Dancing with Baptists

Chapter 2

The Near Northside, Houston, Texas

November 1951

Greg was not born a Baptist. He married into the Faith at age four. That was the year his mother wed Jack the Baptist. Greg's mother and Jack Baker were both divorced. Divorce was an ugly business in post-World War II Houston, but an almost unheard of circumstance at small Trinity Street Baptist Church.

Jack and Greg's mother were married at Jack's house. The nice enough, two bedroom, red brick home was on a tree-lined suburban street. Up until the wedding, Greg was Gregory W. Henderson, Jr., man of the house.

Greg never knew Gregory W. Henderson, Sr. "The Yankee" as Greg's maternal grandmother called his biological father, blew into Houston after the War, married, helped conceive Greg, and was gone before some guy in a white mask slapped Greg on the butt hard enough to make him cry. That was the last time anyone made Greg cry.

Trinity Street Baptist Church

1955

Greg seldom spoke in Sunday school, but he did pray. Lord, please don't let her call on me to pray. Please Lord, you know I don't know how. While he was afraid to pray out loud, for fear of being thought unholy or stupid, Greg was not afraid to speak up. Greg's sixty-nine-year-old Sunday school department leader, Mrs. DeHartman, had asked the department to learn to name all the books of the Bible. The first child to say all the names in the correct order would win a prize.

The first Sunday no one volunteered. Greg saw this as an opportunity to raise his status with the grown-ups and his peers. He went home that Sunday determined to memorize every book in order. He would be the first kid to list all the books.

Greg thought, If Mrs. DeHartman was giving a prize, maybe it would be a Roy Rogers lunch box with a Trigger thermos. But it was more likely to be something churchy, like a little tin coin bank with a picture of Jesus on it for the weekly offering.

Sunday came and Greg's confidence was high. He had worked hard all week. He had even skipped an episode of Sergeant Preston of the Yukon to study.

In Sunday School, Greg usually sat in the back with the other boys until someone had to separate them. That morning Greg fearlessly sat in the third row. He positioned himself in the space between Melinda and Shauna who were sitting in front of him. He had the perfect view of Mrs. DeHartman and she could see him clearly when his volunteering hand shot up. Greg had practiced raising his hand with lightning speed, like Wyatt Earp drawing his Colt Buntline Special.

As Melinda and Shauna leaned in and out to whisper to each other, Greg would bob his head like Rocky Marciano to maintain eye contact with Mrs. DeHartman. He didn't even open his hymnal in order to keep his raising-hand free.

Sunday school time always moved slower than kickball time or Sky King time. That Sunday's assembly moved so slowly it was like Friday waiting-for-the-three o'clock-bell-time. Then suddenly he heard,

"Who is prepared to recite the books of the Bible?"

In his excitement to raise his hand, Greg's Baptist Hymnal fell off his lap and onto the floor with a thud. An embarrassing gale of laughter erupted and while Greg bent to retrieve his song book he heard the worst sound he had ever heard in his young life,

"Ruth? Is that your hand up?"

"Yeth, Ma'am," Ruth said.

Mrs. Dehartman was delighted. Ruth Morrison was an Orphan Annie-haired brain with eyeglasses. She stood there before the entire class with the confidence of a bull fighter and the lisp of a three-year-old.