POISON PEN

Each year when Christmas came around my mother played the role of part time Santa, part-time Mother Teresa. She took on the monumental task of making sure that, as it seemed to me at the time, half the town had a present under their tree from the Rendalls. These were not particularly exotic, expensive presents, but rather a token of her love. One year, it might have been a candle or decorated soaps which she had made. Another year it may have been a special food item. She would individually wrap hundreds of gifts for neighbors, friends, families, married students, the senior's organization and many others. My brother Dave and I were called on to act as "Santa's helpers" and were enlisted to help make deliveries.

One house I was usually dispatched to was directly across the street. The small house couldn't have been more than 400 square feet and was always neatly kept. I was very fearful of the particular tenants of this house, especially the man. Not because he was part of a gang or the toughest guy in town. He wasn't a particularly big or strong man. Yet I knew he had a weapon. Not a knife or gun, not even a sling shot. The weapon he wielded was a pen . . . a poisonous one.

Tom Brannan and his wife lived in the small house across the street and had moved to Three Hills to enroll their kids in the high school at Prairie. There was some kind of disagreement with the administration over a disciplinary action involving one of his children and Tom really let this get under his skin. Quite frankly he became bitter. This little seed of bitterness grew into an entire root system that choked out life. He began to turn his anger into letter writing. A gifted man and former preacher, he was never at a loss for words. Over the years he wrote dozens and dozens of letters to the local paper and individual leaders at the school. He attacked L.E. Maxwell, my Father and others in his rants. He had not only taken a bitter pill, he had swallowed the whole bottle. Venom and bile spewed from his pen like Mount Vesuvius. Poisonous darts aimed at hurting and causing pain were lobbed in the direction of any and all that he felt had wronged him or his family in some way. He attacked with a vengeance that would have made William Wallace proud. This "cause" absolutely consumed him. He thought of little else and really had no life outside of this obsession. No friends, no real activities, just a very sad life. As is often the case in small towns, the rumors swirled and Tom became a larger than life figure as people went out of their way to avoid him on the streets and in the shops, fearful that he might turn his weapon on them. Looking like something from an aggressive political campaign, even his lawn was dotted with small stakes sporting placards denouncing his great displeasure with Prairie.

So there I was, every Christmas, standing on the step of that tiny house, knocking on the door, gift in hand. Usually it was Mrs. that came to the door, but occasionally "he" would answer. I would hand over the package, wish them a Merry Christmas and scoot back across the street, heart pounding with fear that I might just get shot at any moment. Safely inside, I would take some time to recover before Mom would send me on to the next delivery. Mom and Dad always greeted the Brannans with a cheery hello as they would pass them on the sidewalk or see them out working in their yard. They treated them like neighbors and never shunned them in any way.

Many years passed, the letters continued to be written and at some point, Mrs. Brannan passed away. Well into his eighties, the loss of his wife only made matters worse as it gave Tom more time to focus on the wrongs which he felt had been done. One of our good family friends had also befriended the Brannans and she made a consistent effort to stay in touch with him after his wife died. One day she was over at his house for a visit when he began to break down and lament the horrible things he had written and said about the school over the many years. He said he had been doing a lot of thinking about his life and wondered what he should do. Our friend kindly suggested that they call my Dad and he would know what to do. Dad went over to the house and met with Tom. He sensed a completely different man and so offered a suggestion. "Would you like an opportunity to address the entire church after my sermon on Sunday?", Dad asked him. "You would really allow me to do that?", Tom replied. "Of course", Dad said.

Arrangements were made for Tom to be in church that next Sunday morning. After Dad was done preaching he called Tom up to the pulpit. As he made his way forward every eye focused on the "monster of Three Hills". Dad spoke to the congregation and said, "Mr. Brannan has something he would like to say", and then moved over and stood right beside him. The tears began before he even started speaking. Dad put his arm around his shoulder as he stood there sobbing, his entire frame shaking. With a quavering voice hardly understandable at times, Tom apologized for the hurt he had caused so many for so long. You could have heard a pin drop in that tabernacle. When Tom was done Dad took the microphone and addressed the congregation. He sincerely thanked Tom for having the courage to stand up and say what he had just said. He accepted his apology and then he did what I thought was the most compassionate thing. He invited any of the congregation who wanted to come forward to show their support and forgiveness of Tom to do so. Dozens of people got up out of their seats and came up on the platform. Forming a semi circle around Tom, Dad said a prayer. When he was finished, folk lined up to hug this man and shake his hand. You could see the transformation on Tom's face as the burdens of bitterness, piled up over many, many years, began to slide away.

As I have reflected on this story in recent years, I am struck by three things.

The first is that bitterness not dealt with will grow and destroy. As Rhianna sings in her song, Disturbia:

"It's a thief in the night
To come and grab you
It can creep up inside you
And consume you
A disease of the mind
It can control you"

The second is that it is never too late and we are never too old to say, "I'm sorry", admit our wrongdoing and ask for forgiveness.

The third is that as community we need to be willing to offer up forgiveness and restoration and not let our bitterness and cynicism about someone else's bitterness stand in the way.

From that day on, Tom began attending church and would sit right up at the front. After church, Dad would barely be in the door and get his coat off, when the phone would ring. It would be Tom from across the street with a word of encouragement on how much he enjoyed the sermon that day.

The poison pen had been put away. . . it had run out of ink.

www.prairieboy.com
© 2011 Stephen J. Rendall - All rights reserved.

FLAT ON MY BACK

In 1985 I helped Prairie start a record label. We weren't really starting something as much as we were reviving a vibrant tradition of recording that had started in the 1940's. I had tremendous hopes and dreams for what this could become. There are several key Harvest Music stories which I'll relate at a further date. 

 My office was on the east side of the third floor in the G.R. Imbach Centre. The years at Harvest Music under Prairie were some of the best years of my life. Working for next to nothing, there was an energy and excitement that we were creating something special. We started out with a bang and who knew how far it might go? The low wages didn't seem to matter that much and the idea that a group of us were working toward a common goal seemed in many ways to be reward enough. 

 For years Prairie had designated staff and students who would give visitors campus tours. These tours would take in many of the buildings and departments and included a lot of facts and figures that were truly impressive. 

Back in the heyday one of those tours may have covered information something like this: "The Institute has 94 buildings on the campus and 16 at the farm on a total of 450 acres. These include 6 student dormitories, high school, grade school, chapel, a large tabernacle, high school auditorium, print shop, laundry, gymnasiums, fire hall, infirmary, storehouses, barns, garage and carpenter shop. 2 buildings are especially devoted to the music department; another building contains classrooms, administration, library and faculty offices. A fine large dining room seats 1300, together with kitchen facilities, banquet room and bakery. Another building contains the office, correspondence school and book room. Then there are the smaller buildings, including butcher shop, workshops, and many staff homes and apartment buildings. From the pleasant and well lit print shop come the monthly pocket sized magazines, The Prairie Overcomer and The Young Pilot, of similar format. There is also a half hour weekly Gospel broadcast heard on several stations in Canada and the United States. Underground storerooms, out of reach of the below zero temperatures of winter, are well stocked with potatoes, beets, carrots and cans of preserved fruit. The large buildings and staff homes are steam heated from a well equipped gas fed central heating plant. The pipes are laid in tunnels, equipped with electric lighting so that repairs may easily be made in the coldest weather. The Institute now has its own power generating plant at a saving of $1,000.00 per month. It takes 3 and a half whole beef in the winter to provide the two main meat meals each week in the school's dining room. Clothes are washed for over 1,000 people each week in the campus laundry. During the school year the bakery makes 325 loaves of bread a day. This requires 50 tons of flour (1 1/2 railway carloads) each year. Prairie has 750 acres under cultivation. Grain, of course, is the principal crop. Much of the vegetable needs are supplied from the school gardens. As many as 150 tons of potatoes, 27 tons of carrots, 6 tons of beets and 6 tons of turnips have been harvested in one year. The school farm also has a dairy herd of 55 cows to supply the 1,000 gallons of milk consumed each week during the school year. 1,650 hens have produced 21,450 dozen eggs a year. Sometimes these eggs are frozen and stored in the school freezer for use during the winter months. As many as 4,500 people, including students and guests, gather at the annual Spring Conference. No charge is made for room and board, for President L.E. Maxwell says that whenever he has thought of making a charge these words have come to him: " Freely ye have received, freely give." He says that God has blessed this plan throughout the years. The enrollment for 1972 - 1973 is as follows: 826 in the Bible School; 217 in the high school, and 240 in the grade school. Working staff numbered over 200." * 

 I have had some degree of back problems for many years. This discomfort probably has its genesis in my years of road life on the many tours I was part of in my younger days. I am certainly not Hulk Hogan and for the size of my frame I probably should not have been lifting road cases, lighting rigs and speaker enclosures in the manner that I did. Many were the times when we were in a hurry and facing load-in or load-out deadlines. I should have lifted these items with more care and with some help, but that's the way it goes and as they say, "the show must go on". 

 One morning my back was giving me particular troubles. I decided that I would just lay flat on my back in my office and try and relax it just a bit during lunch. Often laying on the floor would bring some relief, so I figured I would give it a try. Noon hour came and I locked my office door, turned out the light, closed my window blind, pushed my chair into the desk and lay down on the floor between the back of my desk and the window. 

 Around 12:30 I heard a key being inserted into the lock on my door and voices in the hallway outside. As the door opened, I heard a someone say, "This is one of the offices of Harvest Music, the school's new record label. Come right in." I heard the sound of feet entering my small office and the voice explaining a bit about the artists that were signed to the label and other pertinent information. I was frozen! Should I pop up and say hello? . . . should I just keep quiet as a mouse and say nothing, hoping they would all leave? . . . what to do? I didn't need to answer the question as the group, in an attempt to all fit into my office, were now edging around my desk. Bingo! I looked up and there stood Jim Crites. 

Jim was head of the IT department and was doing double duty that day as a tour guide. I am sure Jim was as surprised as I was. A bit flustered, he then decided to introduce me to the group. "This is Steve Rendall . . . He runs Harvest Music." He gestured at my prostrate form lying on the floor. I can't even imagine what those people must have been thinking. I made an awkward attempt to stand up as I said a lame, "Hello" and muttered something about my back problems. 

The group looked at me as if to say, "If this is the guy that's running Harvest Music, they're in deep doo doo". As it turned out . . . we were! But that's a story for another day. 

 www.prairieboy.com © 2010 Stephen J. Rendall - All rights reserved. 

 * Excerpts taken from; "With God On The Prairies" and "Prairie Bible Institute - What it was . . .What it is!" © Prairie Bible Institute