"Watchnight service was worth watching" from the December 29, 1977 Door County Advocate
KETA STEEBS
KETA STEEBS
Watchnight service was worth watching
During the 25 years that I knew him my Grandpa Everingham never had a New Year's Day hangover. In fact, except for the times Grandma bawled him out, he rarely had to reach for the Alka Seltzer bottle. Grandpa's abstinence was due more Grandma's habit of keeping a strict eye on him than the Salvation Army's temperance policy. Grandpa, you see, despite an inherent fondness for home brew, had been a faithful follower of Gen. William Booth since he was old enough to ring a bell.
On New Year's eve, my grandparents' pattern never varied. Grandma went to St. Joseph and St. Mary Catholic church to pray for peace and prosperity and more control of Grandpa and Grandpa went to the Watchnight service in the back room of a sewing machine store.
Although I was being raised Lutheran, I usually went to church with Grandma. By the time I was 12 I knew more prayers for the dead than she did. Grandma loved funerals and although we rarely knew any of the deceased, if they went to SS Joseph and Mary church, we were at their send off.
Funerals, especially those of young people, had a depressing effect on me but Grandma claimed they made her feel more alive. Everytime somebody died her mood improved drastically and I can't help thinking someone her age or younger must have passed away the night she allowed me to attend the 1937 Watchnight service with Grandpa.
I remember holding his hand as we briskly walked along the crunchy, snow blanketed streets of Iron Mountain (Michigan) and asking him what happened at Watchnight services. Would we say novenas, I wondered, (I could beat Grandma saying novenas) but all he would say was, "You'll see."
During the thirties Iron Mountain was a way station for certain unfortunates who drove the Chicago and Northwestern Railroad people crazy by filling up their boxcars. By the time they reached the bowels of Upper Michigan, these poor destitutes were so miserable they were ready to turn themselves over to the law but prudently sought the Salvation Army quarters instead.
There, they were given hot food, a place to sleep, warm blankets and inspiration. Part of the inspiration meant having to attend New Year's eve services. That's why, by the time Grandpa and I arrived, the place was packed with skinny, red-faced, shabbily dressed men.
Some of them, I whispered loudly to Grandpa, had sour breath. Others were shaking so badly I thought they had palsy.
During the course of the service, the man in charge asked if anyone would like to publicly talk about his or her salvation. I wanted to get up and show off my novenas but Grandpa kept a firm grip on my arm. Instead, a woman in the back row tottered up to the front and movingly told how she had been saved from the pit of degradation by God's love.
Her story was so interesting I could have listened forever. What that woman hadn't done. She had no sooner finished than one by one the shaking derelicts followed suit. Sordid as their stories were, however, none could match the pathos of that sweet faced little lady's trip down the primrose path and back.
Having learned from Grandma that confession is good for the soul I wasn't surprised when every hobo in the hall hollered Hallelujah (without adding I'm a bum) at the close of the service.
Those men literally glowed as they gathered around that trembling woman, fervently expressing admiration for her courage. There wasn't one who didn't vow to do better and most of them said they were giving up wine, women and boxcars for good.
I told Grandpa on the way home I'd never stray from the straight and narrow. I said I couldn't get over that poor lady's redemption and the effect she had on others.
Grandpa looked at me in surprise. Didn't I know her, he asked. Didn't I know this woman was one of the most respected ladies in town, a person who never even overdosed on Geritol? She was also a true blue wife, a fine mother and the Salvation Army's champion bell ringer.
"Why the story?" I expostulated.
"She saves a lot of souls that way," Grandpa said quietly.
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