We usually knew he was coming, one way or another. If he came from the South, Gearhart’s dogs would raise all kinds of commotion, and we would know something was up. If he walked down HI way 21 from the north., he would pass our neighbor house, One of their kids, probably Sarah Ruth, would give us a ring on the party line to warn us. My sister Sue and I would go out on the porch facing the road, the one with the squeaky porch swing, and watch for him. Growing up in the Mennonite culture 30 miles from the nearest department store made for some boring days.
His name was Joe and he was a hobo. A genuine one, not one of the freeloaders standing at an intersection nowadays with a sign that says “Stranded, Please Help, God Bless.” No siree ! Joe didn’t believe in handouts, except for one of moms home cooked meals, of course.
He knew Dad from somewhere way back, perhaps Plain City Ohio, when they were still both Amish. Since that time ,Dad had left the Amish church, gotten himself a car, and moved Mom and all 8 of us kids to Southern Missouri. Joe, also left the Amish but kept the ancient ways, but along the path he lost a few of his marbles. For one thing, he refused to cross a bridge, and also he would not accept a ride in a car. Thought both were of the Devil. The Mississippi river had a way of changing his mind tho.
“Here he comes,” Sue whispered, and we craned our necks, on that stifling, hazy summer day, as Joe came into view. He always dressed in clothes he sewed himself out of old gunny sacks. I guess Joe was green, even if the term didn’t exist back then, because his sandals were homemade. The soles were cut from rubber tires and tied with baler twine. When they wore out, he simply made himself another pair. He swung open the gate that led to our mailbox and walked in towards the house.
“Isht da Dat Heim?” Is your Dad home? He called out in Pennsylvania Dutch, our native language. We mumbled something back and shyly walked behind him as he headed for the hydrant out by the shop and helped himself to a long drink of water. The water ran off his long scraggly beard and made dirty rivers down his dusty brown pants. Dad came up from the barn about that time and He and Joe sat on the loafers bench as mom referred to it, really just an old car seat that sat in front of our shop, and talked of his adventures. He had come from Indiana, and was on his way to Arkansas where he had a job waiting for him at the feed mill.
He had a bit of a setback , he went on to say, when he was trudging across southern Illinois. Ahead loomed the great Mississippi, and as he got closer he contrived a plan to get across. On the banks of that muddy river, he would find logs and driftwood and lash them together. His plan went along swimmingly, until he pushed off the shore using a long pole to propel himself. He then realized that the current was too strong and his odds of reaching the other side were slim to none , so he pushed back to shore and reluctantly headed for the narrow bridge.
Well it turned out that old Joe then found out he had a terrible fear of heights, and halfway over the bridge, he almost fainted, and would have succumbed to the greedy arms of the river for the 2nd time in one day, had not a passing policeman stopped and gave him a ride in his squad car to Missouri. Joe shook his head and said he hopes the Lord could forgive him for sinning twice that day.
Suppertime came around and one of us kids rang the old cowbell that sat beside the screen door so we would all know Mom was ready with the meal. Dad invited Joe in to join us. “Oh No! ” said Joe. “Just bring me out some leftovers if you could.” So Mom fixed him a heaping plate and Glen took it out to him, and he devoured it on the step in front of the wash house. After supper he refused to come in the house so dad got him settled out in the barn for overnight accommodations. In the morning when we got up to start the chores, old Joe Yoder was gone. It would not be the last we would see of him, but certainly the visit that left the biggest impression on my mind. The story of Joes passing through Hunter Missouri was retold many times in the years since that, often with great embellishment, but this is the way I saw it.
There were many other hobos that passed thru that gate, often they would only ask for a drink, sometimes for food, and never for money. They were all scary to us kids but strangely fascinating.
And then one day, out of nowhere, appeared Jerry and Joyce, he had on Bell bottom jeans with the largest elephant ear flare on the bottom of his pants that I had ever seen, and hair down past his shoulders. I can’t recall how Joyce was dressed, but miniskirts were very popular back then , and dad often lectured us that long hair and short skirts were about the most evil thing he had ever seen, and a sure sign the world was about to end for such lawlessness. In spite of this, Dad invited them into the house and offered up my older sister Arlene’s bedroom for overnight accommodations.
They ate supper with us and dad expounded how they were in for a treat, as we were heading to church that night, for revival meetings. They both were excited about attending and there was a great flurry of activity around our household before church started. A haircut and shave for Jerry was in order by the men in the house, and then dad gave him one of his white long sleeved shirts and a pair of Vernon’s black pants. We found an old pair of dress shoes for him and Paul shined them up with Vaseline.
Meanwhile Mom and Arlene were busy putting the Mennonite on Joyce. Arlene’s cape dresses fit her perfectly and Mom drummed up a covering for her. When Joyce saw her man all dressed up, she beamed with pride at him, and declared he was the handsomest man shed laid eyes on. We all crowded into that old green Plymouth Fury and headed off to Grandin, Singing a verse or two of; “we are going down the valley one by one.” And ending up with, “The roll being called up yonder” as we clawed our way up that impossibly steep driveway at church and parked in our usual pot next to the big Pine tree.
As we extracted ourselves form the car, not unlike clowns coming out of VW bug at the circus, everyone else arriving at the church stopped in their tracks to stare. We seldom got English people at our church , and entertainment was few and far between. We trekked into the church and I excitedly filled my good friends Galen and Tim in on the details of the recruitment. Then it was off to the auditorium, where the womenfolk sat on the left and the menfolk on the right. Soon the sound of 4 part harmony swelled the church and after 3 hymns, (I believe Menno Simons must have pioneered that number, because you can pretty much set your watch on 3 opening songs at any Mennonite church), we were treated to a 25 minute mini sermon disguised as a devotional, and then the main act. We had some great old revival meeting speakers back in those days, always from out of state and tonight was no exception. The preacher threatened of the evils of card playing, drinking , dancing, and improper thoughts, any one of which could land one in the burning lake of fire if one happened to die without repenting.
As the preacher announced the invitation and the first strains of Just as I am, rose softly in the cool evening breeze, Joyce and Jerry practically leapt to their feet in response. Then, as Delmar in Oh Brother Where art thou, would say, “They done got saved”
We were all happy as clams, but everything was not as it seemed, that night at the Grandin Mennonite Church, on route B, and it was only the third night of the week of revival meetings.
Then next morning our guest slept in late, a thing which was unheard of in our household. “Up at the crack of dawn,” dad always boomed. I guess they hadn’t been raised that way, because around about mid-morning Jerry came out of the back bedroom, and Dad promptly put him to work on the farm, When Joyce finally made her appearance, she still had on Arlene’s pink cape dress, now quite wrinkled, and appeared to be suffering from withdrawal from a lack of pills of some sort . She waited till no one was looking and helped herself to a handful of change from the cabinet beside the refrigerator, and buzzed out the door and down highway 21, cape dress flapping in the breeze. she walked the half mile down to Gearheart’s gas station, and bought a pack of cigarettes, proceeding to immediately light one up , much to the amusement of Milton , the store owner.
The nicotine couldn’t stave off the depression for long, and that afternoon we heard a great squealing of tires and a horn blew incessantly. We ran to the fence along the road to see what the commotion was all about and discovered Joyce had tried to commit suicide by laying crossways on the road. Fortunately the driver was able to see her in time to stop. Jerry was summoned and he helped her to the bedroom where much yelling and screaming took place. We tried to ignore it, but to a household that was mostly Amish silent, it was hard to act normal. My next memory is of her grabbing a long knife from the kitchen and threatening to kill herself. Then the fight moved down to the lower yard where Paul and Vernon cut small logs out of the woods behind the hayfield and erected a small log cabin there next to the rope swing.
At this point Dad finally had enough, and called Bishop Troyer , and he came over to referee. He arrived and after talking it over with dad, decided that the alter call hadn’t really stuck. So they asked the couple to leave. Dad even offered to drive them to a local motel up by the catfish ponds along 60, and pay for a nights lodging. Vernon drove them up and we figured that was the last we would ever see of them.
But the next Sunday morning we headed off to church promptly at 9:15 am like we always did, not knowing there were 2 pairs of eyes watching from across the road . They waited until they saw us pull out and then made tracks for our house, Levi Mast, our next door neighbor, saw Joyce and Jerry walking towards our house as they made their way to church , (They were always about 15 minutes late to everything, even though they always set their clocks 10 minutes fast) Levi reported the sighting to dad when he got to church and dad shot off in that in the old green car to check things out . as he pulled in our drive the couple ran out the back door and across the road and disappeared into the brush across the road. The only thing missing was a set of binoculars and the rest of the egg money which was just over 11 dollars if I recall correctly.
One of the perks of being poor was not having anything worth stealing, No tv, jewelry or electronic equipment except for an ancient record player and ten or so vinyl acapella records. Dad called the Sherriff and filled him in on the details and that was the last Joyce and Jerry were ever heard from again. I hope they found help, because we hillbillies sure weren’t equipped for that kind of situations, closed off from society, in the hills and hollers of Carter county.
There was the case of the mom and kids running for her life many years later, but that’s another blog, And believe me there are countless stories waiting to be told . Soon.