“I guess I’m a rarity. Madisin Full Gospel Evangelical has been my only church.”
“Do they have votes of confidence on you?”
“No, thank God. Does your church here have them?”
“No. That’s probably the only reason I’m still there.”
When the party wound down Rev. Trueblood asked if his new friend could share any material on the kingdom of God. Something about the way Rev. Lacharetti used the term and talked about “the Lord” as if Jesus were a close friend intrigued him.
“Sure. Follow me over to my church office.”
Rev. Lacharetti’s office was about the size of the men’s restroom at his church. Sometimes it smelled as bad when the humidity invaded it, producing mold and mildew, especially on the rows of books in bookcases that ran from floor to ceiling. He wiped some green and yellow growth from the binder that he pulled from a shelf. “Here it is. These are my notes from Professor Palmer’s class at seminary.”
“Matthew 6:33? He taught a whole class on one verse?” He pointed at the title on the notebook’s cover.
“Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness.” He handed the binder to him as if it were his most valued possession. “Don’t read those notes unless you mean business with the Lord and are willing to have your life turned upside down.”
***
A week passed before Fred’s body adapted to the nine-hour difference in time zones. Hope lingered that Sally would agree to a loss of one more hour. He pointed at a map, his only ally.
“If I’m going to make a good living for us it would be a whole lot easier somewhere back on the East Coast.”
“In other words, Boston. I already told you how much my daddy hated living in New York.” Sally sat back in her chair and folded her arms. “There’s no way Boston would be any better than what he saw on the streets of New York.”
“Okay, okay. We could settle in a little town outside of Philadelphia in the farmland of Pennsylvania. You’d like those Amish farmers. Maybe that’s better than Boston. Look at this map. It’s only about 400 miles from Washington D.C. to Boston. In between them there’s Baltimore, Philadelphia, Newark, New York, Hartford, Providence.” He ran his finger along the map. “Hartford’s the insurance capital. As I move up selling insurance that would be the best place to be.”
“What’s wrong with Omaha? They have insurance companies there. And it’s only a day’s drive from here.”
Fred closed the road atlas. For the first time, he missed his authority as an ensign, of being able to issue orders. For a moment he was tempted to say that he should have stayed in the Navy because then Uncle Sam would decide where he and his family lived. But with Karl playing with his building blocks a few feet away Fred abandoned the argument. “I’m supposed to meet Jason for lunch. I’ll be back later.”
“Why don’t you sell him some insurance? Him and all the other veterans. I read somewhere that there’s over ten million veterans now that the war is over with. That’s who you ought to sell insurance to. Veterans.”
Her words echoed in his mind as he drove to Tom’s Diner, known to regulars as Tom’s Greasy Spoon. There the food was fresh, portions large, and prices reasonable, which made it the haunt of lower and middle class folks of Madisin. Those better off preferred the country club on the north end of town and it’s eighteen-hole golf course.
Fascinated by numbers since age four, Fred decided to put them to work to determine his future. “Okay Sally, you think you’re so smart?” He smirked at the photo of her and Karl that he had taped to his 1941 Ford sedan’s dashboard. “If I sell a policy to Jason during lunch, we’ll stay here in Madisin. If not, I’ll spend most of my time out on the road until you cave in and let us move back East.”
Random chance? Statistical probability? Dumb luck? Fate? Divine Providence? Take your pick. You set the odds, Sally. But I’m rolling the dice. You better not have loaded them by praying about this. That’s not fair.
Sally was one of those wives convinced that the hosts of heaven, including their Creator, were on her side come hell or high water. God help any poor fool who thought otherwise. When husband or child or both proved unbearable she retreated to her prayer room, which was a walk outside weather permitting; if not, any available room that was unoccupied. There she stayed until she “prayed through and now I feel the Lord’s peace no matter what happens.” Fred had yet to decide which was worse, a hell raising Irishwoman who had tended bar such as his mother or one with a direct line to God such as his wife.
Jason Dalrumple also had forebears from the Emerald Isle and his impishness was in fine form as he held court at Tom’s Diner. “About time you got here. The waitress was in a hurry so I ordered for you.”
Fred’s pants snagged on a spring protruding from the red vinyl seat as he slid into the booth. “I just need some coffee.”
“Can’t start the day on an empty stomach. Especially since we need to talk business.”
“Huh?”
“You’re number three on my list.”
“What list?”
“The one I came up with while I was stuck on Monkey Island, the five things I needed to do once I came on back home. Marrying Thelma was number one. Taking over my dad’s business was number two. Thanking you is number three. So thank you, Professor.” He shoved his hand toward his chest.
“For what?” Fred lightly squeezed it.
“For saving my life. If it hadn’t been for you I’d have gone up on deck without my life jacket and become fish food for sure. So thank you, Fred.”
“Uh, sure.” He blinked as the waitress set a platter of eggs, bacon, toast, and hash browns in front of him. Six buckwheat pancakes waited for Jason to baptize them with maple syrup and whipped butter.
“Let’s pray. Dear Lord, thank you for this food and for Fred. Amen.”
“Amen. I don’t ever remember you praying before.”
“I’m trying to walk the straight and narrow now. Dad said I need to get me some of that insurance you said you’re going to sell because Thelma’s pregnant.”
“She is? Congratulations.”
“Thanks. Anyways, when you get a chance come on over. I need to buy the most insurance I can but it’s got to be cheap. Running a business is not easy. It ate through all my cash income last month. Between paying for FDR’s New Deal and Truman’s Fair Deal, I’m flat broke.”
They talked of how trading a uniform and gun and ship for home and family was not as easy as they had thought it would be. Jason urged Fred to stay in Madisin.
“All your talk about moving off makes about as much sense as running your transport ship onto a reef.”
“Why?”
“Everything you need is right here.”
“Except customers. Selling insurance takes lots of prospects. I figure there’s maybe fifty million of them living between Boston and Washington D.C.”
“But here you’re more centralized. It would only take you a day or so to drive to Chicago, St. Louis, Kansas City, Memphis, or Dallas. Sure the Twin Cities, Detroit, Cleveland, and Pittsburgh are a longer trip but you can hit them all on one long swing at once.”
Fred stabbed his eggs with the fork. “Maybe so.” He pushed the half-finished breakfast to the table’s edge. “I’ve been wondering what’s number four and five on your list.”
“Number four is sort of personal.” Jason stood and threw three one-dollar bills on the table. “As soon as I take care of it, I’ll get back to you since number five involves you. I got to run. Mrs. Baker’s roof is leaking again. I’m hoping she’ll let us replace it. The shingles are worn clean through.”
***
Pastor Trueblood made notes as he read the binder labeled Matt. 6:33. At the tail end of middle age, he needed lists to help him complete projects. He liked them to be short. The long lists handed to him by his board of deacons and wife wearied him. This list was titled Seeking God’s Kingdom:
1. Use concordance to find references to kingdom
2. Mark verses referring to God’s kingdom
3. Go back and read marked verses
4. Memorize and meditate on ones I don’t understand
He was on step number four when a knock on his office door broke his concentration. “Yes?”
“There’s someone here to see you.”
He glanced at the appointment calendar that covered half of his desk. “But I don’t have any more appointments all day.”
“It’s Jason Dalrumple.”
His fists closed as the invisible vise tightened around his temples. “Okay, show him in.”
Every church has at least one, the member who never climbs on board, gets with the program, and goes along to get along; the one who is a pain, who contributes little except a buck in the offering and his presence at every potluck, dinner, and wedding to feast on free food, the one who drives the pastor crazy. He reached for his bottle of aspirin and took two. At least the war seemed to have quieted Jason’s rebellious ways to some degree. Oh well, time to put on the forced smile and pretend I’m glad to see him, he thought.
“Good morning, Jason.”
“Hi, Pastor. Sorry to drop in like this but I got a feeling it’s now or never.”
“Please sit down.” Rev. Trueblood turned sideways in his chair to hide half of the displeasure on his face. Give me Your grace, Lord. Please.
“I’ll cut to the quick. I’m ready to come to the altar next Sunday. Anything I should do to get ready besides wearing my best suit?”
He spun his swivel chair to face the penitent.
“I know I was all wrong to plug up my ears so as not to hear your preaching all these years. I’m sorry, real sorry.”
“That…that’s okay. Why the change of heart all of a sudden?”
“Well, while I was off on Monkey Island I had time and lots of it. In fact, it felt like time stood still there most days. I got to thinking things through real good and came up with a list of things I needed to do after the war. Coming to the altar during your next altar call is one of them.”
“Oh.” Some of his meditation on the kingdom of God began to spill forth. “God’s kingdom is eternal, Jason. Once you’re born into it, there’s no turning back. Ever.”
“Oh. I don’t plan on backsliding.”
“If you ever do God will destroy your body to save your soul.”
“Huh? You never said that before. Are you sure?”
He leapt to his feet. “Why do you tarry? It’s six days away to next Sunday. You could die before then.”
“I sure hope not. I haven’t got to number five on my list yet and still need to buy life insurance.”
“Today is the day of salvation!” His hands sliced through the invisible barriers. “Are you ready? Or are you just fooling around like you always do?”
“Sure. You’re the preacher man.”
For the next hour he flipped through the pages of his bible, stopping at each marked verse and reading it to the unexpected visitor. Jason listened. At times he nodded. When the bible closed Jason stood.
“I never heard you preach like that before. We best head over to the lake so you can baptize me right now. I’m through putting things off. Let’s get moving. I got a roof to fix.”
***
I know Sally won fair and square. But that doesn’t mean I have to let her know she did. After a week of trying to manipulate her into letting him sign on with an insurance company headquartered in New York or Hartford, Fred chose an Omaha company, Heartland Mutual Insurance Company. So far he had met with his manager once.
Fred liked Glen Eckles. A delegater by nature, Glen gave all his agents the same introductory pep talk: “The fields are ripe for harvest, son. There has never been a greater pent-up demand out there. The depression is over. The war is over. Good times are really going to roll more than they did during the 1920s. Sure, things are touch and go right now. But by the time we hit the 1950s, look out! The factories aren’t building tanks, planes, and ships any more. Now it’s cars, appliances, radios, furniture, you name it. And our soldiers, sailors, and marines aren’t carrying guns. They’re civilians now holding hammers, wrenches, saws, or pens as they get us back to peacetime prosperity. Yes, sir. You signed on here at Heartland at the best possible time. Get out there and sell those policies. The first one is the hardest to sell. After that it’s all downhill.”
Having to report in to Glen only once a month had sealed the deal. Every other company Fred had interviewed with demanded more meetings. It was having a job with few meetings that had drawn Fred to the insurance game. After suffering as many as three a day during his Navy duty, he had come to hate them. Being on the road also attracted him. Sally had reluctantly agreed to that part of the deal “as long as you’re home more days than you’re gone.”
Driving to Omaha took seventeen hours from Madisin. To save the cost of a hotel room, Fred left home at 8 p.m. so he could arrive at Mr. Eckles’ office by 2 p.m. the following day. His secretary’s startled expression told Fred that he should have at least shaved.
“Come in, Fred. How was the trip?”
“A long one, sir.”
“Sit down. And please dispense with that sir business. We’re all on the same team around here.”
“Yes, sir. I mean…”
“So, what’s your game plan?”
“I wanted to hit my northern prospects before winter sets in. So I’m heading out to Indianapolis tomorrow. Then it’s on to Columbus, Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Detroit, Chicago, Milwaukee, Minneapolis/St. Paul, Des Moines, and Kansas City.”
His boss traced the itinerary on the map in front of him with a red pen. “Great. We don’t have many policyholders in those cities. It’s virgin territory you’re looking at. Where are you going after that?”
“I’ll hit all the smaller towns and cities closer to Madisin through the winter. In late March I want to swing through Tulsa, Oklahoma City, Dallas/Ft. Worth, Houston, New Orleans, Mobile, Montgomery, Birmingham, Memphis, and Little Rock.”
“I’ll draw that spring trip in when you report back here before you take off on it. Here. Take this along.”
Fred took the large empty envelope labeled expenses.
“You put every receipt for gas, food, lodging, phone calls, and so forth in there. You’ll need expenses to claim against your income or else you’ll be in the poorhouse after you pay your taxes next year.”
Fred shifted his weight until the chair creaked. “Is there any way I can get an advance?”
“No. Sorry, but when we tried that too many of our salesmen gave up before they ever paid it back. It’s sink or swim, boy.”
“But…”
“There’s no ands, ifs, or buts, in the insurance game. If you’re alive and kicking, you need one of our policies. If you’re dead you better have enough of a policy to at least pay to bury you. Now who have you got lined up to meet in all those cities?”
“I contacted VFW posts about speaking at them.”
“Good. If anyone knows about life and death, it’s VFW members. One last thing. The road is tough. I did it in a big band during the 1930s.”
“What did you play?”
“Trumpet. On the road you learn to improvise. We slept on the bus most nights. About every third night our bandleader put us up in a motel. He told us to take a bath when we checked in and another one when we checked out so we smelled good for that night’s concert and the one the next day.”
“Was the money any good?”
“Nah. Only the big boys such as the bands run by Goodman, the Dorseys, and Miller made good money. They made a lot of dough off of their records, too. We were a one-hit wonder.”
“One-hit wonder?”
“You know, we had only one record that did well. Funny thing was some big time songwriter didn’t put it together. We did. One night we were playing this dance hall in Colorado on our way back from playing the clubs out in California. In between numbers our drummer started beating out a crazy 7/8 beat. Then the bass playe
r started in thumping on the up beats instead of the downbeats. I figured what the hell? So I start to play some riff I had picked up in some jazz club in Los Angeles. The other horns latched on to it and away we went. You should’ve seen our bandleader. He had told us to take a break and was out front smoking a cigarette. He came flying back in waving his arms for us to stop playing. He had this set list. Every night we played the same songs in the same order. Talk about boring. The only time the list changed was if he brought in a new hit from one of the really popular bands. So he’s madder that a wet hen at us until he notices that the place is jumping. All night it had been dead but as soon as we cut loose everyone in the place was on their feet and dancing. So he starts acting like he’s the one that wrote the song. I about fell out of my chair when he hopped on this old piano sitting off stage and started pounding away on it. We backed off and let him solo. It was the only time I ever saw him smile while performing. Then he stayed up all night writing out all the parts for all the instruments. He drove the bus straight through to Chicago so we could record it. It was the only record that got much airplay for us and we cut at least two dozen of them. But by four months later it wasn’t getting played much anymore on the radio or jukeboxes. So we went back to being strictly bush league. That’s what a one hit wonder is. Don’t be a one hit wonder, Fred. Learn to improvise.”
“Yes, sir.”
Six hundred miles of mostly cornfields and hog farms, Fred’s first stretch of road from Omaha to Indianapolis allowed him to conjure up ways to improvise on a trip that had depended on at least a $200 advance. Without any advance, I’ll be out of money by the time I hit Cleveland. That reality set in when he stopped for gas five miles west of Des Moines. There he overheard a couple of gas jockeys as they filled gas tanks.
“Yeah, I’m going to hit the road next summer.”
“What in? Your old heap of bolts probably won’t make it past the county line.”
“I’m going to hitchhike. I talked to some guy who passed through here last week. He said he made it all the way from New York to here on just $20. He just buys some gas for some of those who pick him up.”
Fred picked up the next hitchhiker he saw, an old farmer whose “truck broke down so I have to get to town to buy a new clutch to fix it with.” Just a “thank you” from him. But the third one given a ride proved to be a goldmine. He was headed to Boston and gave Fred $3, which filled the gas tank as thanks for Fred taking him as far as Indianapolis. There Fred spoke on the importance of life insurance to thirty-two veterans. Four bought term life insurance policies, which were in the mail to the Omaha office the day they were signed.