August 27, 2012 (Monday)
The summer of 1952 found me spending as much time as possible in Oletha, Texas, where I was the 20-year-old pastor of the Baptist church there. My dear friends, the R.C. Powell family (R.C., his wife, Crystelle, and daughter Dene) sort of adopted me, giving me a place to stay whenever I was in the community.
There were no spare bedrooms in their home, but I liked the idea of sleeping on a roll away bed on their spacious porch. Actually, I had the coolest “room” on those warm summer nights. Everything went well for a while, until one night I was awakened as all the big dogs in the family were running round and round my bed, barking furiously. As my sleep-filled eyes began to open, I could see them in a shadowy sort of way on that dark night. Then I saw what they were so excited about: a skunk! They were chasing him around my bed. Unmistakably, I saw the white-striped tail, like a ship’s mast and sail, poised for action.
In an instant, I woke up completly, bounded from the bed, and, in three long steps, made it to the front door, opened the screen door to the living room, and threw myself away from danger into the confines of the house. Standing there in the darkness of the living room, I heard Crystelle: “Brother Charles, what’s wrong?” My reply was, “Crystelle, can you turn on a light?” Then loud laughter from that sweet couple flooded the house because they realized I had made it in the dark down the porch and through the door without a problem of seeing clearly.
I think it was about that time that I moved my bed into the dining room.
That was a great summer. I preached and/or sang in some revival meetings around the state, and stayed with the Powells most of the time, where I hauled water to a huge flock of turkeys, and helped a little, gathering corn and bailing hay. Emphasis on “a little.” Of course, every Sunday I was in the pulpit, learning to preach while a very patient people prayed for me to become a fast learner. It was a great summer, and Oletha was a wonderful place to preach. That’s also where I got to know Wanda Sadler. I resigned the church after graduation from college in May, 1953, and Wanda and I married the following October, 59 years ago.
So far, I’ve never again awakened to find a skunk running around my bed. I hope I manage to maintain that happy record.