BURNELL AND MARY JOHNSON
1938
NOT WITHOUT COURAGE
by
Wendell F. Johnson
Pomona, California
January, 1963
The Stone Mason's Apprentice
Preface
Chapter I
Chapter II Crusader
Chapter III Life in a Parsonage
Chapter IV The Mary Simpson Story
Chapter V The Family Grows to Ten
Chapter VI The Not-so-Gay Nineties
Chapter VII To California the Hard Way
Chapter VIII Picture of a Man
Chapter IX A Faith that Molded a Life
Chapter X Sayings and Quotations
PREFACE
This story of the life and works of my father, Burnell D. Johnson, grew out of a suggestion from my niece, Barbara Gail Wright. Occasional stories she had heard about her maternal grandfather had made her wish to know more about this man, whose life had spanned a period of dramatic change, and who had profoundly influenced the lives of many people. She thought the fascinating record of his career and his ancestral background should be preserved for the benefit of his descendants.
Having myself retired, I welcomed this assignment, expecting to complete the work in a few weeks. But the more I worked at it, the more gaps I discovered in my own knowledge of the people and the events that were involved in the story. I found that I had to draw upon the records and memories of many relatives, far and near. How I wished that I had asked more questions of my parents while they were still with us!
The story as it ,appears is the result of many months of correspondence, interviews and discussions with other members of the family, plus the reading of numerous letters, records and newspaper stories. Much of the material about my paternal grandfather, Lyman H. Johnson, was obtained from his own published autobiography. But this was far from complete and had to be supplemented from other sources. Fortunately I had access to a brief account of her own parenthood and youth, written late in life by my mother, and a diary of the family's automobile trip to California, written by my sister, Hannah Gillette.
Among the many other relatives to whom I am indebted, I should mention in particular my father's youngest sister, Phoebe Leake, sole survivor of her generation, and Delmer Johnson, son of Uncle Arthur L. Johnson, who loaned me a number of records preserved by his father.
Chapter I
THE STONE-MASON'S APPRENTICE
It was just three weeks after the inauguration of President Lincoln and about the same length of time before the outbreak of the Civil War. In the parsonage of the Congregational Church in Rockton, Illinois, on March 25, 1861, a son was born to Mary Searle Johnson and her husband, the Rev. Lyman H. Johnson. They named him Burnell Dwight after his maternal uncle, Dwight Searle.
Lyman Johnson had come a long way, against terrific odds, in the thirty-two years since his own birth in 1829 in upper New York state. His mother, deaf since infancy, could communicate with others only through the sign language. His father, Montraville Johnson, had left home soon after Lyman was born, to join the United States Army under General Zachary Taylor. He rose from the', ranks to a captaincy but was never heard from after serving in the war against the Seminole Indians in the swamps of Florida.
This left to his maternal Grandmother Huggins the chief responsibility for Lyman's care and up-bringing. In his autobiography, written in his declining years, Grandpa Johnson described his grandmother as "a woman of great piety and remarkable Christian intelligence." During his childhood, spent amid great poverty oh her farm, she nurtured him in the Christian faith and dedicated him to the ministry. This must have made a profound impression upon the boy, for as he grew into manhood he never wavered from that goal.
We have no information about the ancestry of Montraville Johnson, and very little about Grandpa's maternal forebears. However some inferences concerning them may be drawn from several facts given in his autobiography. He states, for example, that his' Grandmother Huggins had been "a sister of John Hutchinson, who was the grandfather of the celebrated family of singers of Green Mountain fame". Later he refers to two cousins who were clergymen: Rev. Herman Eddy, a Baptist preacher in Brooklyn; and Rev. Morrison Huggins, a Presbyterian minister in Rockford, Illinois. Here is evidence of character, intelligence and culture in his maternal heritage.
There is further evidence of this in the fact that Grandpa Johnson's deaf mother was attractive enough in her widowhood to have married a teacher of the deaf, a Mr. McGraw. A daughter of theirs, Grandfather's half-sister, married James Merrelll of Beloit. Their children, George, Frank and Libby Merrell were) among my father's cousins with whom visits were exchanged when we were young. I remember that George Merrell was elected sheriff of his county, and later carried on a flourishing trucking business.
At the age of fifteen, following the death of his grandmother, Lyman left the farm and went to live in the home of a neighbor, Chester Clark. Clark was a stone-mason, and he took Lyman as an apprentice to learn that trade. About a year later, in 1845, the Clark family moved to Beloit, Wisconsin, taking him along. There he worked at his trade. I can remember seeing several cobblestone houses which he had helped to build. During the winter months when building was halted, he earned money teaching school.
Determined to equip himself for the ministry, as soon as it was possible for him to do so he enrolled in Beloit' College. This was in the fall of 1849, only three years after that college was founded. Lyman Johnson was a very ambitious, determined young man. When not attending classes he worked at his trade, and at night and on rainy days he improved the time by studying. He has written that even while walking to and from his work he "learned the Greek and Latin conjugations." Minutes of leisure were scarce and precious, since "the hours of labor were from sunrise to sundown, besides chores at home". And of course everyone worked six days per week. Reduction of the work-day to ten hours was a very welcome innovation.
Since he went to school only during the winter months when the weather prevented him from working at his trade, his 24th birthday, January 1, 1853, found him still short of completing his college education. He had finished three years of study but had one more year to go. He sacrificed his right to continue as a regular student by getting married to Mary Evelyn Searle, a young school teacher. According to Grandfather's own account he married at the time "as an excuse for leaving and taking a shorter course of study." He wrote: "My attendance at college cultivated a carnal ambition to excel in worldly wisdom, oratory and composition ... The whole course of study was designed to polish and drill men to be attractive preachers and efficient tools of religious corporations. I very soon saw the course was apt to unfit a man for the work of winning souls for Christ ... I wrote several articles for the press against the educational course as not adapted to train young men for the ministry .. I published a poem, 'The Puritanic Shrine' in which I ridiculed the worship of art and learning by the so-called churches ... It was this view of the educational course that caused me to cut it short. I broke the college laws by getting married and so was excused from completing the full course.
One is led to suspect that the feeling was mutual, and that the college was glad to be rid of this young rebel. Then too, Grandfather's explanation, written many years later, in 1906, may have had a trace of rationalization, For there is no doubt that he vas very much in love with the young school teacher and he was loath', to postpone marriage for another year.
Mary Evelyn Searle, who was to become the mother of Burnell Johnson, was in many ways the antithesis of the man she married. While he was the product of a broken home and had had to fight his way through life, she had come from a genteel New England family and a better-than-average economic level. He vas stern, aggressive, domineering; she had a sweet and gentle disposition, quiet serenity in trouble, humility, warmth and a sense of humor. She was endowed with considerable artistic talent, which was developed during her school years. Several of her pencil etchings are still treasured by her descendants.
The Searle family in America originated with John Searle, who came over from England in 1635, and settled in what is now Southampton, Massachusetts. He had two grandsons, John III, and Nathaniel. John III and his family were killed by Indians, but Nathaniel Searle lived to be 92 and reared a family of twelve. A grandson of Nathaniel named Zopher Searle, became the father of Edmond Searle. Edmond married Fanny Bascom and they became the parents of Mary Evelyn and her brother, Francis Dwight Searle.
Little is known about her childhood except that she was born to Edmund and Fannie Searle in Southampton, Massachusetts, May 15, 1828. But at a time when most people considered schooling for girls an unnecessary expense, she attended Westfield Academy and obtained sufficient education to qualify her to teach school by the time she was eighteen years of age. Deciding that her chances would be better in the middle west, she started out on the long journey to Madison, Wisconsin, where one of her uncles had established a home. She made the trip mainly by water, going from the Hudson River to Buffalo by way of the Erie Canal. From there a lake steamer took her through the Great Lakes to Milwaukee.
While looking for a teaching position she lived with her Madison relatives. When one of the girls in the family introduced her one day as "a fourteenth cousin," she decided she was not very welcome there, so she was very glad to be able to move into a room of her own and support herself, after landing a teaching job.
It was five years later, 1851, that she first met Lyman H. Johnson. By that time her family had joined her in Wisconsin. She had gone to the summer resort town of Lake Geneva to attend a Fourth of July celebration. In those days this was the great patriotic event of the year and much was made of it. The orator for the occasion was the bright young student from Beloit College with a flair for public speaking. Lyman Johnson's masterful delivery, ringing voice and inspirational message evidently won her heart. At the close of the program friends introduced her to him, and it was not long after this that he asked her to be his wife.
Mary Evelyn Searle was intelligent, petite and attractive, and Lyman Johnson was not her only suitor. We are told that the same mail brought two proposals of marriage. She chose the eloquent young orator who was in training for the ministry. Somewhat over-awed by the prospect of having to meet the responsibilities of a clergyman's wife, she decided she must get more education. Returning to Massachusetts for another year of study, she went to live with an uncle in South Hadley, where there was a "Female Seminary. This school later became Mt. Holyoke College. During the year in Which she was enrolled there as a student she received frequent letters from her fiance at Beloit College. Many years later she confided to her daughter Phoebe that two girl cousins with whom she was living were so eager to share these love letters that they offered to do her laundry in return for the privilege of reading them.
In the summer of 1852 she returned to her parents' home in Big Foot Prairie, twenty miles from Beloit. There,' on New Year's day, 1853, she was married to Lyman H. Johnson. With love and admiration for her husband and in complete harmony with his deep religious convictions, she started her married life. Before life ended for her forty-eight years later in Toledo, Ohio, she was to mother eight children, one of whom was to die in infancy. Through those years, filled with much love and happiness, but also with illness, poverty and social isolation, she was a model of gentility, patience and Christian devotion.
Establishing a home in Beloit, Grandfather supported his new bride by building cobblestone houses, but at the same time continued his studies ... perhaps at the college which he had had to leave because of his marriage, but not as a regular student. Their first child, a son born March 5, 1854, was named Alfred Eddy Johnson, after their minister, Rev. Alfred Eddy. Mr. Eddy had become so interested in Lyman's potentiality as a minister that he set about finding a way by which his life-long ambition might be fulfilled.
By the fall of 1854 plans had been worked out. Mary Evelyn and her infant son moved in with her brother, Dwight Searle, in order to release her husband for an absence of two years while he attended Union Theological Seminary in New York. Funds to make this possible, provided by the Presbyterian congregation to which they belonged, were very meagre and only by dint of the most frugal living was Grandfather able to subsist. He shared with a fellow seminarian a small room in a. cheap tenement where they cooked their own meals. A frequent item in their daily menu was buckwheat pancakes, with syrup which they made from maple sugar. The monotony of his diet seems not to have turned him against these foods, for throughout his life maple sugar continued to be a favorite delicacy. His only gesture of affection for his grandchildren was an occasional pat on the head and a gift of a piece of maple sugar candy.
Grandfather's austere mode of living had no unfavorable effect upon his studies at the seminary. He had arrived in New York City two months after the opening of the fall semester and the faculty was reluctant to admit him. He sought the help of a New York cousin, Rev. Herman Eddy, a Baptist minister. The school was finally persuaded to admit him on probation. He passed the entrance examination in Greek and other subjects and was admitted on condition that he would catch up with the rest of the class by the end of the school year. This condition was fulfilled by a wide margin. He studied so diligently that, with the help of his room-mate, he covered the required material in two weeks.
Summer vacation saw him back in Beloit working at his trade. Then in September he resumed his studies in New York. The following June, 1856, he ,graduated from Union and soon after was ordained as a Presbyterian minister. When he returned to Beloit he saw for the first time his second son, Arthur, who had been born in April. Now a full-fledged minister, Lyman H. Johnson accepted a call to be pastor of a church in Elkhorn, Wisconsin. During their three years in that pastorate his family was increased by the birth of another son, Herbert, December 19, 1857.
Grandfather's next charge was the largest church and the most lucrative pastorate he ever had. He moved in August, 1859, to Westminster Presbyterian Church of Rockford, Illinois, at a salary of $1,000 a year, in those days a very substantial sum. This was all the more remarkable in that he was still a young man only thirty years of age. Although his experience was limited he had much to recommend him. He had a good scholastic record, outstanding ability as a preacher and he was a graduate of Union Theological Seminary, the nation's foremost training school for clergymen. Also helpful was the fact that a cousin of his mother, Rev. Morrison Huggins, had founded the congregation and until his recent death had served as its pastor. He had been much beloved and this influenced the group in favor of his young relative.
Despite these favorable circumstances, the Rockford pastorate lasted only a year and a half. Perhaps the trouble that developed was due to the usual difficulty a new minister faces when he follows a beloved pastor who has served the parish for many years. But Grandfather has given a different explanation. The congregation was divided between two cliques, one made up of the "worldly" members who belonged to the socially elite of Rockford; the other, the poorer members whose contributions to the support of the church were less substantial but whose manner of life was more in accord with Christian principles and the somewhat Puritanical teachings then more in vogue than in the present day. Grandfather was never one to spare the rod when he saw a need for chastisement and his sermons condemning many of the practices of his richer parishioners aroused great resentment.
Another thing that helped to turn the congregation against him was Grandfather's uncompromising stand against human slavery. This was the turbulent period just before the Civil War. Abraham Lincoln had been elected president of the United States following a bitter campaign. Illinois had been the center of much of the debate. While Abolitionists were increasing in numbers and influence, the people in the north were far from unanimous about the abolition of slavery. Some had an economic stake in its continuance. Others had friends or relatives among the slave owners of the south. It is not surprising therefore that when the Rev. Lyman H. Johnson preached his annual sermon against the slave trade, some of his most influential members made a vigorous protest.
When Grandfather knew he was right... and there are few instances on record when he admitted he was wrong... no amount of opposition could make him back down. He stood his ground, with the result that he was forced to resign. It is worthy of note that among his backers in this controversy were two wealthy members of the church. For when the church board gave the financial burden as a reason for a change in pastors, these two men offered to pay his salary themselves. This offer was refused and the pastorate was terminated. A group of loyal members left the church with him in protest, and he ministered to them in private homes for a time, while serving in a new and smaller pastorate, a Congregational Church at nearby Rockton.
At the Rockton church as in Rockford, Grandfather soon found himself again in conflict with some of the congregation. There was a fight over the purchase of a church organ because it had been financed with funds raised by a dance. The dance, curiously enough, had been sponsored by a Methodist church. Their clergy', had prohibited use of the money to buy an organ for that church, so they offered to give the instrument to the Congregational Church, where there was no bishop to tell them what they could do. The organ was accepted but it caused a split in the congregation.
The organ controversy was just a symbol of a more fundamental division between what Grandfather called "The Lord's Party" and "The World's Party." Calling for a showdown) vote, the Lord's Party won and the other group was voted out of the church. But the title to the church property was under the control of the ousted members, so it was Grandfather and the Lord's Party who were denied the use of the building. For a year or more he met with his followers in private homes. Then he accepted a call to a Congregational Church in Galena, Illinois, in September, 1863.
These evidences of the influence of money on the policies and practices of churches added to his long-standing conviction that the genuine church off Christ cannot be divided into, warring factions. At Galena he began to stress more and more his belief that many of the groups that called themselves Christian churches were simply "moneyed corporations" not entitled to that name; He preached many sermons against "money-governed Churches" and in favor of the primitive Bible church of which Christ was the only head. He fought many battles with other churches in the community.
The result of these attacks was a formal charge against him before the
Congregational Association in September, 1865, and his expulsion from that
association because of "a denunciatory and schismatic spirit." To
the letter informing him of this action, he replied thanking them for their
action "by which from henceforth and forever I ceased to be a
Congregational or Presbyterian i minister, and became a minister of Jesus
Christ."
CONGREGATIONAL MINISTER AND WIFE
Lyman H. and Mary Searle Johnson
Galena, Illinois, 1864
Chapter II
CRUSADER
As we have seen, Lyman Johnson's career as an orthodox clergyman was meteoric but short-lived. Ordained in 1856, he had risen with unusual speed to an important city pastorate. Then, in one bitter dispute after another, he had made successive shifts to smaller congregations in other cities. Finally, only nine years after his ordination, he had been expelled from his denomination. In those nine years he had held four pastorates, one Presbyterian and three Congregational. In addition, he had twice served as the spiritual leader of informal groups who had remained loyal to him after he had resigned as pastor of their church.
During the remaining fifty years of his life he continued in the Christian ministry,, but outside of the recognized denominations. From 1865 on, his pen and his voice were devoted to a crusade against denominationalism in the Church of Christ. He opposed not only the Roman Catholic Church and the traditional churches of Protestantism, but also all other groups whose interpretations of scripture differed from his, including many who called themselves non-sectarian. From Galena he retired to a farm near Beloit, Wisconsin, and considered how best to carry on his campaign to revive in America the primitive church of the Bible.
Now that he was no longer the head of a ready-made congregation he needed some other medium for reaching) people with his message. He therefore acquired a small press, and with type set by himself and his children lie started a tiny publication which he called "The Primitive Church." After several abortive attempts to join with other men in the publication of an undenominational', paper, he decided in 1868 to launch out on his own with a monthly, paper entitled "The Stumbling Stone." Circulation gradually grew until it eventually was being mailed to some ten thousand subscribers scattered over the United States and Canada.
Not content with spreading his message by the printed word. Lyman Johnson felt that he must also talk to people face to face. He held meetings in private homes and in school houses. For about a year and a half he even conducted services in a Congregational Church in Udina, a small town near Elgin, Illinois. When this arrangement terminated he tried a new plan. If people would not come to him he would go to them.
Placing an ad in a Beloit newspaper, he announced a street meeting for the following Saturday afternoon. At the appointed time he borrowed a dry goods box from a nearby merchant and placed it at the curb. Then, crying out "Street preaching will now commence," he mounted the box and began to speak. It proved to be a humiliating experience for him. He had been accustomed to deliver his sermons from a written manuscript, a method he realized would be inappropriate in this informal setting. Without written notes his speech was halting and disjointed. He finished the talk but suffered agonies of embarrassment and self-criticism over his inept performance.
In a great demonstration of faith and courage, he refused to let this failure deter him. The following Saturday be went again to the street corner downtown, "with no preparation but prayer to God." He writes in his autobiography: "The gospel flowed from my lips like a stream of liquid fire. I never knew before what liberty was in preaching the truth ... It was the victory of my life in street work. I was freed forever from paper sermons."
Wherever he lived from that time on, he continued the practice of street preaching. For many years, in front of the post office in Toledo, Ohio, and later on Boston Common in Massachusetts, he became a familiar figure. There is considerable testimony to the effectiveness of his preaching under these most difficult circumstances.
As the Stumbling Stone found receptive readers in other parts of the country, Lyman Johnson began to get invitations to come and preach concerning "`the true church." These trips brought new contacts, new friends, and some additional financial support.
One of the men who learned, through the', Stumbling Stone, of Lyman Johnson's campaign against denominations, was an Illinois minister by the name of Samuel R. Harshman. Quite independently, he too had reached the conclusion that "the Church 6f Christ is a spiritual body and not a carnal organization," and so had left the Methodist church. In his Memoirs he writes of attending in 1870 a camp-meeting led by Lyman H. Johnson, "who had come out from the Presbyterians and was preaching against sects." Later he and his wife visited the Johnsons.
He writes: "I found them living on a forty-acre farm of their own, and exercising great frugality in order to save money for the publication of the paper." Together, he and Lyman Johnson went to Chicago to attend some meetings conducted by Dwight L. Moody, a famous evangelist of that day. While there they lodged in the home of an Episcopalian minister with whom Grandfather was acquainted.
For a time the two crusaders against organized religion collaborated. In most respects they saw eye to eye. But there were some differences in doctrine and practice, and at times Mr. Harshman felt that Lyman Johnson was permitting fanaticism to creep into his meetings. Notwithstanding these disagreements, Mr. Harshman invited Grandfather, in June 1872, to participate in one of his camp-meetings and assist with the preaching. He was willing "to think and let-think."
There Grandfather precipitated a dispute which led to a permanent break in their relationship. The only account we have of it is that by Harshman.
This particular dispute had to do with the subject of public prayer. "I knew," Harshman writes, "that he did not agree with me on the subject ... and I also had some knowledge of his intolerance of any opinion or practice not agreeing with his own. But I had hoped to get along without an open rupture, and to persuade him that the matter was not vital, but among those indifferent things about which everyone was to be persuaded in his own mind." However, Grandfather decided to make an issue of it, and on Saturday night preached on the subject, denouncing the views held by Mr. Harshman.
Continuing Harshman's report: "He was', an older man than I, and I disliked to attack him publicly, but no alternative was left to me and I did not spare him. I think I succeeded it showing the unscripturalness and absurdity of his statements ... The next morning Mr. Johnson left the camp ground before the service, shaking the dust off his feet as a testimony against us, and left Winchester on the first train."
In 1875, influenced by friends in Lucas County, Ohio, he moved his family and his printing equipment to the 'little rural village of Whitehouse, twenty miles from Toledo, the county seat. By this time his family had increased to nine. Of his seven', children, all were at home except the eldest son, Alfred Eddy Johnson, who had run away from the Illinois farm and had not been heard from since.
Two years later, in 1877, the family moved to Manhattan, a small town on the Maumee River north of Toledo. This move was made possible by some financial help from a well-to-do New Yorker by the name of David F. Newton. Mr. Newton had become so interested in Lyman H. Johnson's teachings that he engaged him and his sons to build a house for him in this North Toledo suburb, and eventually came there to live. With his help Grandfather was able to buy a corner lot on North Erie Street, where they built a two-story structure housing their printing shop as well as living quarters.
In this location they were able to get some', job-printing business, besides publishing their monthly paper. The older sons also got other building jobs. Grandfather devoted himself largely to writing and preaching. He held regular meetings in the neighborhood but he spent much time traveling around the country on evangelistic missions.
Within a few years he had accumulated sufficient funds to buy forty acres of farm land west of Toledo on Sylvania Avenue. After the necessary buildings had been constructed, he sold his Manhattan property and moved to the farm, printing press' and all. Grandfather envisioned a little colony of homes there where he and his sons' families would continue living close together. For several years this plan did work out, for the three older sons, Arthur, Herbert and Burnell established their homes on that farm. But its location proved to be unsatisfactory because of its distance from the', city and the lack of transportation and. the plan was finally abandoned.
In 1884 Lyman Johnson acquired a lot in downtown Toledo at 411 Tenth Street. There he and his sons built a large frame building, with a half-basement where was located a steam driven printing press and other printing equipment, as well as the central heating plant. The main floor, reached by a flight of steps from the sidewalk, housed an auditorium which was named "The Free Chapel" and behind it living quarters for the family. Upstairs were a number of sleeping rooms for the accommodation of visitors who would come from other cities to attend the spring and fall "Assemblies," a protracted series of daily and evening meetings.
Continuing to preach, both on Sunday at the Chapel and on Saturday evenings at a downtown street corner, he soon became a thorn in the side of the Ministerial Association. For he regularly denounced his fellow members in violent diatribes against the sects, and their clergy whom he called "hirelings." The conflict came to a head after Grandfather had printed. and circulated a leaflet attacking four different lecturers who happened to be scheduled to speak in Toledo that week: A Roman Catholic whom Grandfather referred to as "Elliott, the Papal Revivalist"; Mohammed Webb, an advocate of the Moslem faith; Robbert Ingersoll, who had come "to make the Bible appear ludicrous by his profane witticisms and bold falsehoods"; and General Booth, head of the Salvation Army.
Grandfather attended the Ingersoll lecture, held in the Valentine Theatre, the city's largest auditorium. The story' of his dramatic reply to the famous agnostic was told thirty years later by William Roche, a newspaper reporter who was present. It was published in the Toledo News-Bee as one of a series of stories from his long newspaper career. After describing the effective way in which Bob Ingersoll had won over his audience, holding them enthralled for nearly' two hours, he wrote:
"The Rev. Lyman Johnson contributed the dramatic feature of the evening. He will be remembered as a little man, afflicted with spinal curvature, but of a brilliant mind, the courage j of a lion and the devotion of an apostle. He preached in a little church built by himself and his sons. When the congregations did not come, he went to the street corners and attracted throngs by his impassioned eloquence. In this Ingersoll meeting it was more than he could bear that none should testify for the Master after this infidel address. He jumped up on his seat and with eyes blazing and voice thrilling with emotion, he made protest and appeal. I thought then that the audience was glad, and paid tribute in their hearts to the gallant little man who did splendid Christian work in the Toledo of that day. He was an educated clergyman and a battler for the faith as delivered to the apostles."
But in Grandfather's leaflet, it was against General Booth that he directed his principal attack. He not only devoted most of the space to his denunciation of the Salvation Army and its religious program, but it was to the large audiences who came to hear the noted Salvationist that the leaflets were mainly distributed. Grandfather was never one to mince words. Everything to him was black or white, and black was darkest ebony. He wrote of General Booth coming "with his comic army and rollicking, religious jokers"; "the antics of a buffoon"; "white-washing rough, dirty sinners, while he is in full fellowship with those who would crucify Christ"; "Booth is honored and driven about like a prince by the rich hypocrites and corrupt politicians whose money he covets and gets. How absurd to imagine such an impostor to be a minister of Jesus Christ"; "By this alone he is fully proved to be anti-Christ, the very MAN OF SIN designated in the scriptures".
Not content with censuring General Booth':, Grandfather linked with him all the other ministers of the town: "The very sin for which Herod was smitten of God, for accepting homage of the Tyrians, is the sin of Booth, the Christ of the Salvation Army, identical with the sin of the Pope who makes himself Christ; likewise the head of every religious sect assumes the same lordship in some degree, a greater sin than that of any saloon or brothel of the world's wickedness."
This was too much for his fellow members of the Preachers' Union. A committee appointed to look into the, matter brought in a recommendation that his name be dropped from the membership list of the organization. Strange as it may seem, Grandfather chose to resist expulsion from the Preachers' Union, even though he considered all of them except himself to be hypocrites. He claimed there was nothing personal in his attacks on General Booth and the other religious leaders of the community and he asked for time in which to propound his views.
Grandfather's speech before the Preachers' Union in January, 1895, was in many respects a masterpiece of logic and persuasion. Part One dealt with his right to be a member of the organization and it was a very convincing argument. Part Two plead not guilty to the charge of unChristian attacks on the character of Toledo's clergy. He undertook to show that the invectives he had' hurled were rightly motivated and were in fact expressions of true !charity and love. He referred to the excellent qualities of General Booth as a man, and he pointed out that he had not been guilty of attacking the private life or character of any minister of the gospel. He compared himself to Paul, who asked "Am I your enemy because I tell you the truth?"
Then he proceeded to go into more detail about the Salvation Army and backed up his charge that churches Were controlled by the money power by telling of his own experiences, as a denominational minister. He concluded by outlining the Biblical case against manmade divisions in the Church of Christ.
It was his greatest opportunity to get his message against sectarianism before the general public and he made the most of it. The controversy had attracted the attention of the newspapers and the several meetings for discussion of the matter were '',covered by reporters. This proved very embarrassing for the Preachers Union, but it was welcomed by Grandfather for it resulted in his message being carried to the whole community. The publicity affected the final action taken by the Preachers' Union for they feared': the effect on public opinion of any punitive measures taken against their critic. In the end they voted against ousting him from membership but adopted a mild resolution in which they "disapproved of his conduct and denied his charges against the pulpit."
This fight with the Preachers' Union was the climax in a long list of disputes with other Christian leaders in which he had been involved throughout his life. And it was his greatest triumph. At any rate it was this particular incident which he chose to relate in greatest detail in his autobiography. But it was only ore among many such fights. His life was an almost unbroken series of controversies.
His last great conflict came in the final years of his life. This time he was on the defensive, lashing out against criticisms from his own followers. Unlike the others, doctrine did not ,enter into it. It was mainly concerned with the use he had made of a $10,000 bequest he had received from his great friend and supporter, David F. Newton. While there was no question as to Grandfathers'' legal right to use the money as he saw fit, his sons felt that he had a moral obligation to use it in the publication of two religious books Newton had written. Instead of doing this, Grandfather decided to use the fund in the extension of his own ministry.
There was at least one other point of dispute. The Census Bureau was making a census of religious bodies in the United States. Recognizing Lyman H. Johnson as the leader of a movement not connected with other denominations, they asked him for a report on it, including the number of its adherents. Grandfather was obviously pleased by this official recognition of his life work, and he submitted the requested information, giving as the desired statistics the number of persons who had subscribed to the Stumbling Stone. Since none of the groups that made up his following had any membership lists, this was, no doubt, the most practicable way of supplying the data the government had requested. But Burnell and some others in the Toledo congregation objected to this action, feeling that it appeared to classify the readers of the Stumbling Stone as though they were members of a denomination. They felt that Grandfather was no longer using good judgment and they urged him to accept their counsel in this matter and others, including the content of the Stumbling Stone itself.
Grandfather deeply resented the implication that he was incompetent to manage his own affairs and make his own decisions. He expressed this resentment from the pulpit and in', the columns of the Stumbling Stone. Three supplements to the Stumbling Stone were devoted to discussion of the "charges" that had been made against him and his replies. In one of these he even went so fat as to charge Burnell with attempting to form a new sect.
By this time, Grandfather had been forced to sell his Chapel for a railroad right-of-way, and had decided to move his headquarters to Boston. Burnell had emerged as leader of the Toledo congregation, which first rented an abandoned church building and later built a chapel of their own.
Immediately after his father moved to Boston, Burnell, in September, 1903, started publishing a paper of his own, the Search-Light. Grandfather regarded this paper as a rival of his Stumbling Stone.
Fortunately for her own peace of mind, Grandmother Johnson did not live to see this rift between her husband and her sons. Her death in 1901 had left Grandfather alone at the age of 72. After his removal to Massachusetts he continued from there the publication of The Stumbling Stone and his evangelistic travels. When at home he preached at his own headquarters and weekly to impromptu audiences on Boston Common.
But his following had declined and with it the flow of money for his support. By 1906 he had outstanding obligations of several thousand dollars. A staunch friend and supporter, O D. Hill of Charleston, West Virginia, undertook to liquidate the debt by publishing in book form a series of sermons Grandfather had given there. The book included an autobiography, written at Mr. Hill's request. The ravages of age and illness finally broke down his indomitable spirit. In 1916 when he had become seriously ill, his son Burnell went to Boston and brought him back to Toledo. There he lived in the homes of his sons until his death, April 13, 1917, at the age of eighty-eight.
In his parents, Burnell Johnson, the central character in my narrative,
had an exceptional heritage. Both had had an unusually good education for
that time; both were blessed with superior intelligence, sterling integrity
and a deep Christian faith. From his father he inherited a thirst for
knowledge, courage in standing up for his convictions, and a considerable
capacity for leadership. From his mother, a gentle, kindly spirit, a warm
personality and a sense of humor.
THE LYMAN H. JOHNSON FAMILY, 1896
Standing, left to right: Eddy,
Arthur, Herbert, Burnell, Ernest.
Seated: Addie (Mrs. Martin Richie), Lyman and Mary Johnson,
Phoebe (Mrs. Albert Leake).
Chapter III
Until Lyman H. Johnson's final break with organized religion in 1865, his children had lived the normal life of a clergyman's family except that they had moved a little oftener than most from one pastorate to another. But from that time on, with no regular source of income, they faced a pretty precarious existence.
Burnell was then four years old. Besides his three older brothers, Eddy, Arthur and Herbert, he had a younger sister Addie, a year-old infant. Later he was to acquire another brother, Ernest, and a sister Phoebe. For the next eight years they lived on ',a farm near Beloit except for a year at Udina, Illinois, where Grandfather served as pastor of a Congregational Church, his prior expulsion from the ministry notwithstanding. When they first moved to the farm they lived in a dilapidated log cabin until Grandfather could build a better house.
It was from this farm home, in the winter of 1869-70 that Alfred Eddy, the eldest son, ran away. Grandfather rifled his children with an iron hand. He is quoted as saying that he would whip his children for disobedience even if they were forty years old. Eddy, as he was usually called, ha.d a stubborn will like his father and resisted his stern discipline. His resentment built up to a climax one wintry night when he was whipped and sent upstairs with a supper of bread and water. His clothes had been taken from him, but this did not alter his determination to run away. Slipping out of the second-story window of his room, wearing only his underwear, he dropped', to the ground and ran barefoot through the snow to the home of a neighbor. They must have provided him with clothing and railroad fare, for he went to Chicago, where he landed an apprenticeship to the machinist's trade. Having exceptional aptitude in mechanics he eventually became a mine superintendent. After marrying a Miss Addie Woodward, he made his way to the mining states farther west.
For twenty years or more Eddy was out of ',touch with his father's family. Finally, when he had become master mechanic of a Colorado gold mine and was sent east by his company on business, he inquired in his former Illinois home, learned the present address of his people and called on them in Toledo. First locating his married brothers, he went with them to the Tenth Street house where his parents were living. They reported later that when he walked into the room his mother recognized him at once, and with a joyful cry, "0h, Eddy!" welcomed him to her arms.
The other children were more tractable and were less severely dealt with. They grew up with respect and affection for their father. More important, from Grandfather's point of view, they accepted his religious teaching without question. Eddy was the only one who was not converted at an early age. They were so thoroughly indoctrinated with his views on the evil of sectarianism that they all continued throughout their lives to worship God outside of any formally organized church.
Except for the older boys, who attended school for a short time, the only formal education the children received was that given by their mother. After his defection from church organizations Grandfather was more than ever convinced that "the world" was the implacable enemy of Christianity, and he strove in every way possible to keep his family free from its contamination. Keeping his children away from public school was one of his methods of doing this. Since school attendance was not yet compulsory he could do this without government interference.
Fortunately Grandmother Johnson was equipped to assume responsibility for the teaching of her children, and they all acquired the rudiments of an elementary education. Burnell was a particularly apt pupil. He had a quick mind and an insatiable' thirst for knowledge. He read everything he could get his hands on, but the books available to him during his growing years were limited to those in his father's library. This was fairly extensive, including besides the Bible, such books as Pilgrim's Progress, Fox's Book of Martyrs, the History of the Reformation, other works of history, biography and English literature. By the time he had children of his own he had become very well informed in those areas.
If their father was inclined to sternness and ',severity, their mother made up for it with warmth, love and gentleness. Although they were brought up in a Puritanical atmosphere, with all worldly pleasures frowned upon, the children seem not to have suffered from this, and all grew up to be normal, well-adjusted adults. They survived both the dire poverty and the social isolation which characterized their childhood and adolescence.
So poor were they when the family moved to Lucas County, Ohio, from Illinois in 1875, that they were unable to 'travel by train. After shipping their goods, they made the trip by horse and wagon, the older ones taking turns walking alongside. Finally, when Grandma Johnson complained of feeling ill and exhausted, she was put aboard a train for the rest of the journey, with the younger children who could travel free.
Burnell was fourteen years old when they' took up residence in Ohio. He and his two older brothers helped with the printing of The Stumbling Stone and other small printing jobs. This supplemented the meager income Grandfather received from (subscribers and other contributors. A hint as to the crusading spirit of the boys is found in a handbill they printed while living in Whitehorse. It was stimulated by the publication in a local paper of an announcement by the saloonkeepers of the village. Desiring to correct certain abuses that had brought down upon them the criticism of the community, they had agreed upon some rules under which they would refuse to sell liquor to minors and intoxicated persons. Far, however from winning approval of the Lyman Johnson family by this socially desirable action, the town's liquor dealers found themselves blasted by a new attack. Handbills distributed throughout the village contained the following message, composed by Burnell:
"A 'VIRTUOUS' GROG SHOP
"1st. No liquor will be sold to minors or insane persons, who have parents or guardians to care for them or who are incapable of moral wrong.
"2nd. Nothing will be sold to confirmed drunkards, who are already ruined past hope.
"3rd. Our business is to make drunkards of all', who are ordinarily sober men and are not already spoiled by the damnable traffic; and to ruin all the young men, who by soundness of mind are capable of sinning, and have no guardians to protect them from ruin.
"4th. To make the shortest road to hell as respectable as possible under the circumstances, with as few riots, desolated homes, divorces and murders as the character of the traffic admits of. "In fine, none but good moral citizens art admitted here and such, only till their ruin is complete, when they are kicked into the street to shift for themselves. Our work is then finished."
When, in 1877, the family moved to North Toledo, they had begun to engage in the building business. After successfully completing a house for D. F. Newton they were engaged to build a smaller house in the same neighborhood. The sons gradually picked up, without any apprenticeship procedure, the various trades used in house building. This was an era when bathrooms, plumbing and central heating were luxuries which only the well-to-do could afford. Electric lighting had yet to be invented. Hence the only trades they had to learn were carpentry, plastering, brick-laying, and painting. At all of these trades they became proficient, but each of the three sons had a specialty in which they acquired particular skill: Uncle Arthur's was masonry; Uncle Herbert's, painting; with Burnell, our father, it was carpentry. Soon the three formed a business partnership under the name "Johnson Bros., Contractors," which was to provide a modest living for them and their families throughout the coming years.
Development of their own contracting business was a gradual process. In the meantime they were definitely under the domination of their strong-willed father, and his wishes always took precedence over their own. Any outside work they did had to be sandwiched in between issues of The Stumbling Stone, in the printing of which they still participated. And of course this work was never paid for in wages. Grandfather handled the pocket-book for the family and supplied their needs as best he could.
All of the children learned to set and "distribute" type, and the boys operated the press. The whole family pitched in for the job of putting the papers in wrappers and pasting the labels on which were printed the names and addresses of the subscribers. Just how extensive was the circulation of The Stumbling Stone can be gleaned from scattered references in the few records still extant. For example, in a letter written in January, 1884, Aunt Addie wrote: "I finished the accounts for the year 1883. Received 1,318 names, an increase of 864 over the year before. Money, $337.37, a decrease of $201.32 from the year before." In order to qualify for second-class postal rates, Grandfather had to have bona fide paid subscribers. Therefore he established a price of 25 cents per year. Obviously his purpose in publishing the paper was not mercenary. Rather, it was to win souls for Christ outside of denominations and get people to leave those "whited sepulchres," his name for all organized churches.
Their home in North Toledo was only a block or two from the Maumee River, not far from where it widens into Maumee Bay and Lake Erie. They built a rowboat, and later bought a 40-foot sailboat. Sailing became their chief form of recreation and the Johnson boys never lost their fondness for the water. I remember Father telling about sailing to many points along Lake Erie, once going almost to Detroit sixty miles away.
The most exciting incident occurred one spring when the river was swollen from the rains and melting ice, and had overflowed its banks in downtown Toledo several miles upstream from their home. Sighting a bale of cotton floating down the river Burnell and Herbert rowed out in the swiftly moving current, pulled'', it aboard and started toward shore. The boat over-turned dumping them into the turbulent, ice-filled water. Herbert began to shout, "Help! Help!" Burnell, shy
and embarrassed over their awkward though dangerous predicament, whispered "Hush!" He hated being so conspicuous. But if a boatman had not come to their rescue they might not have made it to shore. Whether they salvaged that bale of cotton I never heard, but I strongly suspect they did. They had a lot of grit and determination and would not have surrendered easily to defeat.
Any recreation they enjoyed had to be something that cost little or nothing, for cash was far from plentiful. They may have had sufficient food, but it had to be of the cheapest variety. Cornmeal was a staple often used in their diet. The supply of white flour performed a dual function: to provide the makings for bread', and to make the paste with which to seal the wrappers for mailing the Stumbling Stone to the growing number of subscribers.
Perhaps it was lack of proper nourishment: that caused both Burnell and his younger brother Ernest to grow up as thin, slightly-built boys, susceptible to frequent illness. Much of the area near the mouth of the Maumee River was swampland. Malaria, ague and "swamp fever" were prevalent. Burnell developed a nervous condition which led to occasional fainting spells. These black-outs continued to some extent into adult life and for some years after! his marriage. Finally they stopped and he not only had improved health but was remarkably free from illness until the last few months off his long life. It may well be that it was the better cooking and the well-balanced meals he began getting after he had acquired a home of his own that brought about this improvement.
While testifying at religious meetings was a regular practice by most of the members of Grandfather's congregation and by all the members of his family, it was Burnell who seems to have been pointed toward preaching at a very early age. He often accompanied Grandfather on his evangelistic tours. At the tender age of nine he had begun to sing at street meetings and other gatherings, and by his sixteenth year he was speaking regularly at these meetings. One such occasion was especially memorable because of the way it was destined to effect his future life.
He and his brother Herbert had gone with their father to a tent meeting
in eastern Michigan, some 70 miles north of Toledo. Their singing and
speaking attracted the attention of Allen Simpson, a blacksmith who had
travelled by train from his home in Lapeer to attend the services. Returning
home he told his daughters about the Johnson boys, especially Burnell. In
response to an invitation from the Simpson family, the two boys went to
Lapeer for a visit. There Burnell got acquainted with Mary, the oldest
daughter, who in a few years was to become his wife.
Chapter IV
THE MARY SIMPSON STORY
Following, in her own words, is Mother's story of her family background and the period of her growing up. Dated October 9, 1944, her 81st birthday, this autobiographical sketch, written in clear, legible long-hand, begins:
"My mother's father, Robert James Husband, was born in Dublin, Ireland, and her mother, Susan Achen, was married to him in Ontario, Canada. They settled in Halton County on a farm about twenty miles from Hamilton. There they reared ten children, four boys and six girls: Eliza Jane, Maria, Margaret, Nancy, William, George, Hannah, Hugh, Susannah and Robert James.
"My mother, Hannah Husband, was born In a log house on that farm and was a young girl when the brick house was built. She remembered when they bought their first stove. Before this they cooked in the fireplace and did their baking in a brick oven outside. She often said bread baked there was better than when baked in a stove. First, the oven was filled with wood and when this was burned up the ashes were swept out. When you could hold your hand in the oven while you counted twenty the oven was the right temperature. Then the whole batch, eight or ten loaves was put in the oven, the iron door was shut tight for one hour, then the bread was well baked.
"Uncle George Husband was three years older than my mother. He was a doctor in Hamilton for forty years and his son George is now a doctor in that city. Uncle Robert was a dentist there for many years. He left two daughters, who with Dr. George Husband and Dr. Hugh Porter, also of Hamilton, are my only living relatives on my mother's side.
"My mother was married to Allen Simpson December 25, 1861, at the farm home in Halton County. According to custom she received her choice of six sheep or two cows, besides a feather bed, pillows, bedding and a set of dishes. They went to live in Newton's Corners near Milton, Ontario, where he had a blacksmith shop. He had served eight years' apprenticeship and was a first-class mechanic. To them were born: Mary Elizabeth, October 9, 1863; Susannah, July 30, 1865; Eliza Jane (who disliked this name and called herself Jennie) February, 1870; and Robert James, July 21, 1873.
"My father, Allen Simpson, was born in Ireland in 1834, the oldest son of John Simpson. He had a brother John and three sisters: Mary Anne, Jane and Elizabeth. When he was nine years old his father left Ireland with his family and sailed across the Atlantic Ocean to Canada, where they settled in Nassagaway, Ontario. The ship took five weeks in crossing. When he was sixteen years of gage his mother died. When his father re-married, Allen and Mary Anne left home and were on their own. Aunt Elizabeth made her home with us when I was small, and until after Susie was born. She married Thomas Coverdale, who had gone to Tuscola County, Michigan, and established himself on a farm.
"During Civil War days times were dull in Canada, affecting even my father's small blacksmith business. So when his brother-inlaw, Thomas Coverdale, suggested that he too locate in the states, my father went, in 1865, to Lapeer, Michigan, and entered into partnership with another blacksmith, William Loft. When he had a house ready for us there, our family went by train to Windsor, where the train was ferried across the Detroit River, and on to Pontiac. There we had to take a "stage," drawn by a team of horses, for the 30-mile journey to Lapeer. My sister Susie was then only ten weeks old.
"The Sunday after our arrival in Lapeer, my mother noticed men hammering and sawing not far away, building al Seventh-day Adventist meeting house. She was shocked and thought she had come to a heathen land, for in Canada they had very strict! laws for observance of the Sabbath. Fishing on Sunday was forbidden, or any unnecessary work, indoors or out; stores were closed, and no street cars or local trains ran.
"The first house I remember living in was the Colegrove home. The Colegroves lived in the "upright" and we ',,in the wing of their Lapeer house. It was there that Mother became very sick with malaria, chills and fever. She took Susie and me and went back to her parents' home in Ontario. While she was slowly recovering her health, her father became ill, so we stayed on there until after his death and burial.
"We had been away nearly six months before returning to our home in Lapeer. Father wrote Mother to wait Ion the train when it reached Detroit and he would meet her and hel her change cars. He was young then and thought it would be fun to dye his sandy hair and beard black. Thus disguised, and wearing a new outfit, he boarded the train and walked past us down the aisle, to see if '~ mother would recognize him. Years later, Mother told us how anxious she got when the car was nearly deserted and Father, as she thought, was not there to meet her.
"While we were away, Father had boarded in the home of friends. In his loneliness he had taken up smoking, although I never saw a pipe in his mouth. He had been saved when he was sixteen, at a revival meeting in Canada conducted by a group calling themselves 'New Connection Methodists'.
"In the fall of 1869 Father bought four lots on Genesee Street in Lapeer, not far from his work. Here he built a cottage and planted fruit trees, plums, peaches and apples. We wore still living in this house when I was married, but in the meantime he had raised the roof and made bedrooms upstairs. The McDonald Machine Shop, where Father worked in the blacksmith shop, burned down a few years later and was moved to the east end of town. (This blacksmith shop was eventually purchased by Henry Ford and moved 'to Greenfield Village near Detroit, where it is preserved along with, other mementos of former times). The high school was only a short distance from our home. We could leave the house when the bell began to toll at five minutes to nine and be in our seats on time.
"We had plenty of good water from a well', in our yard. A cistern under the house, supplied with soft rain water, was connected with our kitchen sink by a pump. This was the extent of our modern conveniences. My father worked ten hours a day in summer and eight in winter. He was paid twenty cents an hour, reared four children and paid for his home.
"When we were still living in the Colegrove house, Mother was brought under deep conviction, through some tracts which had been left at the house. Feeling her need of salvation she went in prayer alone, confessed her need of a Saviour and was gloriously saved. Her change of heart had a strong influence on my father and it was not long before he too knew that his sins were forgiven. Now they began to feel the need of instruction and were wise enough to go to the Bible instead of to any man. Through the zeal of the ;,old man who had distributed the tracts a little group was brought to ether for meetings in private homes. I can still remember our sitting, room well filled with men and women.
"When the number was sufficient to organize, the old man began to urge them to form a "Protestant Methodist Church," an organization not yet established in Lapeer. By this time my father was satisfied that the only church Christ was building was a company of Christians in each locality, as he had learned from reading Paul's epistles. This was a glorious truth to him and he tried to stem th6 tide of this departure from the Bible, but the majority prevailed and, he was outside.
"Occasionally he would attend their meetings, but his testimony was not wanted and they would try to sing him down. This was not always successful for when they finished their hymn he would still be standing and would finish what he had to say. Once they lost all patience with him and a couple of members took him to the jail. Since they had no warrant the jailer would not take him in. He came home so late Mother was beginning to worry about him. After this affair, the "Clarion" printed a story about it and said, "Al is a far better blacksmith than preacher and we advise him to stick to his trade."
"Father continued to study his Bible at every spare moment and learned
new truths about the Church being divinely built, and that the Holy Spirit
was the baptism that added each repentant soul to this Church. He had a good
memory and was able to quote God's word to support his position as he
zealously testified to the Word. He gave up smoking, deciding this was a bad
habit unworthy of a Christian. He told every one who would listen what he
had learned about Christ's Church, men's organizations and water baptism in
contrast to Christ's spiritual baptism. After a few years a man came to his
shop to see if he could weld a drill point, used to bore wells. This man had
always had to send it to Detroit, sixty miles away, when the point got
broken. Father said he would try and was successful. As he worked he
improved his time talking, and when he had finished, this man remarked:
"Someone gave a little paper to my children in Sunday School that
sounded like your talk. I still have it'. The next time he came in with work
he brought the paper. It was "The Stumbling Stone," published by
Lyman H. Johnson in Toledo, Ohio.
"Father was delighted with the paper. He read it all through and could say `Amen' to it all. What a joy was his, for he had gotten very hungry for fellowship. He wrote at once, enclosing five dollars and asked for back numbers. I was later told this letter caused great rejoicing when it reached the Johnsons. We received our first copy of the paper in 1876.
"I well remember one article in it by Brother King, a dentist in Brooklyn, on the dedication of the Broadway M. E. Church. He, his wife and her parents were all standing free from denominations and were friends of Lyman H. Johnson. At this dedication all the big preachers in town were present and they had their usual hilarity to get the crowd in a good frame of mind for contributing freely. At last an old minister spoke and during his talk asked the question: `Why has Methodism lost its power?' Much to his surprise his question brought an answer from the balcony. It was Brother King who rose to his feet and said, `Some people wonder why Methodism has lost its power, but it is no mystery to me. It's because they have turned their churches into theaters and their ministers into clowns'.
"Directly there was great commotion. Some cried `Put him out,' others shouted 'That's true'. Soon a policeman came and took him to jail. His friends wanted to bail him. out but he refused. When it came to trial he intended to plead his own case but a lawyer requested the privilege of defending him without charge. He read part of the 23rd chapter of Mathew and the judge dismissed the case. The Christians present sang `Praise God from whom all blessings flow'. The judge asked them not to turn the court into a prayer meeting.
"Many years later this same dentist, Dr. King, won considerable acclaim among his fellow dentists for successfully making a set of dentures by mail order for Lyman H. Johnson. Mother Johnson had suffered from salivation and her teeth became so loose her husband pulled them out with a string. At that time they felt they could not afford to pay for a new set of teeth, so Lyman H. Johnson wrote his friend in Brooklyn for help. Dr. King loaned him tools and materials to take the necessary impressions for an upper and lower set of teeth for Mother Johnson. This he did and mailed them back to Brooklyn. Dr. King made the teeth, sent them to Toledo by mail and they fit perfectly. Mother never met him but she always said it was providential. They were the only set she ever had.
"The next June after getting in touch with the Johnsons, my father learned that a barn meeting was to be held in Rogersville, thirty miles from Lapeer, and decided to attend. To get there he took a Saturday evening train to Flint, where he changed cars for Rogersville. I remember mother and we children went upstairs and looked out a window from which we could see his train go by, a quarter-mile south of us. He stayed until Sunday evening and returned in the night. He gave a glowing account of the meetings, and how Burnell, 16-year-old son of Lyman H. Johnson, met him at the station and took him to the meeting, with a horse and buggy. Father invited them to come to Lapeer the next week-end and he got the privilege for him to speak Sunday morning in the Methodist church house. The pastor was away at conference. His message was well received.
"Three years later Herbert and Burnell came again to Lapeer by horse and buggy. I remember they drove in just after nine A.M., cold and hungry. They had stayed out all night as they could not find a place to stay. The first thing my mother did was to get their feet in hot water, and when warm she gave them a good breakfast. At this time Brother VanTyne was running a saw mill a few miles from us, and he got the use of a nearby schoolhouse and invited them out. Here they held meetings for a week or more. After returning to Toledo Burnell wrote me occasionally.
"Lyman H. Johnson and family came again with a big tent, which he
put up not far from Van Tyne's. The meeting was advertised in `The Stumbling
Stone' and one couple drove to our place from New Boston to attend the
meetings. After supper Father went with them to the tent, and Saturday,
after work, he took all of us, and a lot of food, and we stayed until Sunday
evening. I remember Hetty King, Addie, Phoebe and Ernest Johnson were there
too, and Mother Johnson. This was the first time we had met them. The people
turned out well and the meetings were of great interest to us. I remember
Burnell would go out in the woods with the rest of us young people, and he
would play the mouth organ, and soon chipmunks would gather around to hear
the music.
"The next year all the Johnson family took their tent to Rogerville and put it up on the farm of Susan Rogers. I was there and I remember on Sunday morning two men went to the front of the tent and sang `Where Are the Reapers'? It was the first time I ever heard that beautiful hymn and it was sung with such spiritual fervor that it made a deep impression on all present.
"From this time on, Hetty, Addie and Burnell became regular correspondents, and the year after this Susie and I were permitted to visit the Johnsons in Toledo. My father went to Flint with us and put us on the train for Toledo. Burnell met us at the station and took us to their home in North Toledo. Hetty and Addie had joined him in keeping our visit a secret, so we were a surprise to the rest of the family ... which was a surprise to us, too. Mother Johnson remarked that she had wondered at the unusual interest Burnell had shown in cleaning up the yard.
"While we were in Toledo, Burnell asked me to be his wife. This was
in May, 1882, and we were married January 1, 1883 at my home in Lapeer.
Addie came with Burnell and she and Susie witnessed our marriage. After a
short trip to see Uncle Thomas and Aunt Lizzie in Tuscola County, Michigan,
we left Lapeer to begin life together in Toledo."
Love's Progress During the Months of Courtship
With Mary Simpson living in Lapeer, Michigan, and Burnell Johnson living in Toledo, their courtship had to be carried on largely by correspondence. Oddly enough, it is only Mother's letters to Father that were preserved through the years. Thus we can know only by inference the kind of letters Father wrote to her.
In July 1881, a year and a half before their marriage, Mother's letter was addressed: "Burnell D. Johnson. Dear Brother in Christ," and was signed, "Your Sister in Christ."
Two months later, in September, she still wrote: "Dear Brother," but signed herself: "From yours affectionately, in Christ." Both of these letters were devoted to accounts of meetings and inquiries about the spiritual welfare of mutual friends.
By May, 1882, she was addressing her letter, "Beloved Burnell," and signing it "Yours faithfully." Some time in the fall of that year there seems to have been an understanding between them that they would be married toward the end of December. Father was then twenty-one years of age and still living in his parents' home in North Toledo. He had no regular income and no immediate prospects for a home of his own, but the family had plans for building on the farm west of Toledo a house that could be occupied jointly by Burnell and
his brother Herbert, who was to be married about the first of the year. Father had written his fiancee of an offer from an older brother, Arthur, to share with them temporarily the old house on the farm where Arthur and his wife now lived.
Replying to that letter November 2, 1882, Mother wrote: "My dear, faithful Burnell. I wrote part of a letter to you this afternoon, but felt so downcast and discouraged could hardly write. So I quit and went to the Lord for grace and help ... I don't know when I ever felt so utterly my need of help as during the last few days . . . You wish to hear my side of the case. Of course, Burnell, I should have preferred to be by ourselves, but I think it is all for the best, the arrangements you have made, and so am satisfied the way it is. It was very kind of Arthur and Clara to invite us to stay with them for a while."
The last letter that has been preserved is dated November 30th. Father must have been very vague about his plans for the wedding. It may very well have been due to uncertainty about funds with which to finance the trip and start a household of his own. Mother wrote: "To my dearly beloved. Once more Thursday evening finds me well in body and at the bookcase writing to you, with your last letter before me ... This week has been very cold, especially today. We have had no sleighing here yet, although there is some snow on the ground . . . Your poetry received. Very pleased with it. About a month hence perhaps, and what? Must I guess? Indeed I hope it may be so you can come up by that time ... Wish you could be here by Christmas. With fervent love. Farewell for the present. Mary"
WHEN THERE WERE ONLY EIGHT, 1894
Chapter V
THE FAMILY GROWS TO TEN
The Burnell Johnson-Mary Simpson marriage can hardly be said to have
started off under auspicious circumstances. They had no home of their own
and must live temporarily in Grandpa Johnson's home in North Toledo. A month
after their brief wedding trip, Father became ill with smallpox and had to
be isolated at the "Pest House" as the county contagious disease
`hospital' was then called. The poignant story of that dismal experience has
been told by Mother. Here it is in her own words:
"It was February, 1883, when Burnell got sick and the health officer
said he must be taken to the Pest House. He begged to be isolated in the new
house that was almost completed on Grandpa Johnson's farm. This they would
not permit. We kept him in bed upstairs and I cared for him several days
while they made the Pest House ready. No one had been in it for a year or
more. It had to be supplied with food and heated and two nurses from St.
Vincent's Hospital installed in it.
"When ready they came after dark so as not to alarm the neighborhood. The ambulance was called "The Black Mariah" - an old horse-drawn delivery wagon with black oil cloth curtains, a seat in front for the driver, a police officer and an end gate. They brought a stretcher and blankets, wrapped him up with a hat and a veil over his head and face, carried him down stairs on the stretcher and shoved him in the back of the vehicle. I had asked the doctor if I could go along and I was packed and ready. There was a cold, drizzly rain and as we left the house a great loneliness came over me. I thought of my folks at home and the likelihood of my having the disease too, and the awfulness of it all, and that we might both die in that awful place. I just couldn't hold up any longer, the future looked so dark, and I began to weep softly to myself. But Burnell heard me and at once he started to sing:
'Upward I lift my eyes; from God is all my aid,
The God who built the skies and earth and nature made.
He is the tower to which I fly
His help is nigh in every hour
My feet shall never slide, or fall in fatal snare
While He, my God and Guide defends me from my fear.
I'll go and come, nor fear to die 'til from on high he calls me home
No burning heat by day or blast of evening air
Shall take my health away if He be there.
I'll come and go, nor fear to die
'Til from on high He calls me home.'
"At this I began to look up too and joined in the song. It cheered my
heart and greatly strengthened my faith. We continued to sing hymns all the
way. We now felt we were just as safe there as anywhere as we were in God's
hands and He would take care of us. The nurses wanted to give Burnell a
whiskey sling but he refused. He was not twenty-two years of age. He had
been vaccinated and I also, but the doctor vaccinated me again. After two
days I dismissed the nurses as Burnell was getting along all right. This
`hospital' looked like an oldfashioned meeting house, with high ceiling,
long windows and green shutters. It sat in the middle of a field. It was
heated by large wood burning stoves. Every afternoon Grandpa Johnson would
drive out with cutter and a white horse, coming near enough so I could tell
him how Burnell was. He would leave letters and anything we needed. We
looked forward to those visits."
Later that year they moved into the house on the farm, sharing it with Uncle Herbert and Aunt Ida, who had been married about the same time. There, on June 29, 1884, their first child was born. They named him Clarence Allen.
During her second pregnancy Mother went back to her parents' home in
Lapeer, Michigan, to remain until the birth of the child. Her letters to
Father during that period are revealing:
Aug. 6, 1885. Pa brought home your last letter yesterday evening. Very glad to hear. I was feeling lonesome ... Darling, I was sorry to hear you were not feeling well. You mustn't expose yourself. Clarence has been real sick this week. Tuesday morning he looked real pale so I wrote out the symptoms and after dinner I sent Janie with it to the doctor. He said the baby must be looked after and sent some medicine which has helped him ... Janie and I did a very large washing Tuesday. We got through at eleven and ironed all afternoon. Last evening I sat up until half after eleven and made a little dress. Didn't start it until the rest had gone to bed ... Pa got a bushel of whortleberries yesterday for $2.50. Ma and I canned them all in the forenoon, had ten 2-quart jars full. I must hurry, Pa is almost through breakfast. Darling, hope you get this Sunday, if not Saturday night.
Affectionately, your wife.
The baby born in Lapeer, October 22, 1885, was named Susan Adelaide. Two more girls were born at the home on the farm: Ruth Lillian, January 23, 1887 and Pearl Hetty, November 16, 1888.
Life must have been very strenuous for the Johnsons during those early years. There were now three families living on the farm, those of Arthur, Herbert and Burnell. Their father had moved to the Chapel downtown. They led a sort of communal existence, sharing the work and produce of the farm. Their building business was growing and they continued to help in the printing of The Stumbling Stone.
These far-ranging activities were made more difficult by the primitive transportation facilities. They had a horse, a wagon and a buggy but the farm was located two or three miles beyond the city limits. When they drove downtown for shopping or to attend meetings at the Chapel, which they did each Sunday, the six-mile drive consumed an hour each way. A horse-drawn street-car ran back and forth on Monroe Street from the Maumee River to Auburndale, but this was not too helpful when they lived far beyond the end of the line. Often, for going to and from work, they rode bicycles.
As the profits from their building business gradually accumulated, the Johnson brothers were able to do a little building for themselves. The first house that Father owned in his own name was built in 1888 on a lot he bought on Scott Avenue (now Ottawa Drive) in Auburndale. He never occupied it himself. It was let out to tenants, yielding a small income to supplement his earnings. Through the years he slowly added a few other rental properties. This was his only form of investment.
In 1889 a double house was built on Scott Avenue for Uncle Herbert. He moved into one side with his family and rented the other side to Burnell. There on December 11, 1890, Mother gave birth to her second son, Lyman Howard Johnson. About this time a new subdivision was opened up a mile north of there and Johnson Brothers won contracts to build two or three houses in the tract. Then they bought four adjoining lots, for $150 each, at the west end of that tract on what was then known as Catawba Avenue (now North Cove Boulevard). In 1890 they built a home for Uncle Arthur and the following year a cottage for Burnell. This was the home of our family for the next seventeen years. It was there that the rest of the children were born: Wendell Farrell, July 28, 1893; Hannah Bernice, June 30, 1897, and Wilbur Edmond, May 20, 1900.
While Father supported his family by manual labor plus the small profits
from the contracting firm, he spent considerable time in the Christian
ministry. Having been reared in the undenominational faith of his father, he
was never formally ordained, as had Grandpa Johnson. His theological
training he got from his father and' his own extensive study of the
Scriptures and other religious literature. But he had participated actively
in religious meetings since his youth and when Grandpa was absent on one of
his evangelistic trips, Father usually preached the sermon.
He made trips of his own to other parts of the country, preaching to groups of people who had similar views about the Church of Christ. During his absence his brothers carried on with the contracting business, and when a job was finished and the profits computed, Father was always given his share just as though he had been there all the time. This was their way of contributing toward his Christian ministry. It was the only way he was ever paid. In none of the meetings, whether conducted by Grandpa Johnson or by Father, was any appeal for money made nor any collection taken. Those who wished to contribute to the expenses of the meetings did so privately and on their own initiative. Father had been brought up to believe that any Christian minister who was paid a fixed salary was "a hireling" and necessarily a false prophet no matter what he preached.
Shortly before Grandpa Johnson sold his chapel and moved to Boston, Johnson Brothers bought a lot in Auburndale and built a small meeting house at their own expense with some help from other members of the congregation. Father named it "Grace and Truth Chapel." Since there was no incorporated organization, the title to the property by general consent was put in Burnell's name. Here regular Sunday meetings and weekly evening meetings were held, under his leadership, until he retired and began spending winters in California. He also started publication of a religious paper of his own, which he called "The Search-Light."
No records are available as to the family budget but the annual income of
our family must have been pretty small. Johnson Brothers paid themselves and
their workmen at the rate of $1.50 for a ten-hour day. As each job was
finished the profits were divided among the brothers who formed the firm. In
a record left by Uncle Arthur, who did the estimating on all jobs, he showed
the total costs of many of the houses they built. They ranged from $368 for
one built in 1887 to
$2,700 for one built in 1918. Uncle Arthur's own house on Catawba Avenue
cost $574.40. Their profits were small, but they prided themselves on the
quality of their work and they built a solid reputation' for fairness and
honesty.
One factor in keeping income low was the fact that winters in northwestern Ohio were long and severe, and little building was done during the cold months. Father's earnings were supplemented by some rents, and by the milk, eggs and vegetables we were able to produce. At our Catawba Avenue home we always had a few cows, from which we got all the milk we needed plus some surplus which we sold to neighbors. Much of the time we had enough cream to churn our own butter. Mother baked all of our bread and of course cookies, cakes and pies. Since we were located on the outskirts of the city we were al lowed even to raise pigs. Father built a small smokehouse in which hams and bacons were cured.
What fruits and vegetables we could not raise we were able to buy at wholesale at the farmers' market downtown. We used to drive there in the early morning and bring home a buggy packed with bushels of tomatoes, peaches, berries and other produce. Then Mother and the girls would have a busy day canning them. Beneath our house was a cellar, walls and floor of brick, where canned goods filled shelf after shelf, and where, each fall, twenty or thirty bushels of potatoes were stored for use during the winter months. In the summer we often went with Mother to a hillside nearby and gathered dandelion greens which served instead of spinach.
There were also other ways of economizing. Rugs were woven from strips of
cloth, and quilts from patches of vari-colored pieces left over from the
homemade dresses. Many garments were made by Mother and her daughters, and
clothing outgrown by the older children was remodelled for use by the
younger ones. Nothing of value was allowed to go to waste. Housekeeping
equipment was of the simplest. Soiled clothes were scrubbed by hand on a
corrugated zinc washboard and were run through a hand-operated wringer. Not
until the lapse of several years did we acquire a power washer, and it was
run by water-power after city water was piped to our neighborhood. Advent of
the hand-operated Bissell carpet-sweeper was regarded as a major
achievement.
City water was our first public utility. The next was telephone service.
This was such a luxury that one phone had to serve both our family and that
of Uncle Arthur, next door. Since it was used mainly for business purposes
and he was the head of the firm, it was installed in his house and we had to
go there to use it.
It was not until about 1908 that Father was able to build a relatively modern home. He moved - our old house to the adjoining lot which he had long owned, then erected a new one at the original location. It was a much larger structure, two full stories with full basement and an attic. For the first time we had central heating, supplied through a hot-water furnace, a bath room, and built-in lights. It seemed like real luxury to have hot-and-cold running water, piped to wash bowl and bath tub as well as the kitchen sink. Since the city sewer system had not yet. been extended to our street, we still had no inside toilet. But, along with the new house, Father built a fresh new concrete vault, topped by a more commodious outhouse. The vault was partly above ground because it was built on a slope, but Father improved the appearance of the portion that was visible by plastering it neatly with cement and attaching to the exposed side a curved stairway of concrete by which we could reach the chicken yard below. I was helping him by mixing the cement for this job and I can still, in my mind's eye, see his gentle smile as he remarked, while smoothing the surface with loving hand, "A thing of beauty is a joy forever."
The hot-water heat, piped to every room in the house, was no doubt the greatest improvement the new house provided. For in the old house the heating system consisted of a "base burner," set up in the living room. Each fall it was carried in from the barn and installed on a zinc-covered mat, its stove pipe connecting with a chimney in the wall behind. It burned only anthracite coal, poured into a cylinder from the top and fed by gravity to the fire bed. This coal burned with little smoke and gave off a red glow that was very attractive. The glow was visible because the central part of the stove above the fire bed was enclosed with a fret-work of iron, with the open spaces filled with thin, transparent sheets of mica which we knew as isinglass. The outside of the stove was decorated with nickel, making it a real show-piece.
The lighting system in the new house was another notable improvement. Kerosene lamps had been our sole source of light. Now for the first time we had gas lights in every room. In order that we might be ready for electricity when it reached our neighborhood, dual fixtures were installed. Before long we stopped using the gas lights and enjoyed the thrill of lighting the room with a flick of a switch.
The new house was the largest one in the entire subdivision and it loomed up like a mansion alongside the other cottages. A large central hall opened to the right into a dining room and to the left into a large living room. A door off the living room led into a down stair bedroom which was reserved for guests. An attractive open stair-case rose from the hall to the second floor, which boasted six rooms. One room was devoted to printing equipment, used in publishing Father's paper, "The Search-Light." He had no press, but the type was set in that room, and then placed in forms for the four pages of the paper. When these were ready they were taken to a printer who ran off on his press the number of copies desired. My sister Ruth did most of the type-setting, but several of us learned how to "distribute" the type into their appropriate boxes after the forms were brought back from the printer.
Our first automobile was bought in 1915. It was a year-old, second-hand Studebaker touring car. That is, it had two seats, and had a top that could be folded back much like the present-day convertible. In case of rain there were side-curtains that could be snapped on to the frame. This purchase was of course a very important event in our lives. Automobiles were a distinct luxury, possessed by relatively few.
Father's limited income and the simplicity of our mode of life never meant that we lacked for food, shelter or clothing. And over the years he was able to accumulate sufficient estate to maintain himself and Mother through twenty years of retirement and still leave a few thousand dollars for distribution among their children after their death. To have reared eight children on so small an income would seem today little less than a miracle. In that period it was not at all extraordinary.
The major credit for this achievement must go, I think, to our mother. As a housekeeper she was a model of efficiency. She had a time-schedule for the various household tasks, always following a carefully worked-out plan, frequently checked the clock to see if she was keeping up with her schedule. Methodically, from sun-up until bed-time, Monday through Saturday, she bustled at a quick pace, usually humming a hymn tune as she worked. A typical week included washing on Monday, ironing on Tuesday, and so on.
As the girls grew old enough to help they were assigned specific tasks, and they too learned to time themselves in order to complete the work on schedule. Mother had great executive ability, knowing how to organize and direct a crew to get the best results. Besides running an efficient household she gave her children a wonderful training in industry, thrift and cleanliness.
Believing thoroughly in the theory that regularity of meals
is beneficial to health, she made a great point of having breakfast,
luncheon and supper at the same hour every day. Father usually carried his
lunch to work and ate it on the job. But when the distance was not too
great, Mother would prepare a hot meal and take it or send it to him by one
of us children. Father's steady improvement in health after his marriage was
a testimony to the value of this regimen and Mother's skill as cook and
dietitian.
Chapter VI
THE NOT-SO-GAY NINETIES
Most of the period when the children were growing up was spent at our Catawba Avenue home. That first cottage was a simple frame house with a gable roof, a porch across the front and a small side porch. The lot was on the south side of the street, the rear sloping down a hill toward "the flats" now known as Jermain Park. This was, a low, level stretch of land through which meandered Ten-Mile Creek. Regularly each spring when the rains came the creek would overflow its banks, forming a fairly large, but shallow lake. We could row across it in a small boat to the south side of the valley, from which a climb up a steep bank and a short walk brought us to Scott Avenue. There lived several relatives and friends.
Even when the stream was within its banks it was wide enough for ice-skating in the winter and deep enough in several spots for swimming. This was a sport in which we boys could indulge without benefit of bathing suits, as the "swimming holes" were mostly screened from the road by bushes and trees. The flats were partly wooded and our favorite trees were those from which we gathered, in season, quantities of crab-apples, thorn apples, hickory nuts and black walnuts. The land belonged to the farm that adjoined our lot. We were always able to make a deal with the farmer to pick the nuts on shares, half to him and half to us. Once Clarence fell out of a tree while gathering nuts and broke his collar-bone.
T h c grass in the flats provided pasture for cows and horses and part of it Father rented for our use. The horse which, during the week, pulled the lumber wagon used by Johnson Brothers in their business, was available on Sundays to pull our surrey. We also had an open, one-seated buggy that was used for small errands, and a cutter ... a one-seated, gracefully curved sleigh that could be used when there was enough snow on the roads. The surrey was used not only for going to meeting but on holidays for trips to the country or to picnic spots along the river. When the family outgrew its capacity, the older boys rode bicycles alongside.
Planting, weeding and cultivating the garden, together with the care of chickens, cows, a horse and sometimes a few pigs as well, provided a long list of chores for us children. We boys had the job of milking,, feeding the stock, taking cows to pasture, cleaning the stables, spading the ground for spring planting and many others. Keeping house for a family of ten created many tasks for the girls, some of which have long since disappeared from the American home: baking bread, canning, filling the oil lamps and cleaning their chimneys, darning socks and mending clothes. Certainly there was no leisure time problem.
During the summers, as the boys reached the age of ten or twelve, they could be given work at one of Johnson Brothers' building jobs. Thus they learned the various building trades. But there was some time for play as well. In addition to skating, swimming and "nutting," there was in winter an occasional sleigh ride, and sledding down the hill behind our house. In summer those wonderful family picnics brought fun to our lives. At home we would walk around on homemade stilts, or enjoy a thrilling sky-ride with the aid of a heavy rope from the big elm tree to the hay-loft door, on which we rode suspended from. a pulley. And when our cousins visited us and there was a large enough group, games of hide-and-seek, duck-on-a-rock, London Bridge or "Pom-pom-pull away." The chief limitation on our play was our parents' fear of contamination from children with different standards. We kept largely to ourselves, associating only with our numerous relatives and the families in the congregation.
Father loved books. Often, returning from a trip to some other city, he would bring home a volume or two he had picked up in a second-hand store. Aside from a few "commentaries" on Scripture, these additions to his library were most likely to be in the fields of history, biography or poetry. "In general he frowned on fiction, although he made an exception in the case of such books as Uncle Tom's Cabin, Robinson Crusoe and Pilgrim's Progress. He was particularly fond of history and was delighted to buy a second-hand set of Gibbons' Rise and Fall of the Roman man Empire and a 4-volume History of the Reformation. He had a rare talent for remembering what he read, and telling us about it. We loved to have him narrate stories from the Bible or other books, as we sat before the glowing stove on winter evenings.
He had a way of making these stories come to life: Samson's exploits and those of David, Daniel in the Lion's den, Jonah and the whale, Joseph and his brothers, Elijah and Elisha, Isaac and Jacob, Nebuchednezzar and Belshazzar ... these were among our favorites.
Mother's sister, Susannah, whom we always called Aunt Sue, had prepared for teaching and the first several children born into our family had their primary education from her. A room in our Catawba Avenue cottage was fitted up with a blackboard and there Aunt Sue conducted regular classes for a time. This was later discontinued and the children began attending public school. It was located in Auburndale, a full mile from our house. In winter this was a long, cold walk, often along a narrow path through deep snow. But I do not recall that any of us considered this a hardship. It never occurred to anyone that the school board should supply a bus to take us to and from school.
Compulsory schooling was at first limited to the elementary grades, and few children went on to high school. In our own family it was not until Lyman, the fifth child, completed the eight grade that any of us continued our education beyond that point. The only high school was three miles or more distant and could be reached by street car, now electrified and no longer horse-drawn. The fare was only a nickel. each way, but Lyman and I often preferred to walk and save that five cents.
'We can hardly be said to have lived a pampered life. We slept in
unheated rooms until we moved from the cottage to the big new house, by
which time most of us were in our teens. In exceptionally cold weather we
younger ones undressed in front of the base burner in the living room, then
dashed upstairs to our beds and shivered under the covers until the heat of
our bodies warmed the sheets. That fancy base-burner radiated enough heat
but you were likely to be too warm in front and too cold behind, unless, of
course you stood with your back to the fire, when the reverse was true. The
living room was in the middle of the house. In front was a bedroom on one
side and the parlor on the other. When the doors of those rooms were open
the chill could be taken from them, but usually they were closed, to
conserve fuel. Consequently the parlor was seldom used in cold weather.
One of our luxuries was the drinking water of wonderful quality, which we
pumped from a well that Father and Uncle Arthur had dug for joint use by the
two families and in fact all the other people in the neighborhood. Located
midway between the two houses, but outside our yards beside the front side
walk, it was easily accessible to all. Rain water for washing came from a
cistern, supplied by spouts from the roof of the house. It could be pumped
directly to the kitchen sink. Our only water heater was a reservoir in our
kitchen range which could be filled with water and which became hot whenever
there was a fire in the stove. When larger quantities of hot water were
required a copper boiler was filled with water and placed on top of the
stove.
Spring house-cleaning was an ordeal to be borne with fortitude but not enjoyed. Carpets had to be taken up, after removing the tacks that held it to the floor. They were then dragged outside the house on the grass or hung over the clothes line, where we boys would beat the dust out of them. Then they had to be replaced on the floor, sometimes with straw underneath, then stretched and tacked down. This was always a major operation. Another spring chore was taking down the baseburner and carrying it to the barn, where it was stored during the summer months. Then there was re-papering walls and painting or varnishing of woodwork and furniture. We never thought of hiring anyone to do this work.
For years we used ticks on the bed instead of mattresses. These had to be periodically emptied and re-filled with fresh straw, or corn husks. Often they made crunchy sounds when you lay on them and were hard on the sacroiliac.
We always had plenty of food but it usually was of the plain variety. Our
favorite breakfast menu, especially in cold weather, was buckwheat pancakes.
Mother would mix up a batter with yeast, set it behind the stove over night,
and the next morning transform it into great piles of golden brown cakes
which we ate with great relish. Some of the batter would be saved and in
some magic way I never did understand, it made a never-ending supply of
pancake material that would last all winter.
Occasionally our folks would buy a dozen bananas or a sack of peanuts,
but oranges were sheer luxury. The only time we had an orange was when we
were sick and were getting special attention. One fabulous occasion stands
out in my memory. A guest from Cleveland who we knew must be very rich,
brought us a whole dozen of oranges, the most we had ever seen on the table
at one time.
Although we were definitely a low-income family, I am sure none of us
ever thought of ourselves as poor. Perhaps it was because our standard of
living was about on a par with that of our neighbors and friends. We always
had some surplus we could share with anyone in need, and our parents were
constantly performing acts of kindness to others. This was not, I think,
from any sense of duty or obligation, but because they enjoyed doing it. It
would not have occurred to them that they should be given any praise for
this. It was just the natural thing to do, growing out of a deep sense of
gratitude to God for their many blessings, and a feeling that in doing for
others they were rendering thanks to Him.
This sense of thankfulness was expressed not only in deeds, but also in
words, in the habitual prayers at meals and in family worship every evening,
and whenever feasible, mornings as well. Family worship always included
reading of a chapter from the Bible.
The lengths to which these acts of kindness went were in many instances astonishing. For example there was Isaac Hollingsworth, an unkempt, illiterate, but good-hearted soul who was alone in the world, with no friends, relatives or financial resources. Father built a one room addition on the rear of our house, where he lived rent-free and "kept batch." One or twice a year mother would organize her children into a house-cleaning brigade and clean up the place. Often, too, she supplied him with cookies, bread. and other products of her baking. He 'worked as a laborer for Johnson Brothers until he became too feeble to work, but that room attached to our house continued to be his home until his final illness.
Another man, Anton Keane, who had grown up with a drunken father and a younger brother in an old house near the Johnson farm, became seriously ill. With no one to care for him at home, his plight was serious. Mother had him brought to our house, on a cot placed in the lumber wagon, and there fed and nursed him until he was well enough to return home. Many years later, his younger brother was severely burned about the face and arms when he fell in a faint across a stove. He was taken to the hospital for treatment, but when ready for discharge, he too came to our house for several weeks of convalescent care.
Then there was Mrs. Roenich, who was going blind and to make matters worse became seriously ill. Her children were too young to care for her, so our folks brought her to our home, put her in the guest room, and supplied all of her needs for a period of weeks.
One of the interesting characters I remember as a child was a Civil War veteran whom vie knew as "Mr. Scott." He had lost a leg in the war and his artificial leg was a continual source of wonder to us boys, as were the yarns with which he used to regale us. He had a small pension and lived in a tiny house he occupied rent-free, on a lot owned by Uncle Arthur. Since his handicap made housework difficult for him, mother used to do his weekly washing. This continued over many years.
These examples of human charity of course had their effect upon us children. So it was with complete confidence that my brother and I suggested to Mother that we offer shelter to a family whose house had been destroyed by fire. We had run to see the fire, a few blocks away, and had been distressed by the sight of the forlorn woman, sitting with her children on the few household goods they had been able to salvage. They lived outside our immediate neighborhood and so were complete strangers to us, but if mother had any misgivings about inviting people into her home whom she had never met before, she gave no hint of it and said we could go and bring them. There was a wretched-looking old woman and several filthy little children, but mother somehow found away to make room for them in our already crowded cottage. They had their evening and morning meal with us, as well as beds for the night, but as I remember it, we all breathed a sigh of relief when they left in the morning and went on their way.
Father's contacts with various undenominational religious groups around the country often brought to our home visitors from other cities. The semi-annual "Assemblies" in particular always attracted numbers of out-of-town visitors. It was unheard-of that any of these people should seek accommodations in a hotel. They became guests of various members of the congregation, and Father, as one of the important leaders, always had more than his share.
Sometimes these people would arrive unannounced in Toledo and would find
their way to our house with their luggage. Amazing as it may seem, our folks
always seemed to be prepared for company. If they arrived at meal time
Mother just put another plate on the table and there was always enough food
to go around. As I look back upon it l often wonder how she managed it, for
there was of course no such thing as a deep freeze to draw upon, nor the
many kinds of packaged foods that are now available in such emergencies.
Life at home was never dull, for many of these visitors were queer characters indeed. There was for example the man from the middle west who had taken literally the Biblical injunction to sell all his goods and give to the poor. Having no longer a home of his own to live in, he expected the Lord to provide for him through one of His servants who had not taken similar action and still had some worldly goods. He lived at our house for some days and I can still recall some of Father's mild arguments with this man in which he tried to point out what was wrong with our guest's theology.
It was after Grandpa Johnson had moved to Boston and Father was the acknowledged but unofficial leader of a small group of Christians meeting at "Grace and Truth Chapel," that he entertained as an uninvited guest a woman evangelist from one of the southern states. She had apparently been accustomed to being waited on, and she expected all kinds of service while in our home. For example, asking one of the girls to fan her while she applied cosmetics to her face. Using rouge was itself a scandal in our circle, very "worldly" by our standards. But the greatest humiliation to which she subjected poor, gentle Father, was thrusting into his hands the guitar which she often played during the meetings, and asking him to carry it for her as they walked to the chapel. This was doubly embarrassing for him in that in those days the use of instrumental music in the chapel was considered highly questionable.
Hospitality was of course not limited to these rather bizarre co-religionists. Father and mother had many friends and relatives living in distant cities, and these were always very welcome guests. However distantly related, we thoroughly enjoyed entertaining them, and they reciprocated by inviting us to visit them. Transportation was slower and more arduous then than it is today; therefore such visits often extended over a week or two. Trips by train or boat to visit aunts, cousins and friends in Canada, Michigan, Illinois, Wisconsin or Pennsylvania are among our pleasantest memories. Often, of course, these trips were made for the purpose of attending meetings of like-minded believers in other communities.
Some travel was solely for pleasure. In this category were the day long boat trips to Detroit, Sugar Island, Put-in-Bay or Cedar Point. Every summer there were special excursions at rates that were within the reach of our family's slender resources. Such trips were among the few forms of entertainment that: involved a cash outlay. On rare occasions Father would take us to a lecture that required paid admission, such as the Burton Holmes "Travelogues" where we saw wonderful pictures of foreign lands and heard them described in the vivid and eloquent terms for which Burton Holmes was famous.
Some interesting programs were open to the public free of charge. How thrilled I was when Father took me to a political meeting at Memorial Hall to hear Brand Whitlock and other political leaders display their oratory before a huge and enthusiastic audience in one of Whitlock's campaigns for election as Mayor of Toledo! Before him there was his famous predecessor, Mayor Samuel M. (Golden Rule) Jones. Or that other, still more memorable occasion when he took us to hear the silver-tongued orator William Jennings Bryan, campaigning for the presidency of the United States. Father always took an active interest in political campaigns. We considered ourselves Republicans, always on opposite sides in national campaigns from Uncle Herbert and his family. We explained his heterodoxy by the fact that he had married into a southern Pennsylvania family who had relatives in the south and were brought up to favor the Democratic cause.
Except for a mouth organ, which Father could play very well, we never had
a musical instrument in the house until about 1904. The older children, who
by then were earning money of their own, bought, for seven dollars, a
second-hand organ. It was placed in the parlor, and from then on that room
had more use. Ruth learned to play it first. On Sunday evenings we had
wonderful times as we gathered around the organ to sing our favorite hymns
or even, at times, a secular song or two.
We were a close-knit family, held together by mutual feelings of affection and respect. Father was a hero to us all. Discipline was apparently no problem. He seldom if ever resorted to physical punishment. To know that he was unhappy with us was enough to inhibit continuation of any action he disapproved. Bereft though it was of luxuries or indulgence, our life as a family was a very happy one. I am sure all of us children look back upon those years together with fond memories.
It was in the fall of 1920, as he approached his 60th birthday, that Father began to consider retirement. As an exploratory step he and mother decided to drive to California and spend the winter there. They had previously visited that distant state, going by train, but had never made a long trip by car.
They had owned an automobile since 1915, when they had bought a used Studebaker touring car. A few years later this was turned in on a big 7-passenger Hupmobile. Now they sold this and bought a 6 cylinder National, a long, sleek, stream-lined vehicle. As with all "touring cars" it had a collapsible top, equipped with side curtains in case of rain. There was no trunk, but Father installed on the left running-board a box, covered with black oil-cloth, in which to carry the equipment considered essential for the 2500-mile journey.
They rented their house for six months and in early October, accompanied by their four unmarried children, Ruth, Pearl, Hannah and Wilbur, they started on their long trek west. Wilbur, their youngest son, did all the driving as Father had not acquired enough skill or experience to enable him to be comfortable at the wheel.
Cross-country travel in those days was a pioneering experience. Few roads outside of cities were paved, and after a heavy rain many were almost impassable. Service stations were few and far between. Nowhere were there any route numbers and often no other identification of the highway. When you came to a fork in the road you often had to stop and inquire which one to take. The Automobile Association performed an indispensable service by supplying travelers with detailed road maps and guides, which identified turning points by the mileage from some starting point, plus a description of a landmark, such as a bridge, a church on the corner or a red brick school house.
Every car's speedometer was equipped with a "trip mileage" reading, which could be set at zero at the starting point. The driver needed a navigator who could follow the road guide, check the speedometer reading against the mileage called for in the guide, and watch for the designated landmarks. Of course this was long before the day of motels. You took along your own camping equipment or you used the primitive hotels or sought lodging in private homes.
My sister, Hannah, kept a daily log of this first western trip, after joining the family in Chicago. She had gone on ahead by train to visit friends in central Illinois and was to meet the rest of the family when they arrived there. The ride from Toledo to Chicago had already proved eventful. They had started their journey right after lunch on Wednesday noon, October 6, 1920. They had gone only fourteen miles when a tire blew out, so they returned to the city, bought two new "Superior Cord" tires, and left again at 6 P.M. Just west of Toledo, another tire blew out, but they replaced it with one of the new ones. Driving until 10:30 P.M. they camped for the night near Butler, Indiana.
Thursday morning they found another tire was growing soft. It was taken off and patched. The outer casing was damaged but they installed a "boot" and drove on as fast as they could. They were to meet Hannah at Dearborn Station about 5 P.M. and they arrived there a half-hour late. In a day and a half they had covered 250 miles.
Staying that night at the home of Will Coverdale, a cousin of Mother's, they continued west on Friday. The only incident thought worthy of mention was the loss of a "blue silk umbrella," the cherished gift of Hannah's Illinois friends. It must have shaken loose from the luggage that was strapped to the outside of the car. From here on, excerpts from Hannah's diary:
"Friday, Oct. 8. Six o'clock. Camped in schoolyard three or four miles west of LaSalle, Ill. Beautiful weather and warm night.
"Saturday, Oct. 9. Scurried around at 5 A.M. to get out of the way of school children and about noon happened to remember it was Saturday and no school. Crossed the Mississippi at Rock Island, Ill. Got to Moscow, Iowa, 30 miles west of there. Covered 116 miles today. Ideal spot for camping. A big sign of welcome to tourists: 'Pay when you come in. Autos 25 cents. Double teams 50 cents, single, 15 cents. Wagon 25 cents. Walk-in., 10 cents. No horses allowed. I'm running this place not you'.
"Sunday, Oct. 10. At 6 P.M. arrived at Isaac Warner's home, Panora, Iowa, after a drive of 210 miles since 8:30 A.M. Very hilly.
"Monday, Oct. 11. Drove to Moreland's, 16 miles away, for dinner and meeting.
"Tuesday, October 12. 145 miles. Started from Warner's at 10: 30 A.M.. Stopped 33 miles beyond Omaha on Platte River. Very woodsy place. Fisherman's car there ahead of us. Sleep disturbed during the night by the sound of something moving close to the tent. At four Pearl demanded a light to see what it was. Saw a big muskrat enter tent and carry away an apple. At 4:20 heard it coming again. We turned flashlight on it and watched it take another apple. When it came again, twenty minutes later, Wilbur shot it in the head.
"Wednesday, Oct. 13. 185 miles. Left at 8:30. Just as we entered Lincoln, Nebraska, we had a puncture. Stopped in front of the university. Two young men in an Ohio car stopped to talk. A few minutes later a man from Toledo joined us. Stopped at Axtell and camped behind the school. Had our first storm here, rain, wind and lightning.
At midnight we all got up and dressed for fear the tent would blow over. Nothing happened and we slept the rest of the night with our clothes on.
"Thursday, October 14. 78 miles. Started at 10:15. Very cloudy, with rain off and on. In low places the road was very muddy. Arrived Atlanta, Nebraska, at noon, after going only 27 miles. We put on chains and curtains, bought provisions for lunch and started out. Very bad roads, rather hilly. Near Arapahoe we skidded crosswise off the road and front wheels went into a ditch full of water. Two cars came along and with their help we finally got out. Within a few miles, as we were passing a Ford, we slid down into a ditch at side of road. With the Ford's help we easily came out of that. We drove as far as Cambridge, where we found an ideal place to camp in a park back of a mill. Just got everything nicely put away in the tent when it began to rain. Stormed most of the night with thunder and lightning.
"Friday, October 15. 67 miles. Waited here all morning, waiting for the roads to dry up and the tent to get dry. The sun came out warm and bright, so we ate our lunch and left at two o'clock. Very little mud on the road except in low spots. On a hillside we passed a Ford from Detroit. Later we pulled another man with a Ford out of a