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.My first companion in Bochum is in the top picture at the far right. He was my junior, but he really resented the fact that I was his senior companion. After his return home and a few years of teaching, he became a building principal. In my life, I liked principals just a wee bit less than Canadians.
He disliked a personality trait of mine I developed on the farm. I couldn't help the fact that on a rare occasion when someone slammed a door in my face hard enough to rattle my teeth and wiggle my ears, the words dirty bastard would come out of my mouth. I did not talk like that, and I only slipped twice in response to a sudden situation like that, but he really disliked that. Within a short time, he became a district leader, and I received another junior companion--one who had only four weeks or so left on his mission. He told me occasionally that his parents made him fill out his missionary papers, his bishop made him submit them, his stake president made him go, and I made him work every day. This one really hated me.
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. After a situation in Dortmund that I described in another blog where burglars broke into the house where he lived in an apartment, I had opened a post office bank account that I used briefly, and after the new experience in Bochum, I began using it again, leaving no more than just a little bit of cash in my wallet at any given time.
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.He came up the steps and entered the apartment. After telling me that he came to get us for dinner, I told him we were just preparing the meal, and he asked me what I was having that made it impossible to accept his invitation. I told him I had soup. He went to the stove, looked into the pan and looked at me briefly before pouring the contents into the sink. "I guess you're not having soup," he said to me in German. A smile spread across his face, and then we both laughed.
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. Christmas Eve was fun. There were two trees, one for the presents and one in the dining room with candles. I had never seen a Christmas tree lit with candles before. We began eating, and Brother Huppert had a pan of water on the table. He was a practical joker, so I thought he would throw it on someone during the meal. He lit the tree, and fifteen minutes later, I saw a bright flash. A branch of the tree caught fire. Brother Huppert put it out with the pan of water and returned to the kitchen for more water. He comes back and sits down after placing the pan next to him. My heart is pounding in my chest. Ten minutes later, he lights the tree again. The tree caught fire three times that night, and he put it out three times. And then we went into the other room with the smaller tree and the gifts.
We sang Christmas songs and played games. The two small boys, one five and one three, were so excited that night, and their dad teased them. At one time they were crawling under a large rug on the hardwood floor. You could see the boys crawling while their dad chased and teased them. The boys moving under the rug made half circle tube-like shapes that looked like gopher trails in a lawn, and their mom sat embarrassed. She had no idea how much my mission companion and I enjoyed watching everything.
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. Christmas there was incredible.
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.
When I rang the doorbell, the mother and daughter came to the door. They acted surprized, shocked, happy to see us, and they asked us in immediately. They led us into the living room where the man of the house sat in a chair. He was very pale and emaciated. Doctors had told him that he was going to die in a very short time. He had not been able to eat for a long time. And he did not have the strength to get out of his chair. To raise his arm to shake our hand was very difficult. He asked us to give him a blessing.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.
I'm not sure who took these pictures, but Anna posed for them all during one day. It was more than fun being there. No one knows how great four days there can be with grandchildren, unless they experience it--the sounds of laughter, the faint aroma of of cinnamon and vanilla and the train whistles, and these things are just inside the front gate.
There was a short wait. A female worker, who could not have been older than 25, looked like Ebeneezer Scrooge meets Mommy Dearest. I have never met a woman in such a bad mood, not ever, and the park had only been open for an hour. For a brief moment I felt fear, and I wondered if the woman was a reincarnation of my fourth grade teacher. After waiting a short while for an open boat, we finally climbed in and prepared for the ride. The boys--as young Jedi warriors--not only believed that the power of the Force would protect us from this person who obviously embraced the dark side of the bed that morning, but they also may have thought their dedication to the Force would keep all of us dry. Their destiny was on a different path than that of Aunt Lydia.
Jack had not been terribly happy about going on the ride. The boats are a bit rough at times, and the squealing of some girls on the ride in front of us made him uneasy. Jack has still not come to terms with the strange behaviors of teenage girls who believe screaming loudly enough to pierce the human ear is a valuable part of any ride. I was sure that their noise forced dolphins on the California shoreline to stick their heads above the water and chatter in response.
Anna leaned against the rail and watched intently for us to arrive. It was a very warm day in late November in the park, a bit over 90 degrees, so the splashing water felt really good. During the summer, I never really felt the need for a plastic parka to keep water from soaking parts of my clothing, but I did that day in spite of the beautiful weather. And I am sure all of us felt the same way. Most likely it was knowing that we did not have until eight or nine o'clock that night to dry in the heat of a summer day, and even though the weather was great, each adult knew that it would be dark by 5:30 in the afternoon: only a couple of hours later. We knew that we would need the sweatshirts we brought that morning.
But grandma took care of that with a couple of quick pictures of all of us as we turned and weaved our way to the end of the ride and to the spot where we would meet the grouchy Disney worker. At this point the boys were smiling and enjoying the moments with us. They were both glad we rode Mickey's rapids.
We then walked around the city as a group and took pictures. I remember taking this from the top of a parking garage. Another one that I can't find anywhere was even better, a classic picture with carhead lights and red taillights slicing through the darkness like strange urban anacondas. And then we returned to the mission office. Our mission president interviewed each of us. It was a difficult time in Germany. The Viet Nam War, affluence and other factors led many to look at things they thought to be more important than religion. Success within the mission waned, and not many years later, the Central German Mission was a part of several other missions. At the end of the interview, mission leaders took us to a hotel, where all of us spent the night. Departure for the airport was early the next morning.
