook coveredwith an accumulationofdust. I picked it up and blew off the dust.Holy Bible, it said. I laid it downwithoutevenopeningit.“SomebodyelsewaslookingforGod,”Isaidtomyself.“TheymustnothavefoundHiminthisBible,ortheywouldn’thaveleftithere.”

Off to the left, behind a rock, I found another opening— a low one. Idroppedtomykneesandcrawledthrough,andamomentlaterIwasstandingupina low-ceilingedroom.Alittle lightshowninfromtheentrance,but ithadacozy feeling about it, like the inside of a bear’s den. “What a good place tosleep!”Ithought.

I could hardly wait to get set up. I wanted to stake claim to this littleparadiserightnow!Iwentbackoutside,pickedupmybackpack,andtookitintothefirst room.I tookoutmycansoffoodandplacedthemona ledge.OntheendoftheledgeIputaneatlyfoldedtowelandabarofsoap.ThenItookmysleepingbagandclothesandcrawledintothe“bedroom.”Foldingmyclothes,Iput them in a stack against thewall and rolled the sleeping bag out onto thefloor.With my bedroom and kitchen ready, I fishedmy hammock out of thebackpackandtieditbetweentwosycamoretreesbeyondthepool.

Shadowsalreadycreptacross thevalleyfloorbetweentheloftywallsofthecanyon.Thethoughtofbeingaloneatnightinthisdesolateplacemademea

littlenervous.Whatifcougarsandcoyotescametothepooltodrinkatnight!Ihadbetterhaveafire.Wildanimalswereafraidoffire—orsoIthought.Ifoundseveral smooth stones and laid them in a circle in the centerof the cave, thenwentouttolookforwood.Ididn’tstopuntilIhadcarriedinseveralarmloadsanddroppedtheminastackbymyfirepit.ThenIstoodbackandsurveyedmynew home. “Now I’m ready!” I said. It looked as tidy as my room awaitinginspectionatthemilitaryacademy!

IntheweeksaheadIkeptbusierthanIhadthoughtpossible.Cookingandcleaning took a good portion of mymornings. An old-timer in Palm Springsshowedmehowtomakeastovefromalargepotwithalid.Istartedeachdaybymakingbananabread for breakfast.Thereweredishes towash, and therewasfoodtohidefromthelittleanimals.Imadeapotscrubberoutofaballofgrassthatgrewbythestream.Itworkedaswellasonefromthestore.Ialsomadethepoolbymycavetwofeetdeeperbydammingitwherethewaterranout.Everydaytherewassomethingtoworkon.

Imadeachairoflogsandstones,completewitharmrestsandback,thencovereditoverwithblankets.Icouldsitincomfortforhoursatatime.

InthesummerIpeeledoffmyclothesandwentnatural.Atfirstmybarefeetweretender,andthesharpstonesonthefloorofmycavehurtthem,soIdugthemout.ThenIcarriedupbucketfulsofsandfromaroundthepoolandmadeasmoothfloorthatfeltgoodbetweenmytoes.

OneofthethingsImadewasananimaltrap.Icaughtasquirrel,whichIcooked and ate, and I made a pouch from the skin. I also killed a largerattlesnake,whichItriedeating.Itwasmostlybones,soIateonlyalittle,butImadeasheathformyknifefromitsskin.

Ihadfewwaysofmakingmoneytosupplymyneeds,butoneprojectthatgavemealittlecashwasmakingpipes,whichIsoldtoa“headshop”inPalmSprings.Headshopsdealtinpotpipesandotherparaphernaliausedbythedrugculture.

AtfirstIhadtohikeintotowntwiceaweektodomyshopping,butmyshopping habits changed as I becamemore sophisticated inmy new lifestyle,andIcouldgetbywithonlyonceaweek.Ilearnedtobuydriedfoodslikerice,spaghetti,beans,andflour.

Cooking riceandspaghettiposednoproblem.Theywerealways tenderafter fifteen or twenty minutes of boiling. But what a time I had with dried

beans!Thefirsttime,Itriedcookingthemforfifteenminutes,buttheywerestillashard as rocks. I ate themanyway,but theymademe sick.Thenext time, Idoubled the cooking time to thirtyminutes, but that didn’tworkmuch better.Whentheywerestillcrunchyafteranhourofboiling,Iwonderedifsomethingwaswrongwiththebeans.WhenItoldafriendofmyproblem,helaughedandsaid,“Youhavetocookbeansalldayatthiselevation.”

Gettinghighand findingnewwaysofgettinghighhadbeenalmost thesolepurposeofmyexistence,butnow Ibeganmysearch forGod.Oneday Iread a book about theAmerican Indians’ quest forGod through hallucinatoryplants,andIcouldhardlywait totrythemformyself.Oneplantthathadbeenmentionedinthebook,calledjimsonweed,grewjustafewyardsfrommycave.Ipickedsomeoftheleavesanddriedthem,thenrolledthemintoacigarette.Buttherewasnogodthere.Aftersmokingthecigarette,allIgotformyeffortswasadrymouth.NextImadeateafromtheleaves,butagain,Igotalittledehydratedandthatwasall.

One day when I went to town for groceries, I ran into a hippie friendnamedBrad.Afteralittlechitchat,Ipulledaleaffrommypocketandshowedittohim.“Doyouknowwhatthisis?”Iasked.

Hereachedforit,crusheditbetweenhisfingers,andsniffed.“Sure!”hesaid.“Thisisjimsonweed.TheIndiansgethighonit—partoftheirreligionorsomething.It’shigh-poweredstuff.”

“No,itisn’t,”Ireplied.“Itriedit.Ismokedtheleaves,andImadeatea,butnothinghappened.Itdoesn’twork.”

Brad laughed. “You just don’t know how it’s done, man. I’ll come upsometimeandshowya.”HehadbeentothecaveonweekendsacoupleoftimesandknewwhereIlived.

A few days later, Brad, his brother Steve, and another young runawaynamedMarkshowedupatthecave.“Areyoureadyforatrip?”heasked,afterintroducinghiscompanions.

“Anytimeyouare,”Isaid.Hehadbroughtasupplyoftheweedwithhim,andheshowedmehowtomakeastrongteafromtheroots.Hepouredeachofusacup,butStevedeclined.

“I’dbetterjustwatch,”hesaid.Weallsatdownonthefloorofthecaveandbegantodrink.

“Yuck!Inevertastedanythingsobitter!”Isaid.“Good!”Bradlaughed.“Thiswillgiveusarealtrip.”We waited a while, but nothing happened. “See! I told you it doesn’t

work.”“It’llwork.Justgiveittime,”Bradassuredme.“Let’sgosunbathebythepool,”Isuggested.Theyalllikedtheidea,and

soonwewereallstretchedoutinthesun.ButafewminuteslaterIbegantofeelstrange.“I’mgoingtobed,”Isaid.Inoticedmyshoelacewasuntiedandtriedtotieit,butIcouldn’tmakemyfingerswork.Igaveupandstumbledintothecave,threwup,andpassedoutonthefloor.

When I awoke, itwasdarkoutside. I lighted a candle.First I noticed aCokemachineinmycave.“Good!”Ithought.“Mymouthfeelsdry,andIreallyneedadrink.”ButIwasinterruptedbyavoice.

“Whereareyougoing,Doug?Comehere,comehere.”Iturnedandsawmygrandmotherstandingbyagrayvan.“Getintothevan,getintothevan!”sheordered inashrillvoice. I tried toopen thevan,but it turned intoa rock.ThenextthingIknewIfoundmyselfoutonthehillside,surroundedbypygmieswhowerecomingaftermewithbowsandarrows.IscrambledupthehillsideasfastasIcouldgo.

“Help!Help!”IscreamedasIstruggledtoreachmyfriendsbackat thecave.“Helpme!They’regoingtokillme!”WhenIfinallymadeittothecave,Ifoundmyfriendsdead,floatinginthepool.(Actually,theyweremilesawayinPalmSprings.)

Thesunhadgonedown,butthemoonhadrisen,andIcouldseefigurescrouched, ready to spring at me. I screamed and kicked at them and beganrunningdown themountains. (Thecrouched figureswere actually cactus.Youcan guess how I found out!) But instead of keeping to the trail, I cut across,takingthemostdirectroutetoPalmSprings.WhyIdidn’tkillmyself,Icannotexplain, except that God must have had His hand over me, even then. MydescentwassosteepandIhadsomuchadrenalinepumpingthroughmyveinsthat I tookgiant leaps.Eachstepseemedlikeabout thirtyfeet, thoughI’mnotsuretothisdaywhetherthatwasreality.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw tanks rumbling down themountainsidetowardme.Arabsswarmedafterthemcarryingrifles.Itallseemedsoreal.Ineverexperiencedsomuchfearinmylife.

Itwasaftertwoo’clockinthemorningwhenIfinallyreachedlevellandnearPalmSprings.InthedistanceIsawlightshiningfromabarandrantowardit. It was closed, but I could hear voices inside. “Let me in, let me in!” Iscreamed,bangingonthedoorwithmyfist.“They’reafterme!They’regoingtokillme!”

The door opened, and two wide-eyed black men pulled me inside andlockedthedoor.“Idon’tseeanybody,”oneof themsaid.“Who’sgoingtokillyou?”

“Where’s the phone? I have to call the police!” I gasped, ignoring theman’squestion.Theybothpointedtoapayphoneatoneendofthebar.Idialedtheemergencynumber,andavoiceansweredimmediately.

“MynameisDougBatchelor!”Iyelledintothephone.“I’mfromacaveup in the mountains, and the Arabs are after me. They’ve already killed myfriends!”

Thevoiceattheotherendwassilentjustasplitsecond.“Whereareyou?”heasked.

“I’mat a bar.Wait! I’ll findout,” I said. I turned to the twomen,whostood at my elbow, watching with concern. “Where are we?” I asked. Theyquicklyrepeatedtheaddressinunison,andIrelayedittothemanontheotherend.

“We’llberightthere,”hesaid.Inabouttwominutesapolicecarscreechedtoastopinfrontofthebar,

andtwopolicemenjumpedoutandcamehurryinginside.Imetthem,wild-eyed.Onesteppedinfrontofme,sniffedmybreath,andshonealightinmyeyes.“Nomarijuana,no alcohol,”he reported to theotherofficer. “Comeonover to thepolicestation,”hesaid,andopenedthedoorforme.Heclimbedinto thebackseat,andtheotherofficerslidinbehindthesteeringwheel.

At thepolicestation they tookme througha sidedoor.Onceagain theycheckedforanyodorofdrugsandfriskedme,buttheyfoundnothingtoindicatedrugs.Exceptforbeingbadlyfrightened,Iappearedtobenormal.Theytalkedtogetherinlowvoices,butwithearsmadeacutefrommountainliving,Iheardeveryword.

“Whatdoyouthink?”onesaidinworriedtones.“Doyouthinkthishas

anythingtodowiththeoilembargo?”“Couldbe,”theotherofficeranswered.Thesergeantopenedanotherdoor

and summoned a third officer. “This is top secret,” he said in a low voice.“You’d better come in and take this down.” The officer came in and insertedsome paper into the typewriter. It clattered away aswe talked.He could typefaster thananyone I ever saw.Hehadno troublekeepingupwithour speech.Thesergeantturnedtome.“Now,tellusexactlywhathappened.”

Idecidedtoleaveoutthepartaboutthepygmieswhowereaftermewithbowsandarrows.Somehowthatdidn’tfitanymore.“Well,Iwasinmycave,”Ibegan.“Iheardshots.Iwentoutside,andIsawabunchofpeoplecomingafterme.”

“Couldyouseewhattheylookedlike?”thesergeantasked.“Notverywell.”“DidyousaytheywereArabs?Whatdidtheylooklike?Howcouldyou

telltheywereArabs?”heasked.“Themoonwasshining,andIcouldseetheirheaddressesandtheirrobes.

TheywereArabs,allright.”Theotherofficerbrokein,speakingrapidlyunderhisbreath,butagainI

couldhearhimwell.“TheArabsaremadabouttheoilembargo.TheymustbeplanningtoattackPalmSprings!”Allthreemenlookedworried.ThePresidenthadahomethere,andmanywealthyandfamouspeoplelivedinPalmSprings,sotheytookeveryreportseriously.

“Yousaidtheykilledyourfriends.Weretheyshootingatyou?”heasked.“Oh,yes.Therewerepeopleallovertheplace.Theywereshootingatme,

andIwasrunningstraightdownthemountains.”Ishowedthemmytornbootsriddled with cactus. “Then these big boulders turned into tanks and camerumblingdownthemountainsidetowardPalmSprings.”

Thetypingsloweddownandstopped,andthemenlookedsheepishlyatoneanother.Finally,oneofthemspoke.“Youmustbeonsomething—we’renotsurewhat,butyou’reunderage,andwe’regoingtolockyouupforafewdays.”With that, he walked to the telephone and called someone at the juveniledepartmenttocomeoverandgetme.

10

NewMexicoandBack

IspenttwodaysatthePalmSpringsjailwithonlydoughnutsandcoffeeforfoodbeforesomeonecameto transportmeto theRiversideCountyYouthCenter(anicenamefor junior jail). It took twodays forme tostop“seeing things”andrealizethatIhadjusthadabad“trip.”

Icouldn’thelpwonderingwhattheywoulddowithmeatjuvenilehall.IthoughtofthemessIhadmadeofthingswithDadinFlorida.Icouldn’tblamehimifheneverwantedtoseemeagain.LittledidIrealizethatevenwhileIsatin jail,hewasworking inmybehalf, trying to findasolution to thisproblem.GoingbacktoMomwasoutofthequestion.Icouldthinkofonlyonesolution—toescapeandheadformycave.

In Riverside my cellmate (also named Doug) and I began to plan.Wesmuggledinsomematches,andoneofusmeltedtheplasticaroundtheboltsthatheldtheplexiglasspanesinthewindowwhiletheotherwatchedfortheguard.Welookedateachotherjubilantlybutsilentlywhen,aftersixpacksofmatches,thelastboltgaveway.Iremovedthepanecarefullyandlookedout.Noonewasabout,butIcouldhearvoicescomingfromdownthehall,soIquicklysnappeditbackintoplace.Wesurveyedourworkwithsatisfaction.Themarksandburnswerehardtosee,andnoonewouldsuspectthatthewindowhadbeentamperedwith.Wedecidedtowaitfortherighttimetomakeourgetaway.

Beforewehadachancetocarryouttherestoftheplan,though,anofficercameandunlockedthedoor.“DougBatchelor!”

“Yeah,”Ireplied.“Comewithme,”heordered.“Weare releasingyou into thecustodyof

youruncle,HarryBatchelor,inNewMexico.”I could hardly believemy ears.UncleHarry operated an Indian trading

postonaNavajoreservation.HeandAuntNitaweretwoofthenicestpeopleIknew.He loved theNavajos anddidnot exploit them like someof the Indiantraders. His honesty and fairness were proverbial among the Indians, and hehelpedthemineverywaypossible.HemadenoclaimstobeingaChristian,butinmanywayshelivedlikeone.

“Yourunclewillpickyouupattheairport,”theofficersaid.Ifeltrelieved.“UncleHarrywon’tbesorry,”Iresolved.“I’llbethebest

helpheeverhad.”And Ididhelpat first.UncleHarryandAuntNita treatedme like their

ownson.MycousinDonniewasaboutmyage,andwehit itoffwell. Icouldfeeltheloveofthewholefamilyandtheirgenuineconcernformywelfare.Forthefirsttimesincemilitaryschool,Ireallyfeltgoodaboutmyself.

My uncle had two stores, and I worked at the one in Kim-bito, NewMexico. I stocked theshelves, swept the floors,andkept theplace tidy.“Helpyourself to whatever youwant, Doug,”my uncle would say. He really didn’tmindthatItookcigarettes.Hehimselfsmokedanddidn’tobjecttomysmoking.I helped myself to a sandwich when I got hungry and to ammunition whenDonnieandIwentoutontheopenrangefortargetpractice.

IlikedtheNavajos,especiallythegirls.Fewoftheyoungpeopleamongthem showed interest in school or leaving the reservation, but there wereexceptions. One day a good-looking eighteen-year-old came into the store. Icouldtellbyhisbrighteyesandintelligentconversationthathewasnoordinaryyoungman.“I’veneverseenyoubefore,”IsaidasIwaitedonhim.“Whereareyoufrom?What’syourname?”

“MynameisKenPlatero.Ilivehereonthereservation,butIgotoschoolat a college in Washington.” He smiled rather shyly. “I’m home on springbreak,”heexplained.

I was impressed. “Boy, you must be smart!” I said. “Is your old manrich?”

“Naw,I’mattendingonascholarship,”hesaidashepickeduphisbag.

“Whydon’tyoudropbysometimeafter the storecloses,andwe’ll ridemotorcycles,” I invited. He liked my outgoing ways, and I admired hisintelligenceandgoodlooks.

I didn’t realize what a desperate problem alcoholism is among the

Indians. Due to something in their physical makeup, they become alcoholicsmoreeasily thanmostpeople.Myuncle toldme that in allofhisyears at thereservationhehadnevermetanIndianwhocouldtakeadrink,putthelidonthebottle,andputitaway.“Theydrinkuntiltheyareoutofmoney,outofdrink,orpassedout,”hesaid.

AfewdaysafterImetKen,wewentriding.Ignoringmyuncle’swisdom,ImadeafoolishsuggestionthatIhaveregrettedeversince.“Let’sgodowntothebarandgetasixpack,”Isaid.Iwantedadrink,andIgavenothoughttotheconsequences.

Ken’swholeexpressionchanged.His eyesdroppedas thoughashamed,buthesaid,“Naw,Doug.Drinkingisbadnews.Idon’twantanypartofit.”

Unfortunately, I persisted. “Aw, come on, Ken. One drink won’t hurt.Anyhow,I’mnotoldenoughtobuyitmyself.”Ihadnotyetturnedseventeen.

“Naw,Doug. I don’twant to get startedwith that. Drinking is trouble.Everybodywhodrinkshastrouble.”

I could see the struggle. His common sense said No, but his naturalcourtesyanddesiretopleasesaidYes.Finally,heconsented.Ihandedhimsomemoney.Weclimbedontoourbikes,andweroareddowntheroadtothebar.Hewent inside and returnedminutes later with a six-pack. I shoved the packageinsidemyjacketandzippeditup.Thenweheadedforopencountryandfinishedoffthebeertogether.

Adayortwolaterwedidthesamething,onlythistimeittooklessurgingonmypart.Before theweekwasover,wehadnotonlyvisited thebarseveraltimes,butIhadalsotaughthimhowtomakehisownbeerinafive-gallonwaterbottle with yeast and malt syrup. Poor Ken! He never made it back to hiscollege.

Ibegantospendlesstimeworkinginthestoreandmoretimeridingthemotorcycle,drinking,chasinggirls,andgettingintotrouble.AsIgotmoreandmoreoutofcontrol,myunhap-pinessgrew.

Finally, Uncle Harry called me in and talked to me. “Doug,” he saidseriously,“ifyouwanttobepartofthefamily,you’regoingtohavetobehaveyourself.Otherwise,youhavetogo.”Ineversawmyuncle looksosad,andIfelt terrible.A fewdays later I hockedmywatch for twentydollars, bought anew backpack, and hitchhiked back to my cave in California. I had blown itagain!

I stopped in Palm Springs and bought supplies before heading for thecave.IhadjustleftthemarketwhenIheardsomeonecallmyname.

“Hey,Doug!”Iturnedaround,andtherestoodJimlookingatmeintently.Thiswasthe

sameJimwhohadshownmehiscaveinTahquitzCanyonwhenIwasfifteen.“Isthatreallyyou,Batchelor?”Heshookhisheadindisbelief.“Yeah, it’sme,all right,”Iassuredhim.“I justgotbackfromanIndian

reservationinNewMexico.”Apparently Jim had heard about me again through the friends who

introducedmetojimsonweed.“Weallthoughtyouweredead,”hesaidwithagrin.“Wedidn’tseeyouafter that jimson-weedpartyatyourcave.Welookedforyourbodyfordaysandfinallygaveup.I’mgladyou’restillaround.”

“Thanks,”Imumbled.Thewholeaffairflashedintomymindagain,andIfelt embarrassed as I thought of the fool I hadmadeofmyself. “Howdid theothersmakeout?”Iaskedwithsomeconcern.

“Not too well,” Jim said. “Mark walked through some hot coals andburned his feet so badly he ended up in the hospital, but he’s out now.” Heseemedreluctanttogoon.

“HowaboutBrad?Whathappenedtohim?”Ipersisted.Jim just shook his head. After a long pause, he said, “No one really

knows.Stevetoldmethatafteryouguyspassedouthestretchedoutonthefloorinthecaveandwenttosleep.Whenhewokeupthenextmorning,everyonewasgone.Bradmayverywellbeatthebottomofthecanyonsomewhere.”

NowondertheythoughtIwasdeadtoo!IthoughtsadlyofmywildflightdownthemountainthatnightandwonderedagainhowIevercameoutalive.

IdidalotofseriousthinkingasIclimbedthepathbacktomycavethatday.NomatterhowmuchItriedtorationalizemyfeelings,Icouldn’tescapetheconviction that InotonlyhurtmyselfwhenIdidwrong,butIalsohurtothersaroundme.DidmyfoolishnesscostBradhislife?Duringthatwholeclimbupthemountaintomycave,guiltweigheddownonmemorethanthepackonmyback.

I finally reached the third valley. Leaving the trail, I turned toward thecave,andstoppeddeadinmytracks.Comingaroundalargeboulderinthepath,Ialmostranhead-onintoayoungman.Momentarilystartled,webothstopped

andlookedateachother.“Howdy,”Isaidatlast.“Name’sDoug.”“I’mGlen,”heanswered.Wenoddedtoeachother.“Whatchadoin’uphere?”Iasked.“Ilivehere.”“Whereat?”

“Mycave,”heansweredtimidly.Hejerkedathumboverhisshoulder,indicatingsomewherebehindhim.“DoyouknowJimandSunny?”Iasked.

“Yeah.”Tomyself,Ithought,“What’swrongwiththisguy?Doesn’theknowhow

totalk?”Bynowitwasobviousthatheenjoyedhislittlegameofonequestionata

time,soIgrinned.“Well,I’vecomebackupheretolive.Myplaceisthatbigcaveunderthe

boulder.”Ipointedtotheprominentrockahead.IstudiedhimcarefullyasItalkedtohim.Hewasasmallman,aboutfive

feet, seven inches tall,with a scruffy beard and penetrating brown eyes.Eventhoughheappearedtobeabouttwenty-fiveyearsold,hislightbrownhairwasthinontopandrecededalittle.Hisskinhadgrowndarkfromhisoutdoorliving.Somethingaboutthischaracterintriguedme.Hisreluctancetotalkgavemetheimpression that he hoarded some secret, and I wonderedwhat it was. Later IlearnedthathisparentshadbeenmedicalmissionariestoIndia.Thepeopleandthe schools in India were so different that when the family moved back toAmerica it took some adjusting.He felt uncomfortable aroundAmerican kidsand kept largely to himself. In spite of his great intellect and talents, he hadnevermarried.Nowheseemedtoberunningawayfromlife.

Asitturnedout,thetwoofusweretheonlyoccupantsofthisvalleyandwould be for the next few months. He liked my talkative ways, and I wasintrigued by hismysterious quietness.However, for now,we said goodbye toeachotherwithapromisetovisiteachothersoon.

When I arrived back at my cave, I wasn’t surprised to find that mysupplieshaddisappeared.Afterall,IhadbeeninNewMexicoforthreemonths,andmyfriendsthoughtIwasdead.WhatdidsurprisemewasthattheBiblewasstilllyingtherewhereIhadputit.Avoicesaid,“Pickitupandreadit,Doug,”butIstifledthevoiceanddecidedtoreaditlater.First,Ihadtofixtheplaceupagain.

IhummedasIputawaymysupplies.Themusicofthewatergurgledlikehappychildrenchatteringamongthemselves.Thesunshoneoverhead,abreezewhisperedamong thesycamore trees,anda linnetoutsidesangcheerily. Iwashome!

Oneafternoonas I sat inmycaveand rolledacigarette, Ihearda faint“meow.”Isatstillandcockedmyheadtolisten.

“Meow.”Sureenough,itsoundedlikeacat.Therewerebobcatsandmountainlions

uphere,butthiswasacat-cat.Howwouldakittycatgetwayuphereinthesedesertmountains,Iwondered?ThenIsawit.Hoppingovertherocksacrossthecreekwasthemostbeautifulblack-and-whitecatwithlongPersianfur.

“Wheredidyoucomefrom?”Iasked.Ineverfoundouttheanswertothatquestion,butforthenextyearanda

half,“Stranger”madehimselfathomeinmycave.Hewasafiercehunterandwouldsupplyagoodpartofhisownfoodbycatchingsquirrels,birds,and,ofcourse, mice. None of these creatures lasted long in my cave after Strangerarrived.

Sometimes at night,whenhehad finishedhunting, hewouldhopup inmy bedroom cave and gently push my nose with his paw until I lifted theblankets.Thenhewouldcrawldowntomyfeetandcurlupandpurr.Iconfessthat it was a very relaxing sensation for me, but once, when he had lost anargumentwithaskunk,Ihadtoevicthimforaweek.

I spent many happy hours exploring my canyon and the surroundingcountry until I knew it like the back ofmyhand.From spring till fall, hikingenthusiasts would come up on week-ends and frequently stopped by to askdirectionsortositandtalk.

One day Glen and I were hiking out of the canyon to town, whensuddenlywe heard amoaning sound.Looking over a nearby ledge,we saw ayoungman sitting on the edge of a rock, groaning and shaking. Blood oozedfromagashinhisscalpandrandownonesideofhisface.Hisclothesweretornandhisbodycoveredwithscrapes,bruises,anddriedblood.Wehurrieddowntohim.

“What happened?” I gasped.He continued to groan and rock back andforth, but did not answer. Apparently he was in shock and oblivious to ourpresence.

Glen glanced up. “Looks like he fell fromup there.”He pointed to theridgeahundredfeetaboveus.“Idon’tknowwhythefalldidn’tkillhim.”

“We’dbettergoforhelp!”Isaid.Ileanedoverandputmyfaceclosetotheman’s ear. “We’ll be back,man. Just hang in there!”Glen and I took offdownthetrailtowardPalmSprings,andI’msurewebrokearecordforgettingoffthatmountain.

AttheMayfairMarketwephonedtheSearchandRescueoffice.“Quick!”Igasped.“There’samanhurtbadlyupinTahquitzCanyon.Hefelloffthetrail.He’shurtbadly!”

Afterafewhurriedexchangesofquestionsandanswers,theytoldmetheywouldsendoutatwo-manteaminahelicopterrightaway.Wehurriedbackupthe trail to staywith the injuredman and to flag the helicopter and show theparamedicswheretogo.

Thechopperfoundaplacetohover.Twomenscrambledoutandhurriedoverwiththeirequipment,whilethepilotkepttheenginerunning.

Glen and I stood andwatched. The paramedics quickly took theman’svitalsigns,startedanIV,andstrappedhimontoastretcher.

Therewasnoflatareaforthehelicoptertoland,sotheskilledpilotrestedone runneron theedgeofa little cliff.The fourofuscarried the injuredmanslowlyuptherockyhillsidetothechopper.Thepoorfellowgroanedeverytimeour feet slipped.Aswe neared the chopper, I became concerned formy ownsafety.The rotatingblades churned the air about us, anddust and cactus ballstumbled about everywhere in the swirling dust. It was easy to see that if thesmallrockthechopperrestedongaveway,itwoulddroponusandturnusintohamburger.Butwe soonhad the injuredman fasteneddown securely, and thewhirlybirdroseandsoaredofftothehospital.

LaterIranintothehelicopterpilotintown,andhetoldmethattheyoungmanhadbeendrinkingwhenhefell.“Hewasluckyyoutwocamealongwhenyoudid,”thepilotsaid.

Ifeltgoodabouthelpingwitharescue.Thatmarkedthebeginningofmyfriendshipwith theRiversideSearchandRescue team.Lostand injuredhikerswere all too common in those rugged mountains. On many occasions thehelicopterteamwouldflylowovermycaveandaskme,bywayofabullhorn,ifI had seen a hiker. I would answer with gestures or by waving a red towel.Although Iwas a trespasser—for thiswas a reservation for theAguaCaliente

Indians—noone botheredmebecause ofmy cooperationwith theSearch andRescueteam.

Mostofthepeoplewhofellhadbeendrinkingorusingdrugs.Notallofthevictimshadhappyendings.Walkingalonganarrowclifftrailwatchingtheirfooting,hikerswouldforgetthehighbackpackthatstuckupbehindthem.Everynowandthenapackwouldbumpintooverhangingrocks,andthebumpwouldsendthemhurtlingintothecanyonbelow.

Somehikerstriedfollowingacreekdownthemountainandendedupinadeathrap.Aseriesofthreepoolsatthebottomofthethirdvalleyluredthem.Inordertoreachthefirstpool,theyhadtoslidedownasteep,almostverticalwall.Farther down the creek they came to the secondpool, also at the bottomof asteep-sided boulder. As they saw the third pool they continued their journeydownward.Whattheycouldnotseewasthe100-footwaterfallbelowthethirdpool. By the time they reached that point, theywere trapped.Without specialequipment,therewasnowayout.Tryingtoclimbbackupwouldbemuchlikeabeetletryingtoclimbuptheinsideofaglassjar.Somediedofexposure.Othersstarved or died of snakebite, and one older man died of a heart attack afterfallingintothecoldwaterofthepool.

When Iwent shopping in town, Iwasappalledat the streetpeoplewhodugindumpstersbehindthefoodmarkets.“Watchadoin’?”IaskedthefirsttimeIsawthem.

“Oh,we’re treasurehunting.The stores throwawaya lotofgoodstuff,especiallybananas.”

“Yuck!”Ithoughttomyself.“Iwouldnevertakefoodfromsuchastinkyspot.Thosepeoplehavenoself-respect.”

Every time I came to town, I saw these people rummaging through thegarbage.FinallyIgrewcuriousenoughthatIedgedcloser.SoonIwaspointingout thingsIcouldsee,andbefore longI, too,wasrooting throughthegarbagewith thebestof them.Myfavorite findswere thebrown-freckledbananas thatwere tooripefor thestores tosell,but just right formakingmybananabread.WefoundlotsofbreadandpizzabehindabakerycalledNicolino’s.Insteadofsellingitasday-old,theythrewitaway,andwecouldalwaysfindagoodsupply.Later,whenIbecameaChristian,Ithought,“Sinislikedigginginthegarbage!Atfirstitseemsodiousanddistasteful,butasyoubecomemoreaccustomedtoit,itseemslessso,andfinallyyou’reinitalltheway.”

I soon became friendswith the street people in Palm Springs.None ofthem had normal names like Bob or Jim. They all had nicknames like CrazyDan,Railroad,orPackRat.OnedayafriendnamedRicowasteasingmeamongsomeof our buddies. “You’re a caveman,” he said. “We can’t call youDouganymore.We’llcallyouDuh-ugh.Yep.That’s the firstwordeverspokenbyacaveman.Duh-ugh.”

“I’dmuchpreferbeingplainDoug,oreven‘caveman,’”Isaid.“ButnotDuh-ugh.”

SotheycalledmeCaveMan,andthenameisstillwithmeamongthesefriends.

The street people had some comical ways. Little Richie, a youngmanaboutfourfeet,tenincheshigh,wouldsleepinaGoodWilldropboxatnight.Hewasjustsmallenoughtofitthroughthetrapdoor,andhelikedsleepingtherebecause the old clothes people threw inmade a nice, soft bed. But early onemorningbeforeRichiewokeup,someonedecided todonate theiroldpotsandpanstoGoodWill.YoucanimagineRichie’ssurprisewhenpotsandpansbeganclatteringdownonhishead.Andyoucanimaginethedonor’ssurprisewhenheheard,“Hey,cutitout!”echoingfromthedropbox!

Then therewasCrazyDan.HehadblownhismindonLSDandwouldarguewiththemannequinsinthestorewindows.

IcouldplayarecorderwhenIfirstmovedtothecave,butrecordersaresomewhat limited, and I found myself wishing for something more versatile.WhenmybrotherwroteandaskedwhatIwantedformybirthday,Iaskedforaflute.

Afewweekslaterapackagearrived.Iopenediteagerly,andtherelayabeautiful new silverYamaha flute in a fine blue-velvet case. Learning to playturnedouttobeharderthanIthought,butIhadplentyoftime,andeventuallyIcouldplaywellenoughtomakepeoplethinkIknewwhatIwasdoing.WhenIwenttotowntoshopafterthat,Itookmyflutealong.Iwouldfindagoodspotinfrontof thebookstorewhereotherhippieshungoutandwouldsitdowncross-leggedon thewalkandplaymy flute.Occasionallypassersbywould stopandlisten,andsometimesdropcoinsintothecupIhadsittinginfrontofme.WhenIthought Ihadcollectedenough todomyshopping, Iwouldscoopupmy takeand head for the Mayfair Market to buy the items the dumpsters failed toprovide.

11

DiscoveringtheTruth

The novelty of cave life eventually wore off, and not much was happening.Surroundedbythegrandeurofnature,mythoughtsturnedmoretoGod.Ilongedfor thatelusive innerpeacethathadbroughtmeto thisplace in thebeginning,and I spent a lotof timewithbooksonphilosophyandEastern religions.TheEasternreligionstoldmetomeditate,tolookwithin,becausethereIwouldfindGod.But themoreI lookedwithin, themoredissatisfiedIbecame,forIknewthatontheinsideIwasamess.

Mymind had been biased against the Christian religion by my Jewishrelatives,who,of course,didnot accept Jesusas theMessiah. Ihadbeen toldthat Christianity was the cause of all the wars of European history—thecrusades, the massacres of the Dark Ages, and the wars in Ireland betweenCatholicsandProtestants.

One thing IhadheardaboutJesusChristdid intrigueme, though. Ihadbeentold,erroneously,thatHetaughtreincarnation.Idecidedtolookintothat.Imightevenfindammunitiontouseagainst theJesusfreakswholikedtoarguereligionwithme.

OnedayItooktheBibledownfromtherockshelfandwipedoffthedust.It said, “Holy Bible, King James Version.” I wondered who King James’s“virgin”was,foreventhoughIhadfinishedtheninthgradeIwasnotafluentreader,andImisreadtheword.OpeningtheBibletotheinsidecover,Ifoundahandwrittenmessage:“BornagainJuly12,1972. It ismyprayer thatwhoeverfindsthisBiblewillreaditandfindthepeaceandjoythatIfound.”Belowthatwasmybenefactor’ssignature.

“Well,” I thought, “I’m looking forpeace, all right,but Idoubt that I’llfindithere.”Nevertheless,Isatdownonmychairandbegantoread.Everytime

I came to thewordbrethren, I thought it saidbreathing. “Thismust be somespiritualterm,”Ithought.You’dbeamazedhowmuchbreathingtheydointhebookofActs!

Even though I struggled with the King James’s outdated language, thestories captivated me. It seemed that a divine presence stood by my side,impressingmethatthiswastruth.IlikedthestoryofAdamandEveandwishedthatIcouldbelieveit,becauseitwouldhelpmetofeelbetteraboutmyself. IfGodcreated the firstmanandwoman, thatmademeadescendentofa sonofGod,notadescendentofsomeamoebaormonkey!AsIreadonIfoundmyselfreliving those early events. It saddenedme thatAdamandEvedisobeyedandhadtoleavetheGardenofEden.

ThestoryoftheFloodgrippedmyimagination.Ifwaterhadcoveredthewholeearth,nowonderIhadfoundfossilsofsealifeat7,000feetwhenIlivedin New Mexico. It also explained why the walls of my canyon were wornsmooth hundreds of feet high. A catastrophic flood carrying tons of silt as itsurgedbackandforthmademoresensethananythingmyteachershadtaughtmeinschool.

Whenmychairbecametoohard,Igotupandwenttomyhammockandcontinued reading. When hunger pangs began to gnaw at my stomach, IreluctantlylaidtheBibledownandfixedmyselfalunch.ThenIsatdownbeforemy“table”(anoverturnedbucket),laidtheBibleonmyknee,andcontinuedtoreadbetweenbites.

Jacob remindedme ofmyself. His deceitful trick got him in trouble athome,forcinghimtofleeforhislife.IthoughtofallthetimesIhadrunawayfromhome.Thepartwherehefinallyreturnedtohisfathernearlybroughttearstomyeyes.

I read and reread the Ten Commandments. They seemed to be such aperfectsetofrules!Inoticedthatthefourthcommandmentsaidtokeepholytheseventh day, so I looked at an old calender in my bedroom cave. “Isn’t thatSaturday?”Iwondered.ThenIreadthecommandmentsathirdtime.“Ifpeoplewouldjustlivebytheserules,howdifferentourworldwouldbe!”Ithought.

IbegantobogdownwhenIgotintothelatterpartofExoduswithallthenames I couldn’t pronounce, and I finally laid the Bible aside, but my mindcontinuedplayingthosestoriesbacktome,andIbegantorealizethatGoddidconcernHimselfwithhumanaffairs.

OnedayIranintoaJesusfreakintown,butinsteadofavoidinghimasIusuallydid, I toldhimIhadbeenreading theBible.“But thestoriesended,”Isaidsadly.“Fromthereon,it’sallnamesandnumbers,anditkeepsrepeatingthesamestuff.Aren’tthereanymoregoodstories?”

“Sure,theBibleisfullofthem,”hereplied.“Whydon’tyoutrytheNewTestament?Matthew,Mark,Luke,andJohn.They’reallaboutJesusChrist.”

“I’mnotsureIbelieveinJesusChrist,”Isaidslowly.Hedidn’targue.“It’suptoyou,”hesaid.IdecidedthatIwouldtrytheNewTestament.Matthewstartedoutwitha

genealogy,andIbegantothinkIhadmadeamistake,butIsoongotoutofthe“begats”andwashappytofindthatthestoryhadaplotafterall.IreallyhadmyguardupwhenIbeganMatthew,butinsteadoffindingJesustobeadeceivingcharlatanseekinggloryforHimself,IfoundHimtobeawarm,powerful,caring,forgiving person who went about teaching people, healing them, and raisingthemfromthedead.

I felt a divine presence assuringme that this was truth, but Satan stillhung around creating doubt. “You don’t even know that such a person evenexisted.MaybeHe’sjustafantasyinventedbycleverwriters!”hewhispered.

Well,maybe, but I’d check and seewhat I could find out. I visited thepublic library in Palm Springs. I learned that not only was Jesus a historicalfigure;Hewas so important that all history is calculated from the date ofHisbirth!

IfinishedreadingMatthewandstartedonMark,whotoldmuchthesamestory, but it seemed more action packed. I really loved the book of Luke,especiallythestoryoftheProdigalSon.IfeltthatIwasthatrebellioussonwhoneededtoturntomyheavenlyFather.

LukealsotoldthestoryoftheGoodSamaritan.Ithoughtofallthepeoplewho had passed me by when I was down and out hitchhiking. Then thatChristian came along, like the Samaritan, and helped me. I began to seeChristianityinanewlight,andallotherreligionspaledincomparison.Insteadoftellingmetolookinwardforstrength,ittoldmetolooktoJesus.HewouldgivemetherestandforgivenessIwassearchingfor.

The book of John, with its profound concepts of God and His love,thrilledme,andIcouldfeelJesusdrawingme.

BythetimeIfinishedthefourGospels,IknewIhadtodecidewhattodoaboutJesus.IknewHereallylived,butwhowasHe?Icouldseethreeoptions.EitherHewascrazy,Hewasaliar,orHewaswhoHeclaimedtobe,theSonofGod.

Iwantedwithallmyhearttoknowthetruth.Itdidn’toccurtomethatIcouldprayforguidance,but I’msureGodunderstoodthe longingofmyheartandhelpedmetothinkitthrough.

“CouldHehavebeencrazy?”Iaskedmyself.I thoughtof themany timesHehadsilencedHisenemiesby justa few

words.IthoughtofthepowerofHiswords,liketheSermonontheMount,andhowHe read the thoughtsand intentionsofpeople’shearts.No, Idecided,Hewasnotcrazy.Hewasbrilliant.

“WasHealiarandadeceiver?”IthoughtofHislifeofunselfishministry,howHewentabouthealingthe

sick, raising the dead, and casting out demons. He devoted His entire life topromoting truth and exposing hypocrisy.HadHe been a liar, He could easilyhaveliedatHistrialandescapeddeath.Iwasaterrificliar,andtheysayittakesonetoknowone.No,Hewasnotaliar.

Thatleftonlyoneconclusion.JesushadtobewhoHeclaimedtobe—Godmadefleshandcometoearth

todwellamongus.Asthisrealizationdawneduponme,Ifelltomykneesrightthereonthefloorofmycave.“LordJesus!”Icriedaloud.“IbelievethatYouaretheSonofGodandmySaviour.IbelievethatYoupaidformysins.IwantYoutocomeintomylifeandshowmehowtofollowYou.”

SatanhastenedtodiscouragemeinthestepIwastaking.Icouldactuallyfeeltheforcesofgoodandevilpunchingitoutinmyheart.

“Whatareyoudoing?”Satanasked.“You’vebeenupheretoolong.Hereyouare,talkingtoyourself!Anyhow,you’reahopelesssinner.Rememberallthewickedthingsyouhavedone?You’vegonetoofar.”

“But what have I got to lose, except my sin and guilt?” I answered.“Jesus,IknowI’vedonealotofmean,stupidthings.I’msorry.WillYoupleaseforgiveallofthem?AndwillYoupleasechangeme?”

Iremainedonmykneesalittlelonger.Ididn’tfeellightningoranythingdramatic,butsomehowIknewthatGodheardmyprayerandforgavemysins.

MyheartbegantofillwiththesweetestpeaceIhadeverexperienced.SlowlyIrosetomyfeetandlookedabout.Thewholeworldseemedmorebeautiful.Themusicof thewaterfall, theclearwaterofmypool, the swaying trees, thebluesky—what a wonderful world God hadmade for people to live in!My heartsang,andIlongedtosharemyhappinesswithsomeone.

I didn’t quit smoking that day. I didn’t quit drinking, nor did I stopsmokingpot.Goddidn’toverwhelmmebyshowingmeallthechangesIwouldneed tomake inmy life,butHedidacceptme,and Iknew that Ibelonged toChrist.TheHolySpiritwouldconvictmeofmysinsonebyoneas Igrew ingrace.

AcoupleofdayslateraBaptistguycamehikingbymycaveandstoppedtochat.Immediatelyourconversationturnedtoreligion,andItoldhimallaboutmy surrender to Jesus. “That’s great, Doug! I’m so happy for you,” he saidsincerely,“butyouhaven’tbeenbaptized,haveyou?”

“Why,no,”Iadmittedslowly.“Ihadn’teventhoughtaboutit.Wheredoesitsaythat?”HetookmyBibleandquicklyturnedtothebookofMatthew.“Hereit is,Matthew28:19:‘Goyetherefore,andteachallnations,baptizingtheminthenameoftheFather,andoftheSon,andoftheHolyGhost.’”

“Well, I guess that’s plain enough,” I admitted, “but how can I bebaptized?Idon’tevenknowapreacher.”

“That’snoproblem,”hesaid.“Here’swater.I’llbaptizeyou.”“Well,uh…”Ihesitated.“OK!Ifthat’swhatI’msupposedtodo,let’sdo

it.I’llgetsomethingtodryoffwith.”Itooktwotowelsfrommyshelfandlaidthemonthegroundbesidethepool.Webothgaspedaswesteppedintotheice-coldwater.

“Hold on to my left wrist,” he said. I grasped it with both hands. Heraisedhisrighthandabovemyheadandsaidsolemnly,“BrotherDoug,becauseofyourfaithinJesusChristastheSonofGod,InowbaptizeyouinthenameoftheFather,andoftheSon,andoftheHolyGhost.Amen.”Heloweredmeintothewater,thenraisedmeup.Webothscrambledoutofthatcoldwater,butIfeltecstaticaswedriedourdrippingbodies.

My ecstasy was short-lived, though. Later that day I hiked to town tocelebratemybaptismwithacoupleofbeers.Somethinginsidesaid,“No,Doug,Christiansdon’tdrink.”

“But didn’t Jesus drink wine?” I reasoned. “Didn’t He turn water into

wine?”IhadnotbeentaughtthatintheBiblethewordwineoftenmeans“grapejuice.” Sometimes, when it was fermented, it was called “mixed wine” or“strong drink.” Later I was to discover that in reality, the Bible taught thatdrinkingisfoolishandwicked(seeProverbs20:1).

Ihadusedmanydrugsinmylife,includingLSD,hash,uppers,downers,THC, PCP, and cocaine, but none of these drugs was more addicting ordangerous than alcohol.More than half of the highway deaths are caused byalcohol, and more than half the people in prisons, hospitals, and mentalinstitutionsaretherebecauseofalcohol.

Ididn’tplantogetdrunkthatday,butafteronebeer,mywillpowerwasweakened,soIhadsomemorewithafriend,andbeforethesunwentdownonmybaptismIwasarrestedforpublicmisconduct.

My Baptist friend had overlooked the important next verse. “Go yetherefore,andteachallnations,baptizingtheminthenameoftheFather,andoftheSon,andoftheHolyGhost:teachingthemtoobserveallthingswhatsoeverIhavecommandedyou.”Hehadn’ttaughtmehowtolivetheChristianlife.InhisdefenseIwillsaythatteachinganewChristiantakesalotoftime,andhewasjusthikingbymycavethatday.GodusedhimtostartmeonmyChristianwalk.Later,otherChristianstaughtmehowtolivetheChristianlife.

IfeltashamedwhenIwasreleasedfromjailthenextday,butsomehowIknewthatGodwouldforgiveme,andIcontinuedtoreadandpray.Ibegantowatch for signs that the Lordwaswithme. I read in Scripture, “Give thanksalways.”ItookGodatHisword.IfIbumpedmyheadorhurtmyselfinsomeway,Isaid“ThankYou,Lord.”Ididn’twanttoletthedevilmakemecurse,andIknewthatIcouldn’tthankGodandcurseatthesametime.

IfeltdisappointedthatGlenseemeduninterestedinmynewhappiness.Icouldn’t understand his attitude, but I didn’t let this dampen my spirits. Myenthusiasmgrewdaily,andIbegantopraythatGodwouldopenawayformetowitnessforHim.“Butthatmightbetoohard,evenforGod,”Ithought.“There’snooneuphereexceptGlen,andhedoesn’twanttolisten.”

LittledidIsuspectwhatGodhad instoreforme—orforGlen!Ididn’trealize at the time thatGlenwas interested in spiritual things,but a fewyearslater,herecommittedhislifetoGod.

12

StarforaDay

AfewdaysafterIhadprayedthatGodwouldshowmehowIcouldwitnessforHim,Ihikedoutof thecanyontomakemymonthlyphonecall tomymother.Shesoundedexcitedwhensheheardmyvoice.

“Oh,Doug,guesswhat!”shebubbled.“IwashavinglunchwiththisTVnews reporter fromCBS, and he thought that something about amillionaire’ssonlivinginacavewouldmakeagoodhumanintereststory.Hewantstocomeupanddoit.”

“Great,”Isaid.BeingonTVsoundedexciting.IguessIinheritedsomeofMom’sloveofthetheatrical.“Whenaretheycoming?”Iasked.

“I don’t know. Callme tomorrow. I should know by then,” she said. Imadethelonghikeoutandbackseveraltimesthatweek,butitwasalwaysthesame,“Callbacktomorrow.”

Finally,inherfrustrationwithCBS,MomcontactedNBC.Theyjumpedatthestory.At9:30thenextmorningImetmymotherandtwotelevisioncrews,CBS’s and NBC’s. Both crews had unwittingly boarded the same plane andarrivedat theairport together.A loudargumenterupted immediatelyoverwhowouldget thestory. Itwasallveryembarrassing tome.Mom,blessherheart,wadedrightinandactedasreferee.

“Youhadyourchance,”shetoldtheCBSmen.“Mysonkeptmakingtripsdownandbackeveryday,andyoujustkeptusdangling.We’regivingthestorytoNBC.”

TheCBSmangrewredinthefaceandbeganyellingatMom.“Don’tyourealize, lady,thatit takesalotofworktosetsomethinglikethisup?Thiswas

thesoonestIcouldgetallthearrangementsmade,”hesputtered.“Thatmay be, but it sure didn’t takeNBC long to get it together,” she

countered.“Theygetthestory,andthat’sthat!”“Doyouhave any ideahowmuchmoney this is costingmycompany?

Madam,youaredespicable!”Withthat,hetookhiscrewandstormedoff.AtfirstIwondered,“Lord,whydiditallhavetohappenthisway?”Later

I learned that the CBS newsman had brought along a pair of leopard Tarzanshortstowear,andheplannedtomakeacomedyofthewholething.GodknewallalongwhatHewasdoing!

The flap didn’t botherMom, though. She had things organized in shortorder,andwestartedmovingout.Ourhelicopterpilot,PeteScott,hadtomaketwo trips to get everyone up to the third canyon, but it didn’t take long in achopper.

WhatathrilltoseethetrailIhadhikedoversomanytimesfromtheair!It tookagreatdealof skill to land.Therewasno roomto land in frontof thecave,soPetefoundalargeboulderdowncanyonthatwasflatenoughtorestonerunner on, and he hovered while the passengers got themselves and theirequipmentoff.

PeteandIkneweachotherprettywell.HewasthesamePetewhoworkedontheSearchandRescueteam,andhealwayscheckedwithmewhensearchingforalosthiker.Hewasamusedatallthefussbeingmadeoverhishippyfriend.

When they were ready to shoot, they gave me some instructions andbeganfilming.Firsttheyhadmehikingupthetrailwithmypackonmyback.Thentheyaskedmetobuildafireandcooksomething.Theyfilmedmycave,insideandout—myhammock,thelittlewaterfall, thepool,mychair,andeventheplasticcanthatdoubledasatableandasafood-storagecontainertokeepthevarmintsout.

“Whatelsedoyoudobesidescookandeat?”thedirectorasked.“Oh,sometimesIexplore,sometimesImakethings,sometimesIread,”I

said.“SometimesIswiminthepool.”His face lightedup. “Howabout takinga little swim forus?”heasked.

“Thatwouldmakeagoodclosingshot.”

Ihesitatedandlookeddown.Finally,Isaid,“Idon’thaveabathingsuit.”“Oh, that’s no problem,” he assured me. “My camera crew are

professionals.Theycangetsomegoodshotsfromfarenoughawaythatnobodycantell.”

Ithoughtforamoment.“OK,”Isaid.“Ifyoudon’tmind,Idon’t,”andIpeeledoffmyclothes.Thecrewmovedbackasfarastheycould.Iclimbedtheboulderabouttwentyfeetabovethepoolanddivedin.Thedirectorandcameracrew were delighted. I swam around a minute or two, the cameras whirringaway.MomstoodonthesideandhandedmeatowelasIclimbedout.(Itwasimpossibletoshockher.)AfterIdressed,thedirectorsaidheneededtoaskmesomequestionsfortheinterview.“Fireaway!”Isaid.

“Yourfatherisamultimillionaire.Yourmotherisinshowbusiness.Youcouldwriteyourownticket—beanythingyouwanttobe.Whydoyouwanttoliveinaplacelikethis,awayfromthecomfortsofcivilization?”

I thought a moment. “I guess I was a coward, running away from thediscipline of life. I wanted to be able to do my own thing. Everything andeverybody around me seemed so phony. It was a dog-eat-dog society. I wasalwaysgettingintotrouble,andIknowIhadarealattitudeproblem.OuthereIfeelgreat.Igetplentyofsunshine,freshair,andexerciseclimbingthemountaintrails.

“I foundaBible inmycave,and it taughtmeaboutJesusChrist.He ischangingmylife,andIhavefinallyfoundthejoyandpeaceIwasseeking.NowthatIhavefoundJesus,Iwanttotelltheworld.Iamafreemannow,formysinsareforgiven.IwisheverybodycouldbeashappyasIam,hereinmycavewithGod,surroundedbythethingsHehasmade.”

When I had finishedmy little speech, they filmedmeplaying the flute;thentheyputawaytheirgear,andweallreturnedtoPalmSprings.

“WhenwillthisbeonTV?”Iaskedthedirector.“Itwillbeon three times today—thefiveo’clocknews, the teno’clock

news,andtheeleveno’clocknews,”hesaid.“How can they do that?” I asked skeptically. “It’s almost two o’clock

now.”

“Oh,you’llsee,”hesaidwithatwinkleinhiseye.“We’reprofessionals,remember?”ButIstillhadmydoubts.

“There’sjustonethingmore,”Isaid.“Pleasedon’tsaywherethisplaceis.Idon’twantmycaveturnedintoatouristattraction.”

“Iunderstand.I’llpassthatontothechief,”hepromised.Afterweallflewdownthehill,Idecidedtostayintownandseeifthey

reallymade it in time for the five o’clock news. I had no TV at the cave, ofcourse, and I wondered where I could go to watch. I couldn’t just ringsomebody’sdoorbellandaskifIcouldwatchthefiveo’clocknews.AsIwalkedalong, I spottedahotelacross thestreet.“That’s it!” I saidaloud.“I’llask thehotelclerkifIcanwatchitontheTVinthelobby.”

Thegirlatthedeskreluctantlygaveherpermission,soIturnedonthesetandtunedintothenews.Iwassoexcited,Icouldhardlysitstill.IwishedthatIcouldhavetoldsomeofmyfriendssotheycouldseeit,too,butitwastoolateforthat.Justthen,IsawJoe,apolicemanfriend,parkinginfrontofthehotel.Iranout andgrabbedhim.“Comehere, Joe.There’s something Iwant to showyou!”Isaidexcitedly.

“Whatisit?I’monduty,andIdon’thavetime,”heprotested.“It won’t take but a fewminutes,” I assured him. “They’re showing a

localcriminalonthefiveo’clocknews.”“Oh,yeah?”Hiseyebrowsraised.“Who’sthat?”“You’llsee,”Isaid.Wehadtowatchawhile,andJoewasabouttoleave,whenahelicopter

flyingoverthecanyonappearedonthescreen.“InTahquitzCanyon,justafewmilesoutofPalmSprings,there’saveritableparadise,”thenewscasterbegan.

“Oh,no!” Igroaned.“They toldwheremycave is!”But Ididn’tworryabout it toomuch right then. Iwas too excited seeingmyself hiking the trail,buildingthecampfire,andcooking.IshotaglanceatJoe.Hesatontheedgeofhischair,drinkingitallin.Ifeltlikeacelebrity.Ididfeelapprehensiveabouttheshotofmedivingintothepoolintheraw,butthecameracrewhandleditwell,justas thedirectorhadsaidtheywould.Isighedwithrelief.WhenImademyspeechattheendoftheprogram,Joeraisedhiseyebrowsandlookedatme.

“AreyouaChristian,Doug?”NoonehadeveraskedmethatsinceIbeganreadingtheBible.IwonderedifIweregoodenoughtosayYes.“Tryingtobe,”Iresponded.

“I’m glad to hear that!” Joe’s eyes twinkled. “I teach a Sunday Schoolclass.Hanginthere,CaveMan.You’reontherighttrack.”

Later,oneofmyfriendstoldmethathewatchedthenewscastthreetimes

thatdaywhileinjail.Ididn’tknowitthen,butlifeformewouldneverbequitethesame.Afewdayslater,onmywaytotown,ImetahikeronCougarTrail.“Hi!

Whereareyouheaded?”Iasked.“I’mheadinguptoseeafellowinthethirdcanyon.Helivesinacave—

sawhimonTV!”hesaidexcitedly.WithdifficultyIkeptastraightface.“Really?”Iasked.“Whoishe?Tellmeabouthim.”Hebegantotellmeallaboutmyself,addingsomeinterestinginformation

thatevenIdidn’tknow.FinallyIcouldstanditnolonger.“Hey,friend,”Isaid,“there’ssomethingI’dbettertellyou.Thisguythat

livesinthecave?”“Yeah?”Helookedatmequestioningly.“It’sme!I’mthatguy—theoneyousawonTV.”He looked at me and smirked. “Very funny,” he said. “You don’t look

anything like this guy. I’d know him anywhere!” An interesting conversationfollowed,andI’mnotsureheeverquitebelievedme.

AfterthatIneverknewwhenI’dhavevisitors.Sometimestheycameinsingles, sometimes in groups. I would feed them banana bread and sharemynew-found happiness with them. I didn’t need to worry about someone towitnessto.Mycavehadbeenturnedintoatouristattraction.

IthinkGodhadareasonforlettingtheTVstoryreportthelocationofmycave!

13

TryingtheChurches

Agrowingdesiresprangupinmyheartforfellowshipwithotherbelievers,andIbegan toattendsomeof thechurches in town.Oneplace I liked tovisitwascalledTheJoshuaHouse.ItwasmorelikeaChristianhome.Theowner,Homer,invited people in as guests or residents. He’d conduct worship and classes toteach the street people about God. He had a work program, too, which theresidents participated in.We’d sing hymns, pray, and give our testimonies. Agroupof pretty girls among the guests increasedmy interest in this place, butnoneofthemwereveryinterestedinagrubbyhippiewhoknewsolittleaboutbeingaChristian.AlthoughIenjoyedChristianfellowshipthere,itreallywasn’tlikeachurch.HomerattendedaPentecostalchurchandencouragedustodothesame.

I did visit his church, and several others too. Some of them werecharismatic,andthemembersspokein tongues.IattendedaplacecalledFaithCenterandalsostudiedwiththeMormonsandJehovah’sWitnesses.Ifoundthatmost churches taught that theirs was the true church and the others were allwrong. One pastor said, “Unless you speak in tongues, you don’t have thebaptismoftheHolySpirit.”

BackatthecaveIstudieduponthesubject,andIlearnedthatspeakingintongueswas one ofmany gifts that are given towhom theSpiritchooses. TosomeHegaveonegift, toothersHegaveothergifts,butnowherecouldIfindthat apersonhad to speak in tongues tohave theHolySpirit.The fruitof theSpirit was not tongues, but love, joy, peace, etc. I also noticed that when theHolySpiritwaspouredoutatPentecost, theapostlesspokereal languages thatwereunderstoodby thevisiting Jewswho spoke those languages.Theydidn’tjustpraiseGodinsomeheavenlylanguagethatnobodyunderstood.

IfeltfrustratedatallthedisagreementsChristianshadamongthemselves,andatthewaytheysometimesactedsounchristiantowardeachother.Icouldn’tunderstandit.Didn’ttheBiblesay,“Onehope,onefaith,onebaptism”?SurelysomewhereoutthereGodhadatruechurch,butwhichonewasit?Iwentbacktothemountainstostudyandprayforguidance.

Onenight Istood in frontofmycavegazingupat thestars.Theblack,velvety skyglitteredwithpinpointsof light, andheaven seemedvery real andnear.“HowgreatGodistohangallthosestarsinspace!”ThenIthoughtofthedifferentchurches,eachclaimingtobethetrueone.Idroppedtomykneesandprayed, “Lord,You’vebroughtme a longway, and I know I still have a longwaytogo,buttheremustbeachurchsomewherethatgoesjustbytheBible.Idon’tcarewhichchurchitis.IfYou’lljustshowme,I’llacceptit.”Iremainedonmykneesamomentlonger.Peacefilledmyheart,andonceagainIknewthatGodhadheardmyprayer.

The next day Glen came by. Even though he didn’t claim to be aChristian,hewasmyfriend,andthefrustrationofmyheartspilledout.“WhatamIgoingtodo?Onechurchsaysonething,andanotherchurchsayssomethingelse, and they all claim to believe the Bible. I read most of the Bible, butsometimesIdon’tunderstand it. Idon’tknowwhichone is right.”Glendidn’tsaymuch.Heseemedtobegoingthroughsomeinternalconflict.

AfewdayslaterIwaslyingonmyhammockreadingwhenGlenshowedupagain.Hehandedmeabook.

“What’sthis?”Iasked,lookingquizzicallyatthecover.Ithadapictureoftwohandsholdingtheworld.Thetitlesaid,TheGreatControversy.

“Readit,”hesaidsimply.“Butwhatisit?”Iasked.“Readit,”hesaidagain.Hewasalwaysamanoffewwords.“Itshould

answersomeofyourquestions.”“OK,OK!”Isaid.AfterGlenleftIcheckedthebookoutmorecarefully.Ithad678pages,

andIhadneverreadabookevenhalfthatbiginmyentirelife!Well,IwouldreadafewpagestosatisfyGlen.Afterall,therewasn’tmuchelsetodo.

I skipped the introduction and started right in on chapter 1. ThewriterpaintedapictureofJerusalemasitlayspreadoutatJesus’feet.Iwascaughtupin the story at once.Although the unfamiliar language seemed difficult tome

withmylimitededucation,Ipushedon,consumingpageafterpage.“Wow!” I thought. “Whoever wrote this book speaks with authority.”

Scripture references were sprinkled generously throughout, and the narrativecamealiveasthewordsflowed.

“Whowrote this,anyway?”Iaskedanhouror twolater. I turned to thecoverandreadtheauthor’sname:“EllenG.White.”

“NexttotheBible,thisisthemostinterestingthingI’vereadinmylife,”Ithought.FinallyIclosedthebook.Lyingtherereading,Ihadgrowndrowsy.Idrifted off to sleep, but the scenes of what I had read interlacedmy dreams.When I woke up I felt impressed to read some more. For days I spent myafternoonswiththebook.

ThenexttimeIsawGlen,Iasked,“Who’sthisEllenWhite,anyway?”“Well,somepeoplebelievehertobeinspired.”“That’s what I thought,” I said. “It’s obvious that God was speaking

throughher.I’dliketomeetherandtalktohersometime.”“You’realittlelate.”Glensmiledfaintly.“Shediedin1915.”“Oh.”Iwasdisappointed,butIkeptreading,andfinallythewholeBible

began to come together andmakemore sense.Mynewbook talked about theSabbath,aboutwhenpeopledie,andaboutthefightbetweenthedevilandChristandhowthechurchsufferedduringtheDarkAges.

Iusuallyreadlyingonmyhammockunderthesycamoretreeandswungbackandforthbypushingmyfootagainstarock.Itwasthemostrelaxingplacetoread.Therewasplentyofshade,andabreezealwaysblewdownthecanyon,evenwhenthethermometerclimbedto120.Iwouldreadalittlebit,takeadivein the pool to cool off, snooze a little, and then read awhile longer. I wouldponder the chapters, and often dream about what I had learned. The bookabsorbedallmy thinkingandbroadenedmywhole impressionofGodand theBible.

IthoughtseveraltimesthatIcouldneverfinishsuchabigbook,buteverytimeIalmostgaveup I feltavoiceurgingmeon:“Goahead,youcando it.”AfterseveralweeksIcametothefinalparagraph,anditthrilledmysoul:

Thegreatcontroversy isended.Sinandsinnersarenomore.Theentireuniverse is clean. One pulse of harmony and gladness beats through the vastcreation.FromHimwhocreatedall,flowlifeandlightandgladness,throughout

therealmsofillimitablespace.Fromtheminutestatomtothegreatestworld,allthings, animate and inanimate, in their unshadowed beauty and perfect joy,declarethatGodislove(EllenG.White,TheGreatControversy,p.678).

“Wow!” I shouted as I stood to my feet, both for the joy of havingfinishedthelongbook,butmoreforGod’sultimatetriumphoverSatanandsin.ItwassomuchIcouldbarelytakeitallin.

IhikedupthecanyonandreturnedthebooktoGlen.“Doyouhaveanymorebookslikethis?”Iasked.

“Sure,lotsofthem,”hesaid.HehadbeenraisedinaChristianhome,andhisparentskeptsendinghimChristianliterature,hopingtorekindlehisinterest.In the months that followed I read The Desire of Ages, Steps to Christ,Patriarchs andProphets, andDaniel and the Revelation. I just feasted on theBibleandtheseinspiringbooks.

One thing botheredme, though, and that was this seventh-day Sabbathbusiness.TherewaslittledoubtinmymindafterreadingtheBibleandallthosebooksthatSaturdaywastheSabbath,butIdidn’twanttoacceptit.IfeltIwasalready different enough. I didn’t want to make things worse by keepingSaturdaywheneveryoneelsekeptSunday.Besides,thereweren’tanyChristianchurches thatworshiped onSaturday. I decided Iwould find away around it.SurelymySunday-keepingfriendshadgoodreasonsfortheirbeliefs.Idecidedtoasktenministers,butwhenIdidIreceivedelevenanswers.

Oneministersaid,“Thelawhasbeendoneawaywith.Wedon’thavetokeeptheSabbath.”

“Oh,” I said, “does that mean we don’t have to keep the TenCommandments?”

“Oh,no.Wekeeptheothernine,”headmitted.“Doyoumean theonewe’re supposed to forget is theoneGod said to

remember?Thatdoesn’tmakesense!”Anotherministersaid,“WegotochurchonSundaybecausethat’stheday

Jesusrose,andthat’sthenewSabbath.”“Thatsoundsgood,butIneedtoknowwheretofindtheScriptureforthis

newcommandment tellingus tokeep the firstdayof theweek,” I replied. “IfyoucanshowmethatintheBible,I’llgladlyjoinyourchurch.”

“Well, ah, we ah, letme put it this way.”He squirmed uncomfortably.

“Wedon’texactlyhaveacommandment.Wejusthavetradition.”ButIdidn’twanttradition.Jesussaid,“[Ye]rejectthecommandmentof

God, that [ye] may keep your own tradition” (Mark 7:9). I wanted Bibleauthorityforsuchachange.

Thenextpreacherwasthemostcreativeofthemall.Heexplaineditthisway:“Back in thedaysofJoshua,when thesunstoodstill,and in thedaysofHezekiah,whenGod turned the shadow back ten degrees,we lost a day, andSaturdaybecameSunday.”

“Ah,Isee.DoyoumeanthatwhenJesuswashereHedidn’treallykeeptheseventhday,butthefirstday?”Iasked.

The preacher looked confused. “Well, I’m not sure about that,” headmitted.

I went back and read the story of Creation again. Suddenly I noticedsomething I had never seen before, and it clinched the argument forme.Godblessedtheseventhdaybeforetherewasevensinintheworld.ThatmeanstheSabbathwasperfect,justliketheworldGodmadewasperfect.WhywouldGodchangesomethingperfect?

Furthermore,GodwrotetheTenCommandmentsinstone,andyoudon’twriteinastonesomethingyouplantoeraseorchange!IdecidedthataChristianisnotafollowerofChristians,butofChrist.Jesusworshipedontheseventhdayeachweekandnevermentionedthefirstdayoftheweek,soIwouldjustfollowJesus.

ButIwasstillconcerned.WherewouldIgotofindpeoplewhotaughtalltenofthecommandments?

I went to Glen and looked him in the eye. “Tellme, is there a churcharoundwherepeoplebelievethesethings?”Iasked.

“Oh,yeah.Allovertheplace,”heanswered.“Really,what’sthenameofthechurch?”“TheSeventh-dayAdventistChurch,”hesaid.“TheSeventh-daywhatChurch? I never heard of it.The ‘Seventh-day’

partIcanfigure,butwhatdoes‘Adventist’mean?”Iasked,puzzled.“Thewordadventmeansthecomingorarrivalofsomething.Adventists

arepeoplewhoarelookingforwardtothesecondcomingofChrist.”

I thought to myself, “I must be an Adventist. I believe in the secondcoming of Christ.” Aloud, I said. “How come you know so much about thisstuff?”

Glen seemed a little embarrassed. “I grew upwith theBible and thosebooks,andIattendedthechurcheversinceIwasborn.”

“Doyoumeanyouknowall thisstuff,butyoudon’tdoanythingaboutit?” I asked in amazement. “That’s incredible.” I thought of all the times wesmokedpotanddranktogether. Icouldn’tunderstandhowanyonecouldknowall aboutGod andHismarvelous love and sacrifice forman, and yet seem toignoreit.

“Let’sgo tochurch thisSaturday!”Isuggestedenthusiastically. Ihad toseethesewonderfulpeople.

“Well,Idon’tknow,Doug.Idon’tthinkI’mreadyforthat.Yougoaheadandgo,andthenyoutellmeaboutit.”

Glendidn’t seem to sharemyenthusiasm,becauseheknewwhat Iwasabouttoexperience.InmymindIvisualizedaquaintlittlewhitechurchwithacrossonthesteeple.Thepeople,ofcourse,wouldbesaintswhoweresoholy,their feetbarely touched the floor.Theywouldallbesmiling,carryingBibles,andsinging.

That Sabbath I arose early and put onmydirty overalls andmyhikingboots without socks. I combedmy long hair, but this time I didn’t tie it in aponytail, even though it reached to my shoulders. Nor did I shave. I justsmoothedthescruffylittlebeardthatgrewonlyonmylowerchin.Bibleinhand,Isetoffwithgreatanticipation.

IlocatedthestreetandturnedmystepstowardtheaddressGlenhadgivenme,but insteadofa littlecountrychurch,I foundagrand,modernedifice inaprosperousneighborhood.Theparkinglotwasfilledwithmostlyluxurycars.Ihurried inside.The redcarpet feltplushundermy feet.All themenwore finesuits,andthewomenworeexpensive-lookingdressesandfancyhairdos.Ihadn’treadanythingabouthowChristiansshoulddress,andsuddenlyIfeltveryoutofplace.Headsturnedinmydirection,andI’msuretheywonderedifIhadturnedinatthewrongaddress.Amanshookhandswithmeatthedoorandsaid,“I’mgladyou’rehere.”But it seemed tome that hewas acting. I hadbeen aroundshow business all my life, and I could tell when someone was acting.

Nevertheless,Iwentinandwasdirectedtoaseatinthebackofthechurch.Aninterestingprogramwasinprogress,andIenjoyedthemissionstory.

WhenthetimearrivedtodiscusstheSabbathSchoollesson,Iwanderedwiththeothersdownthehalltoaroomwherechairswerearrangedinalargecircle.Noone spoke tome, though some did giveme a genuine smile. I sat down on achair, and everyone else found seats, too, but though the room was full, thechairsoneithersideofmewereempty.

Afterafewwordsofwelcometotheclass,theteacheropenedhisBibleandhislessonbook.“Thesubjecttodayisonthe490-dayprophecyofDaniel9,”hebegan.

“Great!”Ithought.IhadjustbeenreadingaboutthisinabookbyUriahSmith—DanielandtheRevelation!Afterafewpreliminaryremarks,heaskedaquestion:“Whendidthe490-dayprophecybegin?”

Suddenly I felt I was in the right place. I knew what the teacher wastalkingabout!Inearlyburst,Iwassoanxioustoshouttheanswer,butIthoughtitmightnotbeproper foravisitor tospeakup. Iglancedat thedistinguished-looking people in the circle. The teacherwaited, but no one spoke. They justlookedatthefloorandthedoorandthewalls,butnooneanswered.Icouldn’tstanditanylonger.Iraisedmyhand.

“Yes?”theteachersaidwithraisedeyebrows.“Fourfifty-sevenB.C.,”Isaidwithadrymouth.Ihadn’tbeeninsucha

largecrowdinalongtime.“That’sright!”theteacherrepliedwithsomesurprise.“Andwhendidthe

timeperiodconclude?”heaskedafewminuteslater.Thistimeeveryonelookedatthehippie.Sinceitseemedobviousthatthey

wereallwaitingformetoanswer,Ispokeup:“A.D.34.”“Right again.” This time the teacher didn’t seem so surprised, but I

couldn’tunderstandwhynooneelseknewtheanswers.Wasn’tthistheirchurchandtheirreligion?Maybetheywerejustbeingpoliteormodest,ormaybetheywereallvisitorslikeme.

IfeltalittledisappointedatthatfirstSabbath,mostlybecauseofthelackofwarmth and fellowship.The other churches had been so friendly, had evenviedformyfavor.Icouldn’thelpwonderingiftheattitudeofthepeopleattheAdventistchurchwouldhavebeenthesameiftheyhadknownmyfatherwasamultimillionaire.MaybeIhadexpectedtoomuch.

Ivisited thechurcha fewmore times,but Ineverseemed to fit in, so Ikept Sabbath the best I knew on Saturday andwent to church on Sunday forChristianfellowship.

Icontinuedwitnessingaboutmynewfoundfaith toeveryonewhocameby my cave, and sometimes there would be quite a gathering. Glen wasimpressedinspiteofhimself.“Idon’tknowwhetherIshouldtellyouthisornot,Doug,” he said one day, “butwhen you tell people aboutGod, your face justlightsup.”

Myfaithincreaseddaybyday.ThemoreIusedit,thestrongeritbecame.Ioften talkedwitha friendwhosenamewasalsoDoug.Heplayed theguitar,andIplayedtheflute,andwewouldpanhandle(begformoney)togetheronthestreet.Mynewexperience as aChristianwas so exciting, I just couldn’t keepstillaboutit.Onedaywewereintownplayingourinstrumentsformoney,butnobodyhadstopped,andnobodyhadgivenusanymoney,sowestartedtalking.Soontheconversationturnedtoreligionagain.

“Well,IbelieveinGod,”Dougsaid,“butIdon’tbelieveinJesus.”“Icanprovethatthere’saJesus,”Isaidconfidently.“Andhowareyougoingtodothat?”heaskedskeptically.“Howmuchmoneydoweneedrightnow?”Iasked.“Well, it would be nice if we got a couple of dollars apiece. Thenwe

couldgoeatout,”hesaid.“Allright,”Isaid,“I’mgoingtoprayrightnowtoJesus,andwe’regoing

togetfourdollars.”SoIbowedmyhead,andIsaid,“Lord,helpustogetfourdollarssowecanbuyagoodmeal,andhelpDougtoknowthatYouarereal.IaskinJesus’name,amen.”

We began to play again, and soon a ladywalking by stopped to listen.Whenwewerethrough,Iaskedherifshehadanysparechange.

“Well,”shethoughtquietlyforamoment,“normallyIdon’tdothissortofthing,buttodayismyson’sbirthday,andhe’sjustaboutyourage.”Shedugintoherpurseandpulledoutsomemoney.“Willfourdollarshelp?”sheasked.Iassuredherthatitwould.Asshewalkedawayshemusthavewonderedwhymyfriendwasstaringinblankshockwithhismouthopen.

Beforelong,he,too,hadacceptedJesusChristashisSaviour.

14

IfatFirstYouDon’tSucceed

ThefirsttimeIsawKaryn,wewerebothonlyfifteen.Sheandabunchofgirlshad just left a party andwere standing on the street corner, laughing, talkingloudly,andactingsilly.Ithought,“Whatabunchofdingbats.Cute,butsilly.”

Shewasn’tveryinterestedinthelikesofme,either.Shepreferreddatingolderboyswithcars.

I sawheroccasionallyaround townafter that and rememberedwhoshewas, but somany other thingswere going on inmy life.However, about twoyears later,whenIwas juststarting to read theBible,ourpathscrossedagain.MyfriendRicoandIhadgonetothepoolhalltogoofoffandplayalittlepool,andIsawKarynwithanothergirlatatableacrosstheroom.It turnedoutthattheothergirlwasRico’sgirl,sotheyintroducedKarynandme,andthenwenttothebar,leavingthetwoofustogether.Itwasanawkwardsituation.Neitherofushadplanneditthatway.

“Doyouwanttoshootagame?”Iasked.“Notreally,”shesaid.“OK.Let’sgosomewhereelse,then,”Isuggested.Iheldthedooropen,

andwewentoutandambledalong,justtalking.Whenwecametoaliquorstore,againstmybetter judgmentIwent inandboughtabottleofwine.“Let’sgototheparkandfindacoolplacetosit,”Isaid.“Iboughtusalittlerefreshment.”

“No,thanks,Doug.Idon’tdrinkanymore,”sheanswered.“Whatdoyoumean,youdon’tdrink?”Iasked,disbelieving.“Everybody

drinks!”Butshestoodherground.

“AndIsupposeyoureadtheBibletoo?”Iasked,halfsarcastically.Shestoppedandlookedatmeinsurprise.“Asamatteroffact,Ido.How

didyouknow?”“I don’t know. Just by putting two and two together, I guess. That’s

funny,”Iwenton.“I’vebeenreadingtheBibletoo.”Wewalkedalongtimeinthecooldesertnight,talkingabouttheBibleandreligion.Themorewetalked,themorewefoundtotalkabout.

Wesaweachotheralotafterthat,andafewweekslaterweweremarried.We moved into town, but we didn’t like city life, so one day we put ourbelongings onour backs and started hitchhikingnorth up theCalifornia coast.Wedidn’t reallyknowwhereweweregoing,sowe tookour time.Sometimeswe would fall asleep by a freeway on-ramp, only to be awakened by thesprinklersatfiveo’clockinthemorning.OncewewalkedofftheroadnearBigSur,California,andwenttosleepinthewoods.Whenwewokeup,aparkrangerwasstandingoverus.“Idon’tmindyourcampinghere,”hesaid,“butyoumightwanttoknowthatyou’relyinginpoisonoak.”Theremainderofthatweekwasveryuncomfortable!

InUkiah,California,ayoungcouplestoppedtogiveusaride.“Whereyaheaded?”thedriverasked.

“Wedon’tknowforsure,”Isaid.“We’reprayingthatGodwillshowus.Whereareyouallgoing?”

A little surprised, thedriver said, “Youdon’twant togowherewe live.It’soutinthemiddleofnowhere—alittletowncalledCovelo.It’ssurroundedbynationalforest.”

“Hmmm.Arethereanycavesupthere?”“Well,Isuppose,”theyoungmansaid.“Arethereanychurches?”Karynasked.“That’s all there are,” the wife replied. “There isn’t even a theater in

town.”KarynandI felt impressed togo toCovelo,andwequickly fell in love

withthebeautyofthepine-coveredmountains.Welivedinacaveinthenationalforestforawhile,andwelookedaroundforland.Soonwefoundaplacethatwereallywanted.Theonlyproblemwasmoney.Theonlywork I could findwasseasonal.Atsummer’sendwewereforcedtoreturntoPalmSpringssoIcouldsupportourgrowingfamily,forsoonwewouldbeparents.

Itriedoddjobsforawhile,butnothingreallygoodcamealong.FinallyI

foundworksellinganddeliveringmeat.IcouldseeimmediatelythatIwaspartof a three-party arrangement.Whynot eliminate themiddlemanandmake theprofitmyself?

Dad helpedme to buy a nice little usedVW. I had never owned a carbefore,andknewnext tonothingabout theirupkeep. I thought theoilwent intheradiator,buttheVWdidn’thavearadiator.Ilearnedfast!

Ihadasignpaintedontheside,DougBatchelor’sWholesalePrimeBeefSteaks.Afterprintingbusinesscardsandmakingsomecontacts,Iputacoolerinthebackof the littleVW. Ibought a sectionofbeef, anda friend showedmehowtocutitintosteaks.Isoonhadaprosperousbusinessgoing,sellingsteakswholesale.Businesswasgoodrightfromthestart.

Ilearnedsomeinterestingthingsduringmybriefbeefventure.OnedayacustomeraskedmeifIcouldgethersomeprimepork.Iknewaboutthegradesofbeef:prime,choice,good,andfair.Ihadseengradedchicken,butI’dhavetodosomecheckingonthepork.

I went to one of my butcher friends. When he heard my question, helaughed.“TheDepartmentofAgriculturedoesn’tthinkyoushouldfeedthatstufftoyourdogs.They’renotgoing tograde it.That stuffs swarmingwith ‘bugs.’Theyevenprintpamphlets tellingyou tomakesureyoucook it thoroughly tokillallthetrichinalarvae.”

“Yuck!”Thatrevoltedme.ThenIrememberedreadingsomethingintheBible about swine’s flesh. Some preachers toldme those laws had been doneawaywith,but thatdidn’tmakesense.Didn’t thehumanbodystill respond tothefoodputintoit,thesameasitdidduringthetimeofthechildrenofIsrael?Wasn’titstillsubjecttodiseasegermsandparasites?

I learnedsomethingelsefromexperience too.SinceIsoldprimebeef, IdecidedIshouldusemyownproducts.SoonIwaseatingNewYorksteakforbreakfast,T-bonesteakforlunch,andfilletmignonfordinner.ButthenInoticedthatIfeltrun-downallthetime,withnoenergy.Mybehaviorbegantochangetoo.AtnightIwouldsitandwatchTVandeataquartoficecreambymyself—yes, a whole quart! I felt my spiritual life being numbed, and I had lessinclinationtoresisttemptation.Mycave-mandietofrice,beans,bread,andfruithadgivenmeafeelingofstrengthandvigor.ForthefirsttimeIrealizedwhatanimpactdiethadonmyphysical, spiritual,andmoralwell-being. Iwasmakinggoodmoneyinthemeatbusiness,butsomehowKarynandIwereneverableto

save.Themorewemade,themorewespent.“Let’sgiveCoveloanother try,”Isaidoneday.“I thinkwecanmakeit

this time.”We traded in our VW for an old broken-down Ford pickup. Afternursingitfor700miles,wearrivedinCovelo,andwesoonfound160acresofbeautiful, undeveloped land thatwewere able to buy on terms thatwe couldhandle.We lived ina tentwhilewebuiltasmallhouseon thepropertyoutofscraplumber. Itwasn’tamansion,but itwasours,andwelovedit! Istartedasmallfirewoodbusiness.

Webeganattending thePresbyterian church,but I couldn’t forget abouttheSabbathandotherthingsIhadlearned.TherewasaSeventh-dayAdventistchurch right across the street from thePresbyterian church, and Iwondered ifthiscongregationmightbefriendlier.IhadmetafellownamedDuanewholikedchurch and religion, so one Saturday he and I decided to visit the Adventistchurch.KarynchosetostayathomewithRachel,ournewbabygirl.

Myfeelingsthatmorningwereamixtureofanticipationanddread.“Whatiftheyaren’tfriendly?Whatiftheydon’tlikethewayIlook?Well,nomatter.It’stheSabbath,andIhaveasmuchrighttobethereastheydo!”IguessIhadachiponmyshoulderthatmorningasIdressed,becauseIdugoutmyoldoverallsand found a scroungy-looking shirt and put themon. I tiedmyhair back in aponytail.

IgotonmymotorcycleandroaredofftopickupDuane.Inthosedaysitwas considered “cool” to wear tattered old blue jeans, and he really looked“cool.”Oneofthebackpocketsofhisjeanshadbeentornoff,andhisbareskinrevealed the fact that he wasn’t even wearing underwear! I almost feltembarrassedforhim,butIdidn’tmentionit.

Asmilingmanwaitedforusatthedoorandgaveusafirmhandshake.Hewelcomeduswarmlyandinvitedusinside,whereasweetlittleoldladyshookourhandsandaskedustosigntheguestbook.Wewentintothechurchandsatdown.Peoplewerestillarriving,andwewatchedthemastheycamein.Isawalotofgrayhairandbaldheadsthatday.Acouplecameinandwalkedtothepewahead of us, but before they sat down they both turned around, introducedthemselves,andshookhands.

Thesermonthatdayseemedtoburstspontaneouslyfromtheoldpastor’sheart.Hehadawarmthandsincerityabouthimthattouchedme.Idrankinthewordsof life like a thirstyman in a drydesert.After church, people crowdedaboutus,welcomingus,andinvitingushometodinner.Nooneevenseemedto

notice our clothes, and I felt a little ashamed by now. Duane and I were sooverwhelmedwithalltheinvitationsandattentionthatwehardlyknewwhattodo.Finally theoldpastor, JoePhillips, andhiswifeprevailedover theothers,andwewent homewith them. I’m sure these kindpeople never dreamed thatsomedaythishippiewouldbetheirpastor!

Wesatdowntoawholesomemealofsimplypreparedfood—avegetarianloaf,potatoes,twoorthreevegetables,homemadewhole-wheatbread,atossedsalad,andapplepie!“Helpyourselves,”PastorJoeinvited.“Mywife’sthebestcookintown,andyou’llhurtherfeelingsifyoudon’teat!”DuaneandIdidn’thurttheirfeelingsthatday.Wejustaboutemptiedeverybowlonthetable.Ourhostandhostesswerebothamazedandpleased.

After lunch,Pastor Joe said, “Whydon’tweallgo into the living roomand have aBible study?” Iwelcomed the idea, and soon hadmyBible open,discussingtheScriptureswithPastorandMrs.Phillips.Duanefellasleepinhischair.

The next Sabbath Karyn attended church with me, and after that weattended church every Sabbath, and the pastor and his wife had us home forlunch.WealwaysstudiedtheBibleintheafternoon.However,thepastorwouldhardlygetintothesubjectwhenIwouldrealizeitwassomethingIhadalreadylearned onmy own.When we studied Daniel and Revelation, I knew all thehoofs and the horns and their dates aswell.One day Pastor Joe said, “Doug,you’realmostreadyforbaptism.”

“Whatdoyoumean,Pastor—almost?I’mreadynow,”Isaid.“Ibelieveeverythingthischurchteaches.”

Hehesitated.“Howaboutthesmoking,Doug?Areyoureadytogivethatup?”

Itwasmyturntohesitate.“Well,now,Idon’tknowaboutthat.Idon’tseewhatthathastodowithmyloveforGod.I’vegivenupallmyreallybadvices,like smokingpot and drinking and drugs and stealing and lying.But smokingisn’tthatbad.Ionlysmokeabouthalfapackaday,youknow.Anyhow,IknowtheLordlovesmeandanswersmyprayers.”

“That’s right,Doug,Hedoes loveyou,”Pastor Joesaidpatiently.“AndHe’s teaching you, and leading you along step by step.But as long as you’readdicted to cigarettes, you’re chained to the devil. Can you imagine Jesusblowingsmokeinsomeone’sfacewhileHe’stalkingtothemabouttheloveof

HisFather?”I knew Jesus was our example, and the thought of Him smoking a

cigaretteseemedsoridiculousthatIlaughed.“You see,” the pastor continued, “when you’re baptized, it represents a

newbirth,andtheLorddoesn’twantHisbabiestosmoke.Wouldyou,Doug?”“Well,whenyouputitthatway,no,”Iadmitted.Ibeganthinkingaboutthestruggletogiveupdrinking.Ihadarguedwith

theLord.“ButLord,Ilikedrinking.It’sfun.”And theLord said, “Go ahead and drink,Doug.” I don’tmean that the

Lordwaspleasedwithmydrinking.HejustmeantthatHewouldn’tforcemetostop.LittlebylittleIbegantoseealltheheartachemydrinkingcaused.I’dwakeupinjailorbesickalldayandthrowup,orI’dwakeupandfindoutI’dmadeafoolofmyselfandembarrassedsomeoneIcaredabout.OnceIfoundoutIhadwreckedacarthatdidn’tevenbelongtome.IheardtheLordsaying,“Doug,areyouenjoyingyourself?”ItfinallydawnedonmethatGodonlywantsChristianstogiveupwhat’sharmfultothem,eitherphysicallyorspiritually.WhenIfinallyfigureditout,Igaveupdrinking.ButIknewrightawaythatsmokingwouldbeharder.

Karynkickedthehabitrelativelyeasily.Thedoctorexplainedtoherthatourbabywasbornprematurebecauseshesmoked.“Smokingdoesn’tjustharmyou,”hesaid.“Itharmsyourbabytoo.”

Oneday,whenshecame into the room,Karynnoticed thecigaretteshehad left lyingon theedgeof theashtray.Thesmokewasdriftingrightover towherelittleRachellaysleeping.“WhatamIdoing!”Karynexclaimed.“It’sbadenoughthatI’mdestroyingmyownlungs.HowcanIdestroymybaby’slungstoo?”ThatdaywhenIcamein,shesaid,“Doug,I’mgoingtoseehowlongIcangowithoutsmoking.”Andthatwasit.Sheneversmokedagain.

Karynwasbaptizedwithoutme.For some people it’s easy, but for others the cigarette demon kicks and

screamsbeforehe lets go. Iwrestledwithmyself, trying tomuster up enoughcouragetomakethebreak.OnedayIsaid,“TomorrowI’llquit,”andIthrewmycigarettes away and tried to forget about them. But the next day I wanted acigarettesobadlythatmyhandsshook.Ihurriedtothestoreandgotsomemore.“Thatwassureawasteofmoney,”Itoldmyself.Ismokedhalfthepackwithinthenextfewhours,butmyconsciencehauntedmethewholetime.“OK,OK,so

I’lltryagain.”Andsothebattleragedformonths.I loved theAdventist Church because it stood for something. I knew I

could have joined any number of churches without giving up smoking ordrinking,butIknewifIwantedtojointheAdventistChurchI’dhavetotakeupmycrossandfollowHim.OneofPastorJoe’sfavoritesayingsbecamemine:“Ifyoudon’tstandforsomething,you’llfallforanything.”Iwanteddesperatelytojoin,butIdidn’t—notthen.

Afewweekslater,asIdrovemyagingtruckalongtheroad,Iheardapop,followed by a hiss, and then a flap-flap-flap sound. “Oh, no!Not another!” Isighed. Itwas the second flat tire that day.My truckwas croaking beforemyveryeyes.Withinthelasttwenty-fourhours,aheadlightfellout,thetailgatefelloff,andtheenginestartedsmoking.

As I jacked up thewheel and removed the tire, I thought of those newDatsun four-wheel-drive pickups I had seen advertised. How I wanted one! Ibegan to daydream. If I had the money, I’d get one with a king cab for mygrowing family—one with a five-speed transmission, a winch in front, and aflatbed,soIcouldcarrywood.

I tightened the last nut, snapped the hubcap back on, and started theengine,butmymindwasstillonthosenewDatsuntrucks.FinallyIblurtedout,“Lord,I’devengiveupsmokingifYou’dgivemeatrucklikethat!”

I never claimed that I heardGod’s voice speak tome audibly, though Ihavehearditmanytimesspeaktomyconscience,butsuddenlyIheardavoiceechoinginthecabofthatoldpickup:“You’dquitsmokingforatruck,butyouwouldn’tquitsmokingforMe?”

Iwasshocked,andIsatseveralminuteslisteningforanothervoice.ThenI thought, “Jesus died on the cross forme, andHe only askedme to give upthings thathurtme,yet Iwon’tquit smoking forHim.” Ihad tohavea truck.“Oh,Lord,pleaseforgiveme!”Icried.“Ididn’tmeanthat,andwithYourhelp,I’llneversmokeagain!”

WhenIgothome,Itookmycigarettesandthrewthemdowntheouthousebecause I knew Iwouldn’t go after them there, andby thegraceofGod, I’veneversmokedanotherone.TwoweekslaterIwasbaptized.

Exactly tenyearsdowntheroad theLordgavemeaDatsun4x4withawinch,kingcab,and five-speed. Ihadn’tevenprayed forpowerwindowsand

cruisecontrol!ButIwondered,“Lord,whydidYouwaittenyears?”He toldme that during that time, I had saved enoughmoney from not

smokingtobuyit.

15

ButLord,ICouldNeverBeaPreacher!

EversinceIacceptedJesusinthecave,IhadtalkedtopeopleaboutGod’slove.IturnedalmosteveryconversationintoreligionandwhatGodhaddoneforme.I talked to the man at the garage, to hippies, street people, hitchhikers, ourneighbors—everybody.

When thepastorannounced inchurch, shortlyaftermybaptism, thatanevangelisticserieswouldbeginintwoweeks,IthoughtofallthosepeopleIhadbeentalkingto,andmanyofthemseemedtolongforthepeaceandhappinessthatIfelt.IdecidedthatIwouldinvitethemtothemeetings.

Theeveningthemeetingsbegan,oursmallchurchoverflowed.IstoodatthedoorandwatchedforthefriendsIhadinvited.Manyofmyneighborsinthemountains attended that first night and continued to come night after night.Whenwehadourfirstbaptism,tenofthetwelvewhowerebaptizedwerethoseIhad studiedwith and invited. “What a joy to serveGod!” I thought. “This ishappiness,anditdoesn’tleaveahangover.”

OnedayPastorJoeapproachedme.“Whydon’tyoupreachforus,Doug?YourloveforGodandyourenthusiasmreachpeople’shearts,andyouneedtoshareitfromthepulpit.”

Suddenly I felt timid.Me,preach?“Ohno,Pastor!Youhave thewrongguy. I could never be a preacher! I don’t have the education, and I wouldn’tknowwhattosay.Nothanks,Pastor,Ijustcouldn’tdoit.”

“Youdon’thave tohaveacollegeeducation,”hepersisted.“JustgetupandtellthepeoplewhatGodhasdoneforyou.That’sallyouhavetodo.”

“Oh,Idon’tthinkIcould,”Isaidemphatically.Thepastordroppedthesubjectforthen,buthehadplantedanideainmy

mind, and theHolySpiritwatered it.Whenhebroughtup the subject again, I

resistedalittleless,andfinallyIagreedtotry.IfIlivetobeahundred,Iwillneverforgetthatfirst“sermon”Ipreached!

Ididn’tevenownasuit,andIforgottoputonatie,butitwasn’tmyclothesthatbotheredme. I sat nervouslyon theplatformwaiting for themomentof truth.Myhandsperspired,andIcouldfeelmyheart thumping inmythroat.WhenIfinallygotuptospeak,IlaidmyBibleinfrontofmeandgraspedtheedgesofthepulpit.Iwasgladtohavesomethingtohidebehindsotheaudiencecouldn’tseemykneesknockingtogether.WhenIopenedmymouthtospeak,thevoicethatcameoutdidn’tsoundlikemine.Ikeptswallowingandsmackingmylipsbecausemymouthwas so dry.But those dear people!Bless their hearts, theygavemetheirundividedattention.PastorandMrs.Phillipssatonthefrontrow,andeverytimeImadesomepointtheynoddedandsaid“Amen.”Thepeople’sresponsetomyfeeblewordsgavemeencouragementtogoon,andsomehowIgot through.WhenI shookhandsat thedoor thatday,manyhad tears in theireyesastheytoldmewhatablessingmysermonhadbeentothem.

“Me? A blessing?” I thought. I noticed that several of the saints whocomplimentedthesermonworehearingaids.Ifiguredthattheymusthavebeenbrokenthatmorning.

Ispokeratherfrequentlyafterthat,andeachtimeitseemedalittleeasier.“Doug,youreallyshouldgotocollegeandtrainfortheministry,”Pastor

Phillips urged. “The Lord has given you a special talent for this work, and Iknowhowmuchyoulovesharingthegospel.Hisworkneedsyou.”

Istudiedthatkindlyoldgentleman’sface.TomyselfIthought,“IfIeverdobecomeapreacher,Iwanttobejustlikeyou.”Whataninspirationhewastome!TohimIsaid,“Sure,PastorJoe,we’llprayaboutit.”

IntheendIdidgotoschooltotakeafewclasses.DearoldDad!Hehadalwayswantedmetogetaneducation,evenifitwasareligiousone,sohewashappytohelp,andforsixmonthsIattendedSouthwesternAdventistCollegeinKeene,Texas.ItwasoneofthebestthingsIeverdid.IhadgoofedoffsomuchasateenagerinschoolthatIhadconvincedmyselfIwasn’tverybright,butatSouthwestern I made straight A’s. Now I knew I could learn something if Iwantedto.

I checked a book out of the library—The Autobiography of BenjaminFranklin. Iwasamazedas I readhowthismandroppedoutofschoolandranaway from home, yet he learned to speak and write in seven languages! He

inventedbifocalglasses, theFranklinstove, thepostal system,public libraries,and fire departments. He made electrical discoveries, started newspapers andmagazines,andwasthefirstUnitedStatesambassadortoFrance.Andhewasavegetarian!

Ithought,“Ifhecouldteachhimself,socanI.Jesuspromisedthat‘Icandoall things throughChrist.’”SincebecomingaChristian Ihad learnedmanythingsIneverdreamedIcoulddo,includingplayingtheflute,guitar,harmonica,piano,andtrumpet.IhadlearnedtospeakalittleSpanishandhowtoflyaplaneand windsurf, and at the time was learning to sing—thoughmy friends werebeggingmetogivethatup!

Aftercollege,IworkedwithPastorMarvinMooreinTexas.Hewasatall,friendly fellow who looked like Abraham Lincoln. We did some RevelationSeminarstogetherandmadeagoodteam,fortheLordreallyblessedourefforts,andmanywerebaptized.LaterthatyearIwasinvitedtojointhefamousgospelsinging group called Heritage Singers—as their devotional speaker. I’m stillworkingonthesinging!

GodknewwhatHewasdoing, for as I stoodbefore the audiencenightafter night partway through eachHeritage Singers concert, telling the peoplewhatGodhaddoneformeandinvitingthemtofollowJesus,thelastvestigesofstagefrightdroppedaway.EighteenmonthsofspeakingfivetimesaweekmorethanmadeupforwhatIhadmissedinthewayofformaleducation.

16

IndianTales

OnedaywhileIwasattheHeritageSingers’office,thetelephonerang.“ThisisLeroyMoore,” a voice said. “I’m in charge of Seventh-day Adventist NativeAmericanworkinNorthAmerica.Ihaveheardofyoursuccessinevangelism.HowwouldyouliketocometoLaVidaMissionandworkfortheNavajos?”

I thoughtofmydaysamong the Indianswhen I livedwithmyuncle inNew Mexico. I had really liked the people. Still, there were some things Iwantedtoforget.

“I’msorry,Mr.Moore,” I said.“Wehaveour trailer loadedandwillbeleavingshortlyforCalifornia.I’mworkingwiththeHeritageSingers.”

“Isee.”Hepaused.“Well,sinceyou’llbepassing throughNewMexicoanyway,whydon’tyoustopbyLaVidaMissionandatleastlookusover?Wecanputyouupforthenight.”

“Thanks,Mr.Moore,”Isaid.“We’llstopby,andI’llmakeyourofferamatterofprayer.I’llbeintouch.”

Inmy heart I had already decided we weren’t interested, but God hadother plans. Even before we pulled into the mission, our trailer developed afunnyswayandmadeanunusualnoise.“It’sagoodthingwe’realmostthere,”ItoldKaryn.“Something’swrongwiththetrailer.”

Wearrivedat themissionafewminutes later,andaswepulled into theyard,thetrailerwheelfelloff.Ofalltheplaceswecouldhavebrokendownonthiswhole2,000-miletrip,webrokedowninthemissionyard!

“Youneedanewsetofwheelbearings,”oneofthementheretoldme.Hehadtakenoffawheelandshowedmethewornparts.

“Howlongwillthattake?”Iasked.

“Alittlewhile,Iwouldguess,”themanreplied.“Theseone-horsegaragesdon’tcarrymuch.They’llprobablyhavetoorderfromAlbuquerque.I’dsaytwodays,atleast.”

Isighed.“Well,thatshouldgiveusachancetolookthingsover.”WhenKarynandIsawtheneedsoftheNavajopeople,weknewthatthiswaswhereGodwantedus.

“We’llstay,”ItoldLeroyalittlelater.ThemissionhadpurchasedanoldhouseinWaterflow,NewMexico,that

wastobeourhome.Theywantedustoraiseupachurchthere,butthepeopleoccupying thehousehadn’tmovedoutyet,noreven finishedpacking, for thatmatter.Theyleftoldfurniture,unwantedjunk,andgarbage.Theyevenlefttheirdirty breakfast dishes on the table. In about a month we got it painted andcleanedup,anditwasn’tbad.Atleastitwasspacious.

Nearbystoodamobilehomeownedbythemission,butrentedouttoanIndianfamily.Theyardwaslitteredwithtelltalebeercans.Hardlyatreecouldbe seen in the surrounding country just hard desert floor and the flat-toppedmesasthatstoodlikesilentsentinelsofadesolateland.

Theworkbegansmall.Westartedbyconvertinganoldhamburgerstandinto a meeting place, and we held a Revelation Seminar in a tent. The Lordblessed our efforts, and the work grew. Soon over a hundred people werecrowdingintothatsmallbuilding.

Themissionwasonlyseventymilesfrommyuncle’stradingpost,andIoften thoughtofhimandhis familyand someofmyother friends.Onedayabroken-down pickup came hobbling into the yard where I was working. Thevehicle wasn’t so old, just in bad shape. The doors were dented, one wasstrapped shut, thewindshield had a crack, and the tireswere bald.An Indianman opened the door and slowly stumbled out. He had long, stringy hair; ashiny,scarredface;holloweyes;andapotbelly.Iguessedhimtobeamaninhisfifties.Helimpedovertomeandlookedaroundcautiously.

“DoyouknowaguynamedDougBatchelor?”heasked.Iwassurprisedtohearmyname.Ilookedintentlyattheman,butfound

nocluesastohisidentity.“Well,yes,I’mDougBatchelor,”Isaid,stillpuzzled.He hesitated an instant, looked atme intently, and then his face lit up.

“Doug!Doug!”hecried.“Rememberme? It’sKen!”Hestaggeredover tomeand embracedmewith a great bigbear-hug. I huggedhimback, still not sure

whothisguywas.“Ken?”Iasked.“Yeah! Ken Platero. Remember?We used to ridemotorcycles together

whenyoulivedwithyouruncle.”Suddenly itdawnedonme.Thiswasmydrinkingbuddy, theone Ihad

talkedintotakingmetothebar.Theonewhosaid,“Drinkingistrouble.”“It isyou! I didn’t recognize you!” I said. “It’s been a long time—ten

years,about.”“Somethinglikethat.Iheardfromyourunclethatyouwerehere.Hetells

methatyou’reaChristiannow.Isthattrue?”“That’sright,Ken.I’maSeventh-dayAdventist.”“I’msoglad.”Heseemed tospeak from thedepthsofhis soul.“Ineed

Godinmylife.I’vegotnothingbuttrouble!”Worrywrinklescreasedhisbrow,andwhenhesighed,Icouldtellthathissorrowlaydeep.

“Whatkindoftrouble?”Iasked.“My wife is leaving me. I’m in trouble with the law, and my life’s a

mess.”Heseemedsosad.“IneedtheLord.”“Iunderstandhowyoufeel,”Isaid.“I’mthechiefofsinners.Let’spray

aboutit.”KenandIkneltintheyard,andIprayedforhimandhisfamily.Tearsstreameddownhisfaceaswerosefromourknees.Hetookmyhandinbothofhis.“I’mgoingtocometoyourchurch.Iwantyoutokeepprayingformeandmyfamily.”

“I’ll be looking for you, Ken. And you’ll always be inmy prayers,” Iassuredhim.

“You’vebeenthebestfriendI’veeverhad,”hesaidasheclimbedintohistruck.

Ashedroveoff I thought,“No,Ken.I’vebeenyourworstenemy.Igotyoustarteddown thewrong road.0God,whathave Idone?” Icried.“Have Idestroyedaman’slifebymybadexamplewhenIwasyoungandfoolish?”

IneversawKenagain.Ihopedhe’dmakeittosomeofourmeetings,butheneverdid.Itriedtofindoutwherehelived,butcouldn’t.MaybeIdidn’ttryhardenough.Thememorywassopainful.“Lord,”Iprayed,“ifthereisanythingIcandotoredeemthisgreatwickedness,pleaseshowmewhatitis!”

EvenwhileIprayed,Istoodinfrontofthemobilehomethatstoodnextto

myhouse.Whowere thepeoplewho lived there?Karynand Iknew that theyhadthreechildren,andthattheywereintelligent,good-lookingpeople.Laterwelearnedthat theirnameswereTomandAlaiceBegay.Shehadagoodjobasacomputeroperator,alongwithofficeskills.HehadbeentoVietnam,spokebothNavajoandEnglishfluently,andwasahighlyskilledelectrician.ButthedayIstoodintheyardandprayed,theywerethemysterypeople.

Wehad reachedout to themand tried tobegoodneighbors.Karynhadmadebreadandothergoodiesandtakenthemtothedoor.Alaicewouldopenthedoor a crack and smile and accept thempolitely, and then close the door.Wealways waved and spoke when we saw them, but they remained aloof. Wewonderedwhattheproblemwas.

Thenonenightweheardafranticknockat thedoor.Thedoorbell rang,andtheknockingcameagainbeforeIcouldreachthedoor.Iquicklyopenedit,andtherestoodeleven-year-oldTracy,theoldestofthethreeneighborchildren.Her eyes were wide with terror. “Come quick!” she pleaded. “My father iskillingmymother!”

Ihesitatedforasplitsecondasmymindraced.ForaninstantI thoughtthat Iprobably shouldcall thepoliceandkeepoutofmyneighbor’sbusiness,butifIdidthat,Imightneverreachthemwiththegospel.Iboltedoutthedoorandranacrosstheyardtotheirdoorandbeganknockingloudly.InsideIcouldhear thumping and screaming and scuffling. I soon realized that no one wasgoingtoopenthedoor,soIjerkeditopenandrushedin.

There theman stood in the bedroom, leaning against onewall, pantingandoutofbreath,glaringathiswife.Shesatonthefloor,holdingherbleedingnose and mouth, sobbing and groaning. Her brown cheek was bruised andswollen.HebarelyglancedinmydirectionwhenIenteredtheroom.Hekepthiseyes fixed on her, yelling and cursing, some in English, some in Navajo.Hethrew a punch at her, butmissed. She screamed and cowered before him.Heswungagainandmissed.Irealizedthathewasonlytryingtointimidateher,nothither.Thesmellofalcoholintheroomwaspowerful.

I couldn’t just stand there and watch, so I stepped between them andhelpedhertoherfeet.

“Oh,yougotthepreachertocomeandrescueyou,huh?”hesnarled.“Stopit,”Isaid,“letheralone!”“Oh,yeah,whoinvitedyouhere?”hegrowled.“Getout!”

Istoodmyground.“I’mjusttryingtohelp,”Isaidcalmly.“Icouldhavecalledthepolice,butIdidn’t.Thisisnowaytosettleproblems.Ifyouhateherthatmuch,leave,butdon’tbeatherup.”

“It’s her fault!” he yelled. Then they began yelling accusations at eachother,andhebeganswingingatheragain.

I’m only five-nine, and Tom was six-one, but I grabbed him in a fullNelson,withmyarmsunderhisarmpitsandmyfingerslacedtightlyatthebackofhisneck.Whenshesawhecouldnotgetaway,sheattackedhimandbeganpullinghishair.

“Cut it out!” I yelled. I threwhimagainst onewall andher against theother—it wasn’t that hard since they were both half-drunk—and steppedbetweenthem.Ourchestsheavedaswestoodthere.Thetwoyoungerchildrencoweredinacorner,cryingsoftly.

Asourheartratesslowedandwebegantobreathenormallyoncemore,Isaid,“Whydon’twesitdownandtalkthisoutlikerationalhumanbeings?”

Theystumbledintothelivingroomandsatdown.Theywerebothdressedup—orhadbeen,apparently—togotoaparty.Theywouldn’t talkmuch,butImadeupmymindnottoleaveuntiloneofthemleft.InafewminutesAlaicegotupandwentout,withthechildrenbehindher.

Thatblewthelidofftheirsecret.KarynandIsoonlearnedthatthiswasthe most notorious family in these parts. They had been in the headlines foryears.Tomwastall,handsome,andmacho.Alaicewasattractiveandflirtatious,andtheybothdrank.Theywerejealousofeachother,andwhentheydrank,thefightserupted.

Idebatedwhattodo.ShouldIreportthemtothemissionandhavethemevicted? If I did that, I would lose all hope of everwinning them for Christ.WhatwouldJesusdo?IdecidedthatHewouldbetheirfriend.“Well,Lord,I’lltry,”Ithoughttomyself.

WhenTomgot in trouble for pulling a gunon amanwhohad insultedhim,Iwenttocourtwithhim.Whenhegotinjail,Ihelpedhimgetout.

KarynbefriendedAlaiceandthekids.Shemadecookiesforthemandhadthemalloverforalittleparty.Sometimeswhentherewastrouble,Alaiceandthekids,orsometimesjustthekids,wouldwatchfromthesafetyofourhouse.Twoorthreepolicecarswouldarriveintheiryard,red-and-bluelightsflashing,whiletheofficersgotoutandwentintorefereethefights.

OnenightwhenIwasgoneforafewdaysholdinganevangelisticseries,Karyn sat in her bed reading. Suddenly the back bedroom door opened, andAlaicecamechargingin.ShelookedatKarynandsaid,“I’msorry!”andwentrunningon through.Seconds later,Tomcame chasing after herwith a broom.Karyndidn’tevengetoutofbed.Wehadbecomeaccustomedtothisbehavior.Thewholeworldseemedanuglierplacebecauseoftheirdrinkingandbrawling.

Tomwouldstaysoberforafewweeksandgetajob,makinggoodmoney.Thenhewouldgoonadrinkingspree.Andnotonlydidhespendallhismoney,hewouldalsododestructivethings.Oncehewreckedhisnewcar.Anothertimehethrewsomethingattheirlarge,expensiveTVandcrackedit.

OftenwhenTomwas sober Iwould go over and talk to him about theloveofGod.Atfirsthehadhisguardup,butIjustkeptbeingfriendlyandkeptvisiting.Heknewwecared,andhebegantolisten.Hehadaninterestinspiritualmatters.HehadreadsomeChristianbooksandhadevengonetochurch.SomeBaptist friends had taught him a few things about being a Christian, but heneededtolearnwhat itmeanstofollowJesus,howimportant it is tostudytheBibleandhaveaprivatedevotionallife,howweneedtoteachourchildrenandpraywiththem.Thesewerenewconceptstohim.

Weplanned anotherRevelationSeminar, and I really hoped I could getTomandhisfamilytocome.Italkedtohimoneday.“Tom,”Isaid,“youowemeone.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”“I’vegonetocourtwithyou,I’vestoodbyyourside,I’vefendedoffthe

police,andI’vebeenagoodneighbor.NowIwantafavorfromyou.”“Allright,Doug,whatdoyouwant?”heasked.“Iwantyoutocometo thesemeetings that I’mstarting,”Isaid.“We’re

goingtobestudyingthebookofRevelation,andyou’llenjoythem.”“Oh,no,Doug.Ican’tdothat.”“Andwhynot?”Icountered.“Whydon’tyoujustcomethefirstcoupleof

nights?Thenifyoudon’tlikethem,youcanquit.”“OK,I’llcome,”hesaid.“That’sapromise?”Iasked.“It’sapromise.”IknewIhadtogethimwhilehewassober.

Theotherchurcheswerenotencouraging.“Youcan’tgetanywherewiththeNavajos,” theywarned. “You’ll be lucky if you get fifty to come out to ameeting.It’llmorelikelybetenorfifteen.”

“Let’s set our goal for a hundred,” I toldmy little church. “TheLord’sarmisnotshortened.Hecanblessus.”Soweprayedforahundred.

Onopeningnightwehad375,countingthechildren!Thegymnasiumwaspacked. “It’s the most spectacular thing I’ve ever seen among the AmericanIndians,”LeroyMooretoldus.“It’sincrediblehow,allofasudden,thesepeoplewanttohearthegospel!”

ThegreatestthrillofthewholeeveningwaswhenTomandAlaicearrivedwiththeirthreechildren.Thepeoplewerepouringin,andourpoorstaffwasjustswampedtryingtogeteveryoneregistered.

“MayIhelp?”AlaiceaskedKaryn,whowasworkingfuriously.“Yousurelymay!”KarynsaidgratefullyasshesetupaspotforAlaiceat

thetable.As themeetings proceeded, it was interesting to see the change taking

place in this family. Alaice began to smile. Then the children began smiling.TomandAlaice, and evenTracy, the oldest of their children, participated andcontributedwhenwediscussedthequestionsandanswers.

They sat at the front table, and Iwatched them studying, thinking, andwritingdown answers.Whenwehaddiscussions, they raised their hands, andsometimestheyjustcalledoutanswers.

Weheldthemeetingssixnightsaweekforsixweeks.OnenightTomwasnot in his placewhen I began to preach.My heart felt heavy, and I cried outinwardly,“0Lord,don’tlethimbedrinking!”Whenhecameinafewminuteslaterandsatwithhisfamily,Isighedwithrelief.

Ibegantonoticechangesintheirhome-lifetoo.OnedayIlookedoutthewindow. Tom and Alaice were picking up the beer cans and putting them inplasticbags.Thentheyrakedandcleanedtheyard.AfewdayslaterKarynandIlookedoutandsawthewholefamilygatheredoutsidediggingupthegroundtomakeagarden.TomandAlaiceweresprayingeachotherwiththegardenhose.The kids ran toward their father and shouted, “Spray us too!”Tom turned thehoseonthem,andsooneverybodywaswet,andlaughterfilledtheair.

Whatacontrast!BeforetheRevelationSeminarbegan,Ihadneverseenthechildrensmileinthepresenceoftheirparents,muchlesslaugh.Infact,theywouldn’tevenplayintheirownyard.Theycametoourhousetoplay.

OneSabbaththeysurprisedusbycomingtoSabbathSchoolandchurch.What a striking family theywere, tastefully dressed, every one of them goodlooking,fromTomandAlaicerightdowntotheyoungestchild.

AttheconclusionoftheRevelationSeminaralmost100peopleindicatedthat they believed andwanted to be baptized.We had beenwarned not to behasty in baptizing the Navajos. “They are such a gentle people and wish toplease,” Leroy told us. “Be sure they are being baptized because they areconvictedbytheHolySpirit,notjusttryingtopleasesomeone.”

Sowe carefully visited each one beforewe had a baptism, and this, ofcourse, tooksometime.Duringthewaitingtime,wecontinuedholdingchurchservices,andTomandAlaiceattendedfaithfullySabbathbySabbath.Onedaymy interpreterdidn’t showup.What could Ido? I didn’t speakmuchNavajo,andmanyoftheolderNavajosdidn’tspeakEnglish.

“I’lltranslate,”Tomvolunteered,andhedid.Itbroughttearstomyeyes,watching those people leaning forward in their seats so theywouldn’tmiss awordandseeingTom’sfaceallaglowashestoodbeforetheclass.Hedidn’tjusttranslate.Hetaughtthatclass.Idon’tknowwhowashappier,TomorI.TomandAlaicewerebaptizedafewmonthslater,anditseemedthatthewholeworldwasabetterplacebecauseofwhatthegospeldidforthatonefamily!

17

GoingHome

ThescreendoorbangedbehindmeasIhurriedintothehouse.“WhowantstogotoCovelo?”Icalledout.Thekidscamerunning,andKarynputthelastpanofbreadintotheovenandturnedtomewithdancingeyes.“Wedo,wedo!”thechildrenchorused.“Howcomewe’regoingtoCovelo?”Karynasked.“IgotaphonecallfromDave,andIneedtogethomeandtakecareofsomebusinessatourcabinthere.Howsooncanyoupackupafewthings?”

“Wecan’tgountil thebread’sdone,”Karynsaid,“but Icangetpackedrightnow.”

“That’s too soon,” I said. “Actually, we aren’t leaving until in themorning,butwe’llgetanearlystart.”

The next morning everybody popped out of bed as soon as they werecalled,andwewereonourwaybydaylight.

“Willwe get to see Pastor Joe andMrs. Phillips?”Micah asked aswepulledoutontothehighway.ThePhillipseswerelikegrandparentstoourkids,andtheylovedthemdearly.

“Surewill,”Iassuredhim.“We’llseeallourchurchfamily!”

Happy chatter filled the car as we all savored the anticipation ofhomecoming. But by midafternoon the talk died down, and everyone begandropping off to sleep. Iwas left alonewithmy thoughts as the car ate up themiles.

ThePhillipses.Whatgoodmemoriesfloodedmymind,andhowtheyhadhelpedourfamilyandshapedourlives!“Itmustbethepracticalwaytheylivetheir religion,” I thought. My mind played back a scene from early in ouracquaintance.

“WhatamIgoingtodo?”IaskedKarynoneday.“We’vegot tohaveachainsawifI’mgoingtosellfirewood.That’stheonlywayIcanmakeenoughtomakepaymentsontheland,andthebankturnedmedownflat.”

“Why?Whatdidtheysay?”sheasked.“Theysaidtheycouldn’tloanmemoneybecauseIdidn’thavecredit.”If

I hadn’t been a grownman, Iwould have cried.Was I going to losemy landbeforeIcouldmakethefirstpayment?

“Buthowareyougoing toget credit if youcan’tborrowanymoney?”Shelookedatmewithworriedeyes.

“That’swhatIaskedthem!”Isaid.“Forallthegooditdid.Theyweren’tabouttotakeachanceonthelikesofme.I’mjustagrubbyhippietothem.”

ButwhenPastor Joe heard ofmyplight, he didn’t hesitate.He reachedrightintohispocket,pulledouthischeckbook,andbegantowrite.

“Paymebackwhenyoucan,”hesaid,smilingasheheldoutacheckfor$300.Mymouth dropped open. This man scarcely knewme! I resolved thatpayinghimbackwouldbeoneofmyfirstpriorities,anditwas!

Pastor Phillips had “retired” and moved to Covelo before I was born.There he built a church and later a school. Some ministers look upon theministry as a careerwith a good retirement, but not Pastor Joe.He refused toretire.HewasgoingtoworkfortheLorduntilhedropped.

I couldn’t help being impressed with his lifestyle. In his eighties hereturned to Covelo and built his own house—with some help, of course—buttherehewaswiththebestofthem,carryinglumberandworkinglikeamaninhisfifties.

“There must be something to this vegetarian lifestyle,” I rememberedtellingKaryn one day. I thought of thewonderful vegetables they grew.Theypracticallylivedoutoftheirgarden,fortworeasons.First,fortheirhealth,butofno less importance to themwas themoney they saved.The less they spentonfood,themoretheyhadtogivetospreadthegospel.Outoftheirsmallmonthlyincometheygavemorethan50percenttovariousministriesandprojects!

I knew that the prayers of this dedicated man had done as much asanythingtohelpmemakemydecisionforChrist.JoeandMiriamPhillipshadalist of more than fifty people that Joe prayed for every morning. Pastor Joementioned each person by name and prayed about his or her problems and

welfare,andhespentalotoftimewithhisBible.I’msurethatwasthesecrettohisspiritualpower.Heneverseemedtohaveatraceofimpatienceoratemper,but under the most stressful situations always maintained a gentle, kindcomposure.

And Mrs. Phillips. What a powerful witness her life was! She alwaysworkedalongsideherhusbandandevenhelpedbuild thehouse. I rememberedthetimehewascarryingalongpieceoflumberandswungaroundandwhackedheragoodone.“Joe!”shesaid.

“Oh, sorry, dear,” he answered, and they both went on about theirbusiness.Ichuckledaloudatthememoryofit.

“Whatareyoulaughingabout?”Karynwantedtoknow,rousingfromhernap.

“Oh,IwasjustthinkingofthePhillipses,”Isaid.“Theyareapreciouscouple,aren’tthey?”shesaid.“SinceMrs.PhillipshasbeenmarriedtoPastorJoe,Iknowherguardian

angelhashad toworkovertime.Remember the timehenearlybacked the caroverher?”Iasked.

“I remember!” she said. “They remind me of some of the Laurel andHardymoviesIusedtowatchwhenIwasakid.”

“Yeah, that’s a good comparison. Remember the time we saw a carcoming down the wrong way on the freeway, and it turned out to be thePhillipses?”

“Do I!Thatwas scary,”Karyn laughed. “It seems funny now, but theycouldhavebeenkilled.They’re sucha cute couple.Shemustbe ahead tallerthanhe,andwhenshelaughshermouthreacheseartoear.”

Igrinnedatthethought.“Mrs.PhillipsistheonlyoneIeversawwhowillstandupinthemiddleofthesermonandinterruptthepreacher.”

“Butshe’sneverrude.”Karynhastenedtoherdefense.“IlikethewayshecloseshereyesandquotesScripturewithoutamistake.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Her face just shines. I always feel like we’ve had amessagestraightfromheaven.”

“I thinkeveryone thinks so.Theyall stopand listen, andgiveher theirundividedattention,”Karynsaid.“Anyhow,PastorJoeseemstoappreciateit.”

The trip to California was hard. We drove straight through, hardlystopping at all, and we were certainly glad to see our mountain home stillstandingaswepulledupintheyard.Weclimbedoutstiffly.“Everybodycarrysomethingin,”Iremindedthemasthekidsmadeadashforthedoor.

ThetimeinCovelopassedtooquickly.Therewassomuchtodoandsolittletimetodoit.WedidtaketimeoutforagoodvisitwiththePhillipses.

“Hey,Mom!Lookwho’shere!”thepastorcalledtohiswifeashehurriedout the door to greet us. After hugs and laughter and a “look how you’vegrown!”toeachchildfromourhostandhostess,weallwentinside.

The smellof cookingapples filled thehouse.Mrs.Phillipswasmakingapplesauce, andPastor Joewas helping peel. “Go onwith yourwork,”Karynsaid.“We’llallcomeintothekitchenandhelpyou.”Mrs.Phillipsgaveuseachanapron,andIhelpedwiththepeelingandcoring.

“You’relookinggood!”ItoldPastorJoe.“Howoldareyounow?”“I’mninety-three,Doug.I’mreallygettingupthere.”“Youamazeme,”Isaid,shakingmyhead.He stopped working on the apple in his hand and leaned against the

counter.“Doug,I’mnotmuchgoodanymore,youknow.IttakesallthestrengthI’vegottopeelandcoretheseapples,butIwanttodoasmuchasIcan,foraslongasIcan,forasmanyasIcan,asoftenasIcan.”Hiswordsalmostmademecry,becauseIknewhemeantit.Hetrulylivedtoblessandserveothers.

With the four of us at it, wemade short work of the apples. Then wewashedourhandsandsataroundthetable.

“Doug,” Pastor Joe said, looking steadily atmewithwatery eyes, “theLordiscallingyoutotheministry.Idon’tjustthinkso.Iknowso.Idon’tknowhowit’sgoingtohappen.Iknowit’shardwithawifeandchildren,butifGodcallsyou,that’sHisproblem.He’llworkitout.”

“Ihopeso,”Isaid.Ithoughtofthewastedopportunitiesofmylife.Iwashardlypreparedfortheministry,sofarasformaleducationwasconcerned.

“Because I believe this so strongly, I’ve willed all my books to you,”PastorJoesaid.“Comeand letmeshowyouthe library.”Wegotupandwentinto his study, the ladies following. There, neatly lined up, were shelves andshelvesofbooks.

“Wheredidtheyallcomefrom?”Iasked.

“Oh,hereandthere.Don’tforget,I’vebeenintheministryforoversixtyyears.Youaccumulatealotofstuffinthatlengthoftime.”

“Yes, and he’s been a mission conference president and done lots oftraveling,”Mrs.Phillipsadded.“Hebuysanewbookeverywherehegoes.”

Iwhistledsoftly.Therewereenoughbooksforthreelifetimes!“Howlongcanyoustay?WillyoubehereforSabbath?”thepastorasked.“Yes, we’ll be here Sabbath, but we’re leaving Sundaymorning bright

andearly,”Ireplied.“Good!Whydon’tyoupreach forus?Allyour friendswillwant tosee

andhearyou.”“I’dbegladto,Pastor,”Iassuredhim.After awonderfulSabbathwith friends,we returned toNewMexico to

continuetheworktherewiththeNavajos.AcoupleofweekslaterwereceivedwordthatPastorPhillipshaddied.Hefelloutofbedduringthenightandwastooweaktogetup.Hiswifetriedtolifthimbackintobed,butshejustcouldn’tdoit.

“Don’tworry,Mom,”he said. “Just covermeuphereon the floor. I’mcomfortable.” She covered him up, hoping to get help the next day, but bymorninghewasgone.IwassogladIhadseenhimtwoweeksbefore.

One day the telephone rang. “This is Richard Schwartz, ministerialsecretaryfortheNorthernCaliforniaConference,”thevoicesaid.Irememberedmeetinghimafewtimes inpassing.“Doug,we’veheardofyoursuccesswiththe Navajos, and we’re exploring the possibility of your coming to northernCalifornia to do some pastor/evangelism work. Do you think you’d heinterested?”

WouldI!WithmyhomeandfriendsinnorthernCalifornia,itsoundedtoogoodtobetrue,butItriedtonotsoundtooexcited.

“Isthereanyparticularchurchthatyouhaveinmind?”Iasked.“Well,yes,”heanswered,“thereareacouplewe’reconsidering.Oneisin

asmalltowncalledCovelo.Youmaynothaveheardofit.”Myheadreeled.Outofthe130AdventistchurchesinnorthernCalifornia,

thiswasthechurchaboveallothersIwouldwanttopastor!Karynkickedme.“SayYes!”shewhispered.Buteventhoughmymind

wasalreadymadeup,IknewIshouldtakeittotheLordfirst.“We’lltalkitoverandprayaboutit,”Isaid.“I’llbeintouch.”Karynsaid,“I’llpackwhileyoupray.”Ifthiswasn’tamiracle,Ineversawone!IneededachurchlikeCovelo,

becausethepeoplethereknewIdidn’tknowwhatIwasdoing,but theylovedmeanyway.Ouroldfriendswerethrilledtohavemereturnastheirpastor.

When I finally got there, I discovered howmuch I didn’t know aboutpastoring.Ididn’tevenknowhowtoconductaboardmeeting.Imademotionsandthensecondedthemmyself!Butthepeopleborewithmepatientlyandlovedmethroughitall.WithGod’sblessing,thecongregationgrewandprospered.Weboughtthepropertynextdoorandbuiltanadditiononthechurch.

Along with my pastoral duties, I was also expected to conductevangelisticmeetings.IheldmyfirstseriesofmeetingsrightinCovelo.About100 people attended that first night, and the attendance remained goodthroughouttheseries.Attheend,12peopletooktheirstandforChristandwerebaptizedthatyear.Thechurchgrewduringmyshortministry therefrom86to112.

Evangelismbegantakingmoreandmoreofmytime,andIfinallyputinarequesttoberelievedofmypastoraldutiessoIcoulddoevangelismfulltime.Recently,ImadeithomeagaintoCoveloandpreachedonSabbathmorning.AsI lookedout into the congregation, I saw somany people I felt very close to.CharwasoneofthefirstpeoplewemetwhenwemovedtoCovelo.Shewasahippieinthosedays,andsowerewe.Iinvitedhertothemeetings,andnowhereshewas,afaithfulchurchmember,andsowashermotherPauline.

Inresponse tohergrandmother’spleading, thePhillipses’granddaughterEdwinahadattendedthemeetings,andnowwasafaithfulchurchmember.Mrs.Phillipssaidoverandover,“IfonlyJoecouldseethatyoucamebacktopastorthe church he built, he’d be so proud of you! If only Joe could see that hisgranddaughterwasbaptizedfromyourmeetings,he’dbesohappy!”Andshe’dcry.

ThentherewasJohn.Thismanhadbeenraisedinthechurch,butleftasayoungmanandattendedaPresbyterianchurchduringmostofthethirtyyearshehadbeenout.Whentheevangelisticmeetingsbegan,hecamefaithfullyandwasthefirstpersonIeverbaptized.Nowhewasastrongmember,taughtaSabbathSchoolclass,andhadmarriedChar’smother.

AndMarta!SeeingMarta brought back someofmy favoritememories.It’s a long story, but I think it’s worth the telling. Even though I had mixedfeelings about Easter sunrise services, I decided to attend. It was good tofellowshipwiththeotherministersintown,andInevertiredofthestoryoftheResurrection.Theyaskedmetohavethemorningprayer,soIputonmysuitandtieandwentdowntown.

After the service, I climbed intomy car and headed for home, but as IpassedthePentecostalFaithTabernacle,Ifeltastrongurgetostopandgoin.IfeltthatIwassupposedtopreachtherethatday.“ButwhyshouldIdothat?”Iaskedmyself.“I’mthepastoroftheAdventistchurch.”

Idroveonby,butIhadastrongfeelingthatIwasdisobeyingGod,soIturned around and started back. “How do I know this isn’t justmy ownwildimagination?”Icontinuedarguingwithmyself.“AmIsupposedtowalkintothechurch and march up the aisle and tell the pastor, ‘The Lord told me I’msupposedtopreachhere thismorning,soyoucangoandsitdown’?Imustbetired!”AgainIpassedby.

Idon’t rememberhowmany times Idroveby, arguingwithmyself andprayingforguidance.FinallyIdrovehometoeatbreakfast.Irippedoffmytieandlaiditonthedresser.Iwenttotherefrigeratorandgotoutabanana,buttheimpression returned, and I felt Iwas running away, like Jonah. “Well,Lord, Idon’t understand this, but I guess I’d better go.”So I putmy tie backon andstartedoutthedoor.

“Whereareyougoing?”Karynasked.“Tochurch,”Isaid.“Oh?”Thatwasallshesaid.Shewasn’tsurprised,becauseIoftenacted

strangely.IdrovebackandparkedinfrontoftheFaithtabernacle.AsIwalkedin I saw that the servicewas inprogress, and theministerhad just invited thecongregation to kneel and pray for the outpouring of the Spirit before thepreaching.Islippedintoabackpewandkneltdown.

PrayerinaPentecostalserviceisn’tlikethatofmostchurches.Theyprayalongtime,andtheydon’tjustprayquietlyintheirhearts.Someprayoutloud,some mumble, and some speak in tongues. The lady beside me sounded asthoughshewastalkingaboutJapanesemotorcycles.Asforme,IaskedtheLordtoletmeknowifHebroughtmehere,orifthiswasjustmyownimagining.

While I was praying, I got this mental picture that when they finished

praying, the pastor was going to ask me to come up and preach. “But whatwouldIsay?”IthoughtasIknelttherepraying.Thenawholesermoncametome,justasifitwerebeinghandedout,aboutMaryMagdalenerepresentingthechurch.

Theprayingreachedakindofcrescendoandthenbegantoquietdownasoneandthenanotherofthepeopletooktheirseats.Irosefrommykneesandsatback in the pew. Then PastorRayHull stepped up to the podium and lookeddirectlyatmeandsaid,“IseethatourAdventistbrotherisheretoday.Pastor,doyouhaveafewwordstosayfortheLordthismorning?”

Iknewhemeant,“Doyouhaveatestimony?”Myheartraced,butItriedtoconcealmyexcitement.AscalmlyasIcould,Istoodup.“Youknowhowitis,Pastor,”Isaid.“Wepreacherscan’tjustsayafewwords.”Ismiledandstartedtositdown,butbeforeIcould,hecamerightback.

“Thenwhydon’tyoucomeonupandpreach?”Myheartstartedskippinginmychest,andIthought,“Thiscan’tbereallyhappening.”AsIwalkedtowardthefrontwithmyBibleinhand,IhadneverfeltmoreconfidentthatIwasjustwhere God wantedme, because He had brought me to this church in such aremarkablemanner.IknewHewouldinstructmeandgivemewordstosay.

IfairlywalkedonairasImademywayuptothepulpitandopenedmyBibletoJohn8.Everythingseemedlikeitwasrehearsed.Ibegantotalkaboutthewomantakeninadultery,andthewordsjustflowedfrommymouth,almostwithouteffortonmypart.IheardanabundanceofAmens,PraisetheLords,andPreach it,brother!That toldme theaudiencewaswithme,and itwarmedmyheart.(IwishtheywoulddomoreofthatinAdventistchurches.)

AttheendImadeanaltarcall.Manypeoplecameforward,andwehadprayertogether.Asthelastofthepeoplewereleaving,PastorHullturnedtomewithtearsstreamingdownhischeeks.“PastorDoug,”hesaidwithchokedvoice,“Godsentyouherethismorning.”

Iwonderedhowheknew.“I’vebeensick,”hewenton.“Ididn’tknowwhatIwasgoingtodo,so

I’ve been praying about it. I askedmywife to preach, but shewas scared todeath.Soyousee,BrotherDoug,Godsentyouinanswertomyprayer.”

Since that day, I have never doubted thatGod hasHis people in everychurch,regardlessoftheircreedordoctrine.Hehearsandanswerstheirprayers,too, and before Jesus comes,we’ll all be united into one body that keeps the

commandmentsofGodandfaithofJesus(seeRevelation14:12).Before I leftthatday,heinvitedmetocomeagain,andIpromisedhimIwould.

Now,that’showImetMarta.IdidcomebacktovisitthatFaithtabernacleanotherSunday,andwhenIdid,InoticedaSpanishladyseatedinfrontofme.Icouldtellthatshedidn’tspeakEnglish,soIsentupaquickprayerthattheLordwouldhelpmemakefriendswithher.RightafterIprayed,thepastorsaid,“Nowstandupandshakehandswiththepeoplearoundyou.”IcouldseethatGodhadopenedtheway,sowhilepeopleweregreetingeachother,Isaid,“iComoestdusted,hermana?”(“Howareyou,sister?”)IhadlearnedalittleSpanishfromaMexicanfriendwholivedwithme.

Shebrokeintoabigsmilewhensheheardherownlanguage.Shebeganto rattle off Spanish faster than I could understand. I held up my hand.“Despacio,” I said. “IMas lento!” (“Speak slowly.”) Then, using my haltingSpanish,Iasked,“Doyouunderstandwhat’sbeingsaidhere?”

“No,”shesaid,“butthisisGod’shouse,soIcome.”“I go to church on Saturday, andwe have severalmemberswho speak

Spanish.ComeandvisitusnextSaturday,”Iinvited.“Gracias,senor,”shesaid,andsureenoughshewasinmychurchthenext

Sabbath.Before long shehadher childrencoming too.Now,both sheand thechildrenarefaithfulmembersofourchurch,andallthechildrenattendourlittlechurchschool.SoasIlookedoutintotheAdventistcongregationthatSabbath,IrejoicedtoseeMartaandherchildren.

Notlongafterthat,aswewereonourwaytoprayermeetingoneevening,wesawanambulanceinfrontofMrs.Phillips’shome.Shehadsufferedastroke,and a couple of days later she died without regaining consciousness. HergranddaughterfoundherBiblelyingonthetablebesideherchairwiththelessonbooklet. It was Wednesday, and she had filled in the Wednesday section ofanswers in her own shaky handwriting. Her last written words that morningwere,“Wewillnotdie.”

Everyonediesthefirstdeath,ofcourse,buttherighteouswillnotdiethesecond deathmentioned in Revelation 20. Of that,Mrs. Phillips had absoluteconfidence.

Itwasmyprivilegetoconductherfuneralservice.Thechurchoverflowedwithherfriendsandneighbors,andflowerswereeverywhere.Itseemedalmostlikeacelebration.Agreatwarriorhadwon thevictoryoversinand laiddown

her armor. There she lay at peace, beyond the reach of Satan. I couldn’t feelsorryforher.Infact,Ienviedher.Thenextthingshewillhearwillbethevoiceof Jesuscallingher forth from thegraveaspromised in1Thessalonians4:16,17.She’llfeelthesurgeofeternallifecoursingthroughherimmortalbody,andshe’llbewithherbelovedJoe.Whatareunionthatwillbe!TogethertheywillwalkthestreetsofgoldinthatgloriouscitydescribedinthelasttwochaptersintheBible.

AfterthefuneralIwenttovisitherson.HestillhadnotgivenhishearttotheLord,andIhopedImightfindsomeencouragingwordstospeaktohim.

“You know that yourmother loved you verymuch, and she prayed foryoueveryday,”Isaid.“Shekeptprayingforyoutotheverylast.”

“Yes,Iknow,”hesaid,“butdon’tholdyourbreathprayingforme.”What could I say to this hard-drinking, rough-talking, machoman that

wouldreachhisheart?“Ifyou’dknownmeafewyearsago,you’dneverhavebelievedthatIwouldeverbeaChristianeither.YourparentshadalottodowithmybeingwhereIamtoday.Theywererealsaints.”

“Iknow.Theyweresaints,”hesaidquietly.Helookeddownandfiddledwithhishat.“Buttheywerenotalwaysthatway.Theybecamesaints.”

Nowthosewordsgavemehope.Icouldbecomeasaint.WhenIlookatJesus’perfectexample, Isay,“Imayhavea longwaytogo,”butwhenI lookbackandseehowfarHehasbroughtme,itgivesmecourage.IknowHe’snotdonewithme yet. If I letHim,He’ll finishwhatHe’s started inmy life, andsomedaytakemehome.

18

TheRockThatWouldNotRoll

Not longago Ibroughtmy family to southernCalifornia for abriefvacation.Wefoundanice littlehotel inDesertHotSpringswithabeautifulviewof themountainthatwasoncemyhome.

“Dad, let’s hike to your cave.”Micah,my second child andoldest boy,was always fascinated with cave stories. Rachel preferred shopping with hermom,andDaniel,agefive,wasmuchtooyoungforsuchagruelingtrip.

EarlythenextmorningKaryndroppedMicahandmeoffinPalmSpringswithourbackpacks.Aswewalkedthroughtown,Inoticedhowmuchthingshadchanged.TheoldMay-fairMarketwasclosedandboardedup.Mystreetfriendsweregone.TheFaithCenterChurchthatweusedtoattendhadmoved.Evenaswestartedupthecanyon,thingslookeddifferent.

IthadbeeneightyearssinceIhikedthistrail.InthattimetherehadbeenafireonMt.SanJaciento,aswellasamoderateearthquakeandamajorfloodinthe area. Trees that were once landmarks along the path were now onlyblackened stumps. In many spots the old trail had washed out and beenrelocated.Eventhecreekhadchangeditscourse.

ThoughMicahwasonlyseven,hepluggedalonglikearealsoldier,nevercomplainingabouttheheatorthesmallbackpackhecarried.

PartwayupthemountainIpointedahead.“We’llstopupthereatSquarePool,”Isaid.“It’sagreatplacetostopanddivein,swimaround,andcooloff.”ButwhenwegottoSquarePool,wefoundthatithadbeenfilledinwithsand.Wecouldonlywalkacrossitandtakeashowerinthewaterfallnearby.

Ibegantowonderifmycavewouldstillbethere.WhatwouldIfind?Afterabouttwo-and-a-halfhoursofhikinguphill,wereachedthehighest

point of the trip—the spot about 4,000 feet above Palm Springs with a

panoramicviewofallthedesertcities.Wesatforabouttenminutes,drinkinginthespectacularscene.Wealsodranksomewater.

After our brief rest,we shouldered our packs and started the trip downintothethirdvalley.Thingswerebeginningtolookmorefamiliar,andmyheartbeganbeatingfaster—morefromexcitement thanfromhiking.Asweroundedtheridgeandbeheld the thirdvalleydirectlybeforeus, Istoppedamoment tobreatheandtakeinthescene.

“Watchalookin’at,Dad?”Micahasked.“Myrock,”Irepliedsoftly.Atthatpointweweresurroundedbyrocks,andmystatementmighthave

soundedstrangetoapersonwhocouldnotseewhatwesaw.Butonerockinthatvalleystoodoutlikeabasketballinaboxofmarbles.Ihadlivedintheshadowof that giant boulder for a year and a half.Hundreds of times, after climbing4,000feetupdesolatedesertmountainsinoneofthehottestclimatesonearth,Ihad rounded this ridge and beheld “my rock.” Forme it represented rest andshade. Itmeant thathomewas in sight,with foodandwater.Sometimes therewereearthquakes in thesemountains,androcksanddirtwouldcometumblingdown the valley walls from all directions, but I was never afraid under theprotectionof“myrock.”

Afterallthoseyears,seeingitagain,unchanged,broughttearstomyeyes.“Comeon,Micah,”Isaid.“We’realmosttherenow.”Iwantedtokeepmovingbeforehenoticedthewatersproutinginmyeyes.

Inabout tenminuteswewereon thevalleyfloor,hikingalongTahquitzCreek. I could not help reminiscing. “Over there is where I had my sauna,Micah.”Ipointedofftoonesideofthetrail.“Iwouldheatupbigrocksinafire,thencarrythemwithashovelintoaplastictepee,sealthedoorwithmeinside,andpouronhotwater.InafewminutesIwouldbesohotthatIwouldhavetorushoutanddiveintothatlargepooloverthere.”

Micahlistened,wide-eyedwithfascination.In a fewmoments we climbed between two rocks and over a log that

opened into my “cave yard.” Very little had changed. The smoke-blackenedceiling,myrock-logchairandfireplace,wereallstillthesame.Someofthesandinthebedroomcaveandmainfloorhadwashedaway,butitstillfeltlikehome.

Micah couldnot containhis excitement.Even though I am surehewastired,hedroppedhispackandwentoffexploring.Irestedafewminutesbefore

unpacking and pitching camp.WhenMicah returned, we took a swim in thepool.Thistimeofyearthewaterfeltrefreshinglycool.

Wesat in thefadingsunlight todryoff.“Micah, itwillsoonbedark,”Isaid.“We’dbetterfetchsomewoodforthefiretonight.”Bysundownwehadahugepileofwoodandfuriousappetites,sowebuiltafireandcookedupsomeofourprovisions.

“Dad,”Micahsaidashe finishedhis last spoonfulofbeans,“wheredidyoufindthatBiblethatwasinthecave?”

I pointed toward the cave. “See that rock ledge bymy bedroom cave?That’swhereitwas.”

“Whateverhappenedtoit?”“NotlongafterIstartedreadingitIaccidentallydroppeditinthecreek,”

I said. “After that it swelledup, and itwasn’tveryeasy to read, somy friendGlengavemeanewone.I’mnotsurewhateverbecameofthefirstone.”

Wehadoureveningprayerand threwsomemorestickson thefire.Butlong afterMicah had crawled into his sleeping bag, he kept asking questionsaboutlifeinthiswildcanyon.

Finallyhewas silent, and Iknew thathehaddroppedoff to sleep.Thelight from the fire dancedon the cavewalls, creating familiar images.Then alittlekangaroorathoppedacrossthecavefloor,stoppedamomentandlookedatmeasiftoask,“Wherehaveyoubeen?”andthenhoppedaway.Ireachedintomybackpackand felt around for theBible Ihadbroughtalong. Iopened it atrandom, and in the light from the fire I read Matthew 7:24, 25. Jesus wasspeaking. “Whosoever heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them, I willliken him unto a wise man, which built his house upon a rock: and the raindescended,andthefloodscame,andthewindsblew,andbeatuponthathouse;anditfellnot:foritwasfoundeduponarock.”

Ithought,“HowmanytimesintheBibleJesusiscomparedtoarock.HeiscalledthechiefCornerstone,thesureFoundation,andtheStonecutfromthemountain.EventheTenCommandmentswerewrittenonstonetorepresenthowunchanging they are.Oneofmy favorite symbols ofChrist, from Isaiah32:2,compares Jesus to amighty rock thatgives shade in aweary land. Just asmycaveboulderhasstoodthroughrain,wind,fire,andearthquake,unchangingandunmoved,soJesushasalwaysbeenthereforme,dependable,loving,providingshelterfromspiritualheatandcold.”

With thesehappy thoughts Iset theBibleon the ledgeandcrawled intomybag.Idon’tknowwhetherthegroundwasharderorIhadbecomesofter,butit tookmeawhile toget comfortable.But soon Idriftedoff to sleepwith thesoundofthecreektalkingtome.

Micahhadahardtimewakingupthenextmorning.Hiseyeswerehalf-opened, and it was comical, watching him look around, trying to rememberwherehewasandhowhegot there.Hishair looked likehehadcombed itallnightwithanegg-beater!“We’llneedtogetanearlystartdownthehilltomeetMomintown,”IsaidasIopenedacanforbreakfast.“But,Dad,wejustgothere.”“Iknow,Son,butourvacationtimeisaboutover.Let’sbegladwehadachancetovisitthisplace.”“OK,”Micahsaidwithasigh.

Aftereatingourbreakfast, takingaquickbath in thepool,andsayingashortprayer,wepackedupourthingsandtookonelastlookaround.AsIstartedoutofthecaveyard,Micahcalledtome.“Dad,youleftyourBibleontheledgeoverthere!”

“Iknow,Son.”Heseemedtounderstand,andwestartedourtripdownthemountain.“Dad?”Micahspokeafteralongsilence.“Yes,Son.”“Doyouevermisslivinguphere?”

Ididn’thavetothinklongtoanswer.“Yes,Son,Ido.Inmanywayslifewasmuchsimpleruphere.Therewerenopressures,nostresses.”

“Dad.”Icouldtellthatthewheelsinhismindwereturning.“Doyouthinkyouwillevermovebackuphere?”“No,Son,Goddidn’tcallustorunawayfromtheworld.Jesussaidwe

shouldgointoalltheworldandpreachthegospel.”Webothgrewsilent aswecontinueddown the trail. Iwas thinkingmy

thoughts,andinhisownchildishway,IknewthatMicahwasthinkinghis.Iwasso thankful for all my children, and I felt particularly close to Micah thismorningaswehikedalongtogether.GodhasshownmemanythingsaboutHislovethroughmychildren,andMicahtaughtmeoneofthegreatestlessonsI’ve

everlearned.Onemorning about five years earlier, whenwewere living in Covelo,

KarynandIfoundhiminhiscribmoaningandstaringblanklyattheceiling.Weknewsomethingwasseriouslywrong,soKarynscoopedhimupinherarmsandweracedtothenearesthospital,fortymilesaway.Werushedintotheemergencyroomwithourblue-eyedbundle,andafterabasicexamination,theyounginternwhowasoncallthatmorningtoldushefearedthatMicahhadspinalmeningitis.Hesaidthattheonlywaytobesurewastodoatestcalleda“spinaltap.”Thatinvolved inserting a three-inchneedle between thevertebrae inMicah’s spine.Thespine,ofcourse,isfilledwithnerves.

Micah was at the age when he could talk a little. He said things like“Mommy,” “Daddy,” and “banana.” I wondered what was going through hismindrightthen.Karynlefttheroom,sayingshecouldn’tbeartowatch.Istoodby as a couple of nurses heldmybabyboyon his side, bent so his backwasarched.ThisevidentlycausedMicahagreatdealofpain,becauseMicahstartedgroaning.Thesaddestpartwasthattheinternconfessedhavinglittleexperienceindoingspinaltaps.SoIwatchedwithabreakingheartasthreeorfourtimestheyoung doctor pushed the needle into my little boy’s back. Only a parent canunderstandtheheartacheofwatchingachildsuffer.

Micahlookedupandcriedoutoverandover,“Daddy,Daddy,Daddy.”This tore me apart. I knew he wondered, “Why are you letting these

peoplehurtme?Don’tyoulovemeanymore?”AndIknewthatathisage,therewas noway I couldmake him understand.One ofmy greatest fearswas thatMicahmightdiethinkingthatIdidn’tlovehim.

As it turnedout,hedidhavespinalmeningitis,butby thegraceofGodandtendaysinthehospitalhecompletelyrecovered.ButafterthatIcouldneverreadthestoryofJesusonthecross,cryingouttoHisFather,“MyGod,myGod,whyhaveYouforsakenme?”withoutthinkingofthisexperience.Itwouldhavebeenmucheasierformetosufferthantowatchoneofmychildrensuffer,andIknowthatourFatherinheavenlovedHisSon,Jesus,muchmorethanIlovemychildren.

HowcouldHedoit?The only conclusion I can reach is that God and Christ loved us so

desperatelythattheywerewillingtogothroughwiththisterribleordealinspiteofthepain.

ThisiswhyI toldMicahthatGodhascalledmetopreachthegospel.IfeeldriventotelltheworldaboutaGodwholovesusthatmuch.Itismyprayerthat thosewho read the testimony in this bookwill learn frommy experiencethathappinessdoesnotcomefromtheabundanceof things. I learned thehardwaythatthehappinesstheworldoffersisnotreal.It’stheBigLie.Butthejoyofserving God and ministering to my fellow man is genuine, and it leaves nohangover.

Iknow,becauseItrieditall!