Galen was worried that he been recognized. The Bishop had just passed him as he puttered up highway 21 that hot summer afternoon. He was riding his severely underpowered moped that left a trail of blue smoke. And it seemed to him that the rusty Chevy Citation slowed down, but then it continued towards the church.
Who would have thought that the following chain of events would result in an excommunication?
Clint, Galen and I had made plans after church that Sunday Morning. We had suffered through an hour long sermon on the evils of white sneakers and tight trousers and were brainstorming on a way to fill the long afternoon before it all started again at 7:30 that evening. We decided to meet at Epperson’s grocery at 2 pm in Hunter to hang out for awhile. As I got to the store and leaned my bicycle against the porch wall, I spotted Clint sitting on the bench. He was engaged in conversation with Tina, a wordly girl, pouring on all the charm a 15 year old Mennonite boy could muster. He was wearing a t-shirt which was pretty wicked in itself. He had also borrowed some of his Brother Paul’s Polo cologne, having been advised that was a sure bet to attract girls.
I bought a Mountain Dew and sat outside. Enjoying the conversation and the soda. Soon Galen arrived and before heading inside the store, he worriedly informed us that he had passed Clint’s dad, and possibly been made. We all agreed that it was highly unlikely, and Galen headed inside to get himself a snack.
So what we were doing, using money on the Lords day, was strictly forbidden in our church, right up there next to armed robbery. We knew the risk involved, but it was extremely difficult to adhere to a rule that made absolutely no sense at all. Clint and I happened to look up just as a white 4 door pickup turned the corner and headed towards the store. We instantly recognized it as Freeman Byler, Galen’s dad, and I sprang to my feet and ran inside to warn Galen. He left the money and the purchases on the counter and we made a beeline for the backdoor of the store. We sprinted across the back yard and down into a drainage ditch, and watched through the weeds as Freeman stood at the side of the store , asking the cashier if she had seen any Mennonite boys. Unfortunately , Clint had lingered to say a proper goodbye to Tina and was unable to make it across the yard. So he huddled under the deck attached to the rear of the store. He could hear Freemans footsteps on the deck above him . “They were just here, hanging out, and then they disappeared,” The cashier told Freeman. “I have no idea where they went”.
We crouched down in the Johnson grass , and tried and failed to come up with an exit strategy out of this pickle we had gotten ourselves into. Clint and Galen were all for running away, but I was a church member , barely, but still hanging on by a thread. I advised that we all go home and pretend like nothing had happened Freeman had loaded up the moped on the back of the pickup and was now slowly cruising up and down the streets of Hunter looking for us.
Word of the alleged misdemeanor had spread, however , and by the time each of us had gotten home, we knew our goose was cooked. Clint got his ass whooped, Galen was grounded for eternity, and I was singled out for future punishment. The next Sunday evening, before church started, I was hauled into the ministers room, and told that I was being excommunicated, “For the sin of contributing to the delinquency of a minor by purchasing delicacies on the Lords day” I was not given the chance to raise a defence or ask for forgiveness. These were evil men, supposedly ordained by God. They were deliberately trying to exact some revenge on my dad by this action, and were unashamedly using me as pawn. They did not care about a young man’s heart. They did not do the best they could at the time, although they would claim this defense many years later.
That church service was as still as death. Bishop Troyer got up just before the close of the service, and announced that 2 members were to be excommunicated. John , for the sin of breaking the Sabbath by purchasing a Mountain Dew. And my friend Llewy, for purchasing a 4 wheel drive pickup and not getting it sold quickly enough when they asked him to sell it. Troyer went on to say that he was delivering our souls to the devil, and that we were to be shunned, no member was to talk to us other than to admonish us to return to the faith. Also we were banned from communion , and any other church activities, until we repented and a sufficient time of proving had passed.
My friends from church complied, and the only one that said anything to me personally was Timmy. He mumbled something about hoping I would repent quickly so we could be friends again. I realize now it was a control move by the leadership, and they had no morals whatsoever. And that explains why they ordered the isolation, to control the cult. It does not in any way excuse it, just helps explain it.
There were many other excommunications that followed, including one where Troyer kicked out over 20 members in 1 day. Which set a record among fellowship Mennonite churches which stands to this day. Many souls were turned from God thru his actions , and years of therapy for those that maintained their belief throughout the turmoil We all had to relearn our perception of God, that he was not a dictator ruling the church with an iron fist. He was not in fact, just waiting for one of us to screw up, so he could smite us with the rod of correction. Out of all my peers, only Timmy and David still reside there and attend the church.
In spite of all the hypocrisy, we still managed to have some fun. Deer hunting season was always looked forward to with great anticipation. The first couple days would hunt from deer stands with varying degrees of success. Usually slim to none. Then around the 3d day we would all get together for a day of deer drives. About 10 guys would fan out in a straight line and try to push the deer out of thickets to a couple of hunters who were station at the opposite side. We would shout and yell, trying to push the deer out. And occasionally we would hear a gunshot signifying that our drive must be working. Freeman would always station himself on the far side, claiming he had a bad back and walking was difficult for him. It was far easier for him to stand and wait for the deer to be driven to him. Every once in awhile someone would actually get a buck in this manner. But the odds were definitely in the deer’s favor. Unbelievably no one was ever hurt. However dads 67 Plymouth fury had a bullet hole in the back fender that came out just above the rear wheel on the other side. No one ever took credit for it, but one of the Miller twins was standing right across the fence from the car the afternoon it happened.
Everyone remembers their first deer. I was 12 years old and didn’t even own a gun yet. But my older brother Paul was teaching school in Maryland and left behind his 30-30. It had iron sites and shot a little to the left ,but Glen and I sighted it in the week before deer season started. And by the end of the day I had a sore shoulder and the abilty to hit a small circle of paint on an old oak stump out behind the barn. Saturday morning we packed our lunches and headed for the river bottoms long before the sun came up. Glen dropped me off at Riggons hill and he roared off toward the Yantiss farm. I didn’t use a flashlight, since that might scare off the deer, and I slowly made my way up the hill to the treestand. As the night turns to day, every branch and bush looks like a huge Buck. But as daylight approaches, they turn back into boring landscape objects. Around 7 am an 8 point buck stepped out of the brush about 100 yards away and nibbled on some leaves. I took a breath, squeezed the trigger, and the old lever action gun broke the morning silence. The buck leaped into the air and ran. Within 20 yards he went down, but I was shaking so bad from the excitement that I couldn’t climb down the tree.
At last I calmed down and was able to check out my shot. I had aimed a little to the left and the bullet went straight thru the heart, a nice clean shot. I field dressed the deer , and drug him down the hill. A neighbor hauled the deer and myself home and I was as proud as any boy had a right to be. That deer stand went on to produce many deer , including a 16 point buck I harvested when I was just 15. That evening when Dad and Glen got home I retold my story, perhaps with some embellishment, and by the time I went back to school the Buck was several hundred yards away and running full tilt when I managed to nail him with one shot!
There were many legends of a monster buck that roamed the hills of Carter County. Some claimed that his antlers looked like a brush pile , they were so thick. Just about everyone claimed to have seen him at some point, but he was never taken in the hunt. And I hope he or his grandchildren still haunt those hills and hollers along E highway.
