"Was He Talking to Me?" - Submission #40

Getting stoned out of my mind that night in June of 1975... the first day of my California vacation... well, that seemed to set the tone for that summer. Day one was the template for day two, and day three and so on... as long as I was staying with Bob and Ginny.

Sleeping until noon, eating like a king, rocking out to Bob’s amazing collection of 70’s rock albums and then smoking weed until we crashed in the early morning hours. Every day... 

It seems that every night, at least one of Bob’s friends would stop by for a late night of smoking and drinking. Bob kept his stash in a Tupperware container in his coffee table. Once he pulled it out, the party was on. My goal was to keep up with the big boys... hit for hit, drink for drink... and before long, I did just that.

For me, this wasn’t so much about entertainment. It wasn’t so much about having a “good time.” This was self-medication... plain and simple. This was an exercise... an activity... a substance to help me to forget about my life back home. And it worked... at least for periods of my days but reality would set in at some point and the feelings of depression and dread would once again consume me.

This pattern really helps me to understand how some people become drug addicts or alcoholics. So often, addiction stems from some sort of trauma in one’s life... a death, physical abuse, sexual abuse, a broken relationship. Looking back... addiction seemed to be my eventual destination. I was laying that foundation and didn’t even realize it.

The plan was to split my time between my three brothers. That didn’t really happen. By far, I spent most of my time with Bob. I spent some time with Butch. I spent very little time with Bill.

My first day with Bill happened to be a Sunday. Of course, that meant we’d be going to church. Not my idea of a good time.

Bill was the assistant pastor of Baptist Community Bible Church. I rode a bus to this church when I was in elementary school... prior to dad’s death and our move to Iowa. Back then, it was called Community Bible Church. Somewhere along the way, they added “Baptist” to the name.

I hadn’t attended this church... I hadn’t attended any church for more than six years. Bill, on the other hand, had grown up in this church... since the early 1960’s. After high

Janet and Bill shortly after they were married.

school, he graduated from Bible College and along the way, married the Pastor’s daughter and joined the staff of the church.

I sat in the back row and just soaked in the experience. I remember seeing a good group of teens sitting together on the left side of the sanctuary. They seemed to be enjoying themselves... talking, laughing... and plugged into the church service, once it started.

Actual photo of the congregation of Community Bible Church

I couldn’t be more different than these kids. They were clean cut, seemed happy and were engaged in worship. I had long hair, hated life, wreaked of pot smoke and was totally confused about matters of faith.

Pastor RG Osborne

Pastor RG Osborne, Bill’s father-in-law, delivered the message that morning. He preached about Jesus. He told us that we could be forgiven, saved from our sins and delivered from our sinful lifestyle.

Was he talking to me? Did Bill tip him off that I would be in attendance? Did this preacher craft his sermon exclusively for the rebellious, long haired 16 year-old in the back row? It certainly seemed to be the case.

That church service had an effect on me. I was intrigued by what I saw and the the words that I heard but I wasn’t sure how to process it... how to interpret it. Was all that stuff true? Could Jesus make something positive out of my life? Doubtful. I was too far gone.

After the service, Bill asked me how I liked the it.

“Fine.” Standard answer. Conversation stopper. I didn’t want to tip my hand. I didn’t want him to know that the service had given me a bit of a jolt. 

That Sunday night, I went back to Bob’s. We smoked a joint and drank a few beers. I went to bed with a buzz and yet, my mind was racing about the church service I had attended.... the teens, the preacher and his message.

I saw Bill only one more time and I made sure that it wasn’t a Sunday. I didn’t want to risk another disruption to my heart and mind with the stuff that went on at that church.

Instead of church, this time we went to Disneyland. We had a great time. We stayed until it closed. Rode the rides and laughed all night long. I didn’t realize that religious people could have this much fun. 

The month in California flew by. The date of my departure was rapidly approaching and I was anxious and depressed. The thought of school... the thought of that blue Nova... the thoughts overwhelmed me.

School was still six weeks away, why couldn’t I stay longer? I called my mom on a Saturday night... strategically... I knew she’d be drunk. I told her I was staying another month. She agreed and I stayed with Bob the rest of the time.

But it simply prolonged the inevitable. I spent the next month under the influence a good part of the time. I was desperate to push thoughts of going home out of my mind with only limited success.

Despite my best efforts to make time stand still... the day of my departure arrived. School was starting in a couple weeks and I had to get back. I think I cried. I'm sure of it.

I said my good byes and got on the big bird at LAX.

Downtown Madrid, IA

My mom and step-dad, Jack, picked me up at the Des Moines Airport. Not surprisingly, they had gotten there early and spent an hour in the airport bar. Both were inebriated. Nothing new. I cannot believe how often Jack drove while highly intoxicated. 

We made it back safely to Madrid. 216 East 2nd Street... on the main drag of town. I lugged my large suitcase up to my front door and turned to see a car driving by very slowly. It was the blue Nova and I got sick to my stomach.