The first day in my new city was not a positive one. My new "junior" missionary companion told me that they had just moved from their apartment, which was too expensive to one they could afford. We walk into an attic room converted by some slum lord into a room. There was no electric light in the room. The were some hot plates, but they had no electrical cords, and since there were no outlets in the apartment, they would not be anything more than door stops. My new junior did not appreciate my sense of humor when I asked him if they worked on faith. But I was not smiling when I said it. There was no bathroom or toilet in the apartment. You had to leave the apartment, go down four levels in the stairwell and exit the building to find an unheated bathroom in a large courtyard. There was no water plumbed into it, so you had to take a bucket of water with you. After standing on top of the toilet fixture, you poured the water into a tank four feet above you, and then you could flush the toilet. Winter was coming, and I knew this would not work. I complained immediately, so the landlord let us use the unrented toilet next to us for a short period of time. I have no idea what he intended on doing after he rented that. There was no shower or water in the apartment. Access to water and a bucket was available, but I don't remember where we found a water tap. And to make matters worse, the city bath was closed for one year.
Just before he went home, he began buying a large number of souvenirs, although he was getting $50-$75 less a month than I was. Economic times became tough in the 70's for Americans living in Germany after about 1973. There never seemed to be enough money to get by with basic needs, let alone buying things like expensive porcelain, wood carvings and pewter glasses and mugs, but he was doing it. I began to notice money seemed to vanish, and then one morning the ultimate thing made me realize what was happening. I had had a 100 DM bill in my wallet that I placed on a night stand before I went to sleep for the night. The large blue bill was gone the next morning. I fixed breakfast. I savored the rage. And then with the most quiet and sensitive voice I could muster, I told him--as one of those door slammers--that I would kick his a$$ if that bill did not reappear in my wallet in the next five minutes. Magically it reappeared. 
This picture shows the building in the courtyard that had a toilet in that first apartment in Bochum without electricity, water or anything else. Some of the windows in that old building where the toilet was were broken out, and the condition was very poor. We went back to the previous apartment's landlord that afternoon, and she was excited to see us. She lowered the price, and although it was still a lot of money at the time, I accepted it. She let us live there for free for the first month that we had to pay for the pathetic room. The new place had four rooms, a shower, a stove and a refrigerator. And the room was heated too.
Bochum, like all of the other cities where I worked as a missionary, was another industrial city in the Kohlenpot. However, the Ruhr University was also there. Photographs from a tall building showing construction is of that school. The large univeristy building from where I took the picture also shows how flat the land was in Bochum, just like the other cities where I lived. During those two years, I occasionally found small hills, but for the most part, the horizon showed only smoke stacks, water cooling towers, and coal mine equipment that raised loads of men and coal from mines below the surface. In the picture below, you see the coal tower equipment or Zeche and a smoke stake. The horizon shows many more.
Bochum was a city of 250,000 people, and there was not a chapel or meeting room there. In fact, only a few active members lived there. We traveled to Herne each Sunday for meetings, the chapel located on the border between the two cities, not far from our apartment in Bochum. I saw no baptisms in my last two cities, but unlike the experience in Essen where we could not find anyone who wanted to talk to us, we taught a large number of people in Bochum. Our district led the mission in teaching almost every month I was in Bochum, in spite of some of the problems that I mentioned. Only in December did the teaching begin to slow down. And by Christmas, it almost stopped all together. 
My third and best companion in Bochum was from the Provo area, and he worked very hard with me. He was my first new missionary or "greeny," and by the time he arrived, I had become so acclimatized with German culture and had become so intent on working hard until the last day I was in Germany, I had to have been miserable to be with at that time. I worked very hard, and I cooked German dishes that were easy to make. We did not spend a lot of time worrying about meal preparation, and because of the large number of people we taught, we were "on the go" all of the time. Suddenly he became sick in the first few weeks. Two of my mission friends told me that I had to relax a bit, so that I would not discourage him. I think I did that, although I continued to work hard, and I started making things like pancakes and spaghetti instead of the German goulasch and rice dishes. As soon as he found out why I worked hard, we became good friends. My every moment was about the work I needed to do. I refused to think about home, because I knew I would become homesick and ineffective.
One afternoon on an unseasonably warm day, we were working some three-story apartments that had large open outside entry ways after exiting the stairwell. I heard a whistle from a soccer field. For an instant, I suddenly thought to myself about football practice, even though it had been years since my high school playing days. It was like someone hit me over the head with a club, and it took days to "shake it." But I kept working, and everything was all right. When I told my mother once that I became homesick only twice on my mission--once as just mentioned and the other seeing someone sitting in a car listening to the radio, she became angry with me at the thought that I only missed football and music on the radio. 
The Herne Ward was interesting. Sunday was Christmas Eve in December of 1973, and after meetings that day, the bishop stood up and told members to invite missionaries into their homes that evening. There were only eight to ten of us in the Ward, and considering how many members there were, it shocked me to see the reaction. At sound of "Amen" after the closing prayer, it was like a stampede. People practically locked shoulders getting out of the chapel doors. It made me angry. I only had a few weeks left. My new companion and I returned to our apartment for Christmas Eve dinner. After putting a pan on the stove and cutting in a few potatoes and other vegetables, I was just ready to add some more things when the door buzzed. There was an intercom that allowed us to question anyone entering the building before climbing he steps to our fourth floor apartment. It was Brother Huppert, a member in Bochum who enjoyed having us for dinner occasionally.
Hupperts had two small sons, Sven and Carsten. On an earlier visit, one boy had found a bicycle chain with a lock on the street. It was like new, but it was locked tight. The little boy kept it. His dad smiled and said he would throw it away when his son lost interest in it. I asked him if I could look at it. I the numbers one way and then another, locking each of the four or five sets into place while listening to the lock. Brother Huppert laughed and called me a former safe cracker. I pulled it and it opened. The boys were ecstatic. Dad was amazed. I was too, but Brother Huppert always teased me about my potential criminal talent after that.
Suddenly it was time. The Hupperts told their sons that they were to go into the dining room. We shut the doors. The adults pulled the curtains shut and held a blanket to make it impossible for the boys to see. My misson companion and I helped Brother Huppert place toys and presents under the tree. When we finished, he had a bell that he rang. Everyone lowered the rug, and the children burst into the room. They told them the Christ Child had visited. It is the Christ Child who brought toys. Santa visited in early December and brought candy to fill shoes left at the door. 
While in Bochum, I often yearned for the country, so I found several areas that I enjoyed. There was an area in the city called Stiepel, a small area once ruled by a king during medieval times. There was a small church that was extremely old, built in 1008. It is difficult for me to comprehend that the building is now a thousand years old. The building was still in use for church services, and one day while we took pictures, the pastor let us take pictures of the wall murals. I only wish all had worked. There was one that showed a Knight Templer fighting a dragon that spread the length of an outside wall. We taught a lot of people in that area, many of whom were very interested in our message. In another area south of Bochum with large grain fields, my mission companion and I spent time occasionally tracting there. There were large stands of wild black berries near where we walked. One evening I met some people who were shocked when they saw me. And their reaction was even stranger when I said I was an American. They wanted to know where, and when I told them I was from Idaho, they went back into the house, leaving the door open and the two of us standing there. They soon returned with a tiny Bible, a small hole bored into the upper corner. The husband gave it to me and asked me if I please would return it to the owner. Clearwater, Idaho was on one side, and on another were the letters C.H.S. I always assumed that the initials were for a high school there. The man told me that the small Bible had been in the pocket of a coat in a medical facility in Travamunde, a city in Northern Germany in May of 1945. As guilty as the man seemed to be, and knowing how desperate times were in Germany at the time, I think the man possibly stole the coat.
I hunted for years to find the owner, asking the American Legion to help me, but nothing helped. One afternoon while doing research on the computer in 2005, I found a site for Clearwater. I wrote and told about the experience I had and asked if any veterans had served in the war from Clearwater. A short time later, I heard from a woman who identified it. The letters were her uncle's initials. He passed away in the mid 70's, never having really recovered those effects of the war, but I will always feel a sense of satisfaction about finding the owner of that Bible.
I left Germany for home in early 1974, around January 9th. Two weeks before I left, I received my travel information. It was a disappointment. Christmas was my dad's favorite time of the year, and I wanted to be home for him, and besides, although I left on my mission with a determined date of return set to coincide with the beginning of the Winter Semester in 1974, the university changed the date to early January. There had been very little if any teaching at all during the holidays, but it didn't work out like I wanted.
They moved the travel plans for me, and at that time, missionaries were not to contact their parents by phone at any time during their missions. I had to call home to tell them about the change. As silly as it seems, it took me three days to remember the number, and then it came to me one morning. My mission companion and I went to the main post office in Bochum, and I gave an official the number. Five minutes or so later, they told me to report to a booth. I could hear other people making calls in various languages, all of them screaming. When it was my turn, I went to a sound-proof booth, picked up the phone, and I began the conversation. I realized why people were screaming. It was the day of Transatlantic Cable. You had to scream so the people you were calling could hear you at all. Hearing my family's voice was something that shook me a bit.
One of my first baptisms was Schwester Müller, and she wrote and asked to travel to Bochum to see me before I left. There was a connection that she had with me and with my friend and former mission companion Craig Walker. She was like a grandmother to us. She spent an afternoon with us in Bochum. I purchased an Uher reel to reel tape player, and I taped our conversation that afternoon, and like an idiot, I recorded over it several years later. I will always regret that. When you are young, you don't realize how valuable it is to hear the voice of old friends and loved ones.
In early January, there had been a family that refused to talk to us if we persisted in talking about the church. They told us never to return, unless we wanted to be their friends and talk about current events or sports or weather or skiing. I never returned, and then one evening I was in that area checking two appointments. Both times we found nothing but darkened houses. I had a feeling to visit that family, but I hesitated. It was cold, very cold. And I thought I was just wanting to find a place out of the weather. The feeling wouldn't go away.
We fasted and prayed for over two days before that blessing. My junior companion was still quite new in the field, only having been in Germany for a few months. We gave him a blessing in the early afternoon of the third day, each of us doing our part--the annointing and actual blessing. When we finished, he stood out of his chair and walked to the table. The moment was incredible. Friends and loved ones were there, and we sat and ate dinner with them. He was able to eat for the first time. We said goodbye, and I never heard from them again. The other missionaries told me they went back to see them, and although they were thankful for the blessing and the results, they still didn't want to hear anything about the church. Regardless of what happened, the event probably made my stay in Germany until the second week of January worth it, because for almost a month prior to that, almost no teaching at all had happened.
While in Bochum, I began shopping at a quality grocery store that gave stamps you could redeem at a certain point. In the final days, I cashed them in and bought four large and thick veal steaks. I have never tasted anything like that since. We had an incredible feast that night, and I will never forget how excited my mission companion was about that meal.
The last day in Bochum arrived. My companion and I worked until 8:30 or 9:00 p.m. A family let us into their home and wanted to talk to us. The mother told me how my eyes sparkled, and knowing she wanted to know how long we did our church service. I told her two years. Then she asked me how long I had been doing it, and I responded--two years. "When do you return home?" she asked. When I told her I was to leave my apartment the next morning at 6:00 a.m., she asked me if I had packed. I hadn't. She smiled and took my arm and led me and my companion to the door. She told us that she was doing a service for my mother--getting me ready to return home.
This is the last picture I took in front of our apartment at around 6:00 a.m., waiting for the streetcar to take us to the trainstation. We closed that apartment when we moved. The landlady was sad to lose us. But I was excited to return home.
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