THE LUCK OF THE IRISH -MY MOM’S FAMILY IS 100% IRISH

My life’s journey has been fortuitous in many ways. Perhaps it has been the “luck of the Irish” from my mother’s side of the family.  

 Years ago, I was driving on a small highway along the North coast of the island of Crete, headed East, just about to enter the small town of Sfaka. I saw a small, handwritten sign that read “Mochlos” and pointed down a dirt road toward the coast. I made a quick left turn and headed to the edge of a cliff overlooking the beautiful coastline and the small seaside village of Mochlos.

 I decided to take a look, and as they say, “The rest was history.” I was seeking a place to work on a book about the great Cretan author Nikos Kazantzakis, and Mochlos proved the perfect spot. I stayed in Mochlos for the rest of the summer, made many friends, and returned numerous times thereafter as the leader of student study groups. It had been a quick but fortuitous decision. 

Years earlier, when I was on my way to flunking my high school Spanish class, I wandered into the public library and found an English translation of our Spanish text, “Emil and the Detectives.” How lucky can a guy get? Needless to say, I passed the course without really cheating. I only wish I’d had such luck with my graduate-level German and French classes. Oddly enough, I later took Greek as well.

Earlier, when I was dissatisfied with my first college choice, a friend offhandedly suggested I might be interested in a college catalog she had received in the mail. She herself was not interested in the school. It was a catalog for a Christian college in California called Westmont. I had been thinking of studying for the Christian ministry, and this college seemed to have everything I was looking for, including sports, and it was in beautiful Southern California. I applied, was accepted, and spent four wonderful years at Westmont College. I even got to play varsity basketball and track. How lucky can a guy get?

While at Westmont, one of my teachers learned that I hoped to study for the Christian ministry and suggested I might be interested in Biblical Seminary in New York, handing me its catalog. I was fascinated by the seminary’s focus on learning to study the scripture “inductively,” letting it speak for itself rather than approaching it with preconceived ideas about what it teaches. I was especially taken with the seminary’s approach, particularly the main teacher’s book, “Methodical Bible Study.” I ended up attending Biblical Seminary and became close friends with that teacher, Robert Traina. I have been ever so grateful for the method of Bible study that Dr. Traina taught, for it has guided all of my biblical studies ever since.     

When I sought to choose a Ph.D. program in Religious Studies, I requested catalogs from two dozen universities, including Duke University. As I perused them, I was struck that Duke was the only school that included a separate booklet titled “What is a Graduate School?” In it, I found a good deal of information not provided by other schools, including Harvard, Yale, and Chicago. When studying the Duke Religious Studies program, I noticed that it offered a course titled “The Meaning of Religious Language,” the very title of one of my first published articles in a religious journal. I was astounded. The course was taught by Wm. Poteat, of whom I had never heard. I followed this lead to Duke and ended up with Professor Poteat as my major advisor and professor. It was a match for which I have been forever grateful. What a difference a few words and a special booklet aimed at prospective students made to my decision to study at Duke.

During my early years as a young professor, I taught various philosophy and religion courses. I came across a book by Ian Ramsey, an Oxford professor, titled “Religious Language.” I found it extremely helpful, especially because it was the very topic I hoped to study in detail in my doctoral program at Duke. I took the opportunity to write to Professor Ramsey, thanking him for his fine book. He wrote back, informing me that he would be teaching that summer at the University of Southern California and asking if I could come to Los Angeles to meet him. I replied that I would be teaching that coming summer, but would be most pleased to host him at my college as a special seminar guest if he could find a way to come to Seattle, where I was living at the time. Long story short, he came to Seattle on his way to take the transcontinental train across Canada, back to England. 

I invited my students who would be in my seminar in the Fall to come to Seattle to meet Professor Ramsey and hear him speak. Of course, they came. As they say, “A good time was had by all.” As it turned out, I wrote my doctoral dissertation on Professor Ramsey’s thought and was able to study with him briefly in Oxford after completing my studies at Duke. Ian Ramsey later became Bishop of Durham, England, after leaving Oxford. He was as gracious a host to my family and me as he had been to my students in Seattle. I actually named my second son after him.

In addition to all that, it was an incredible honor to be enrolled at Oxford and to take several seminars with truly great scholars. My tutor was none other than the famous Gilbert Ryle, editor of the prestigious journal “Mind.” It was also awe-inspiring to walk the city’s streets and through the halls of the colleges and libraries. At the reception for American students, I met one of my favorite All-American college basketball players from Princeton University, Bill Bradley. Amazingly enough, the next day, while walking a tiny Oxford street, I saw Bill approaching. As we passed, he said, “Hi, Jer.” Later on, he not only became a great professional player for the New York Knicks but also a leading Democratic Senator from New Jersey. Oxford provided many gifts, both past and present.

Back when I was in theological school and teaching part-time at the Stonybrook School on Long Island, one of my colleagues there ran for the New York Athletic Club. He told me that because his team did not have a long jumper, his coach would ask me to jump in the National AAU Championship at Madison Square Garden. It was almost a transcendent experience to be down on the track, walking around, competing in front of 10 thousand people, and watching several world record holders compete. I was way out of shape, but I did not come in last in my event, and I got to see several indoor world records broken.

Add to all this the fact that a beautiful young blond woman from Finland walked into one of my classes at Eastern College way back in 1981 and won my heart with her quick mind, artistic flair, and growing faith, and we have now been married almost 50 years. It should be clear I have actually won the lottery!

All of these experiences, along with many others, have made my life ever so rich and wonderful. As the man said, “How lucky can a guy get?”                           

THINKING AGAIN ABOUT MY MOM

The more I think about my mother’s life and character, the prouder I become. To begin with, she was a beautiful young woman and the Valedictorian of her high school class. Then the Great Depression forced her to leave the university and support herself. She married a fellow named Walt, had me, and divorced Walt soon thereafter. She then worked as a waitress for a couple of years, but because she found it difficult to work for others, she began making and peddling sandwiches to bars and pool halls. I was often left with my grandmother so my mom could peddle her wares. Then she “loaned” me to a young couple named Larson, who lived on the edge of town, for about two or three years while she ran her own tiny café and made ends meet. 

During this period of her life, my mom met and eventually married a young fellow named Chuck Mercer, a traveling salesman. They picked me up from the Larsons when I was about 5 years old, and we moved into a small hotel downtown in Bellingham, Washington. While my mom and Chuck worked during the day, I was on my own for most of it. I walked around town, got lunch at my mom’s café, and visited with various townspeople, most of whom knew my mom. Nearly everyone in this town of about 30,000 people knew me as “Virginia’s boy,” and I felt quite comfortable and safe there. Almost every day I went to the “People’s Movie Theater” to see cowboy movies. They let me in for free. 

My mom soon divorced Chuck, and we moved into a one-room apartment right above her little café. I started first grade there. I kept playing in the alleys and empty lots around town while my mom kept working. My mom was always a very loving and attentive mother, but her work made it hard for her to pay much attention to me. I got into the habit of stealing toys from the local five-and-dime stores. I did not do well in school and had to switch schools often. Then my mom got a big break when she was asked to manage a large hotel coffee shop. She had to host frequent banquets and supervise several cooks and waitresses. I had the run of the hotel, elevator and all, including the Firestone garage attached to the hotel. It was a great time for me. I was happy. 

                 Mom worked hard at her new job and was very successful. It was during World War Two, and there were many servicemen in town. Mom met and married one of them, George Gill, but he was in the Army and was shipped back East. Mom was pretty happy with her new job and made several good friends in town. She even bought us a beautiful home on a scenic drive, and I got to have a dog. I was doing much better in a new school run by the local college and was very happy. When George came home after the war, he didn’t like the house and moved us to a much less lovely home. My mom and I were not happy. We left George and moved in with my grandparents in a different residential district. I was happy there and made some good friends.

Then came my mom’s big success. She and my grandpa pooled their funds and leased a well-located, nice restaurant in the center of town, a venture that soon became a roaring success. “Virginia’s Café” became very popular, and my mom gathered several really fine cooks and waitresses to work there. It became like a big family, and the workers all befriended me. I was doing much better in school and became something of a star athlete. I went off to college and eventually to graduate school as well. My mom continued to work hard, and the café kept doing very well.

But my mom remained unhappy in her romantic life. She found a prosperous boyfriend named Al, who ran an important business in town, and they had an ongoing relationship for several years. However, Al had no interest in marriage, so although they were together for several years, they never married and eventually drifted apart. My mom was very proud of my academic success and delighted that I eventually became a college professor. Shortly thereafter, my mom came down with a fatal form of cancer and died at the age of 51. It was very sad, though I am sure she knew how much she was loved by her many coworkers and friends. And I know how proud she was of me. Virginia was a wonderful person and a really great mom. I still miss her very much.              

My favorite memories of my mom revolve around the special trips she would arrange for the two of us to visit nearby Seattle for a few days. Once, while Mom went shopping, I got to go to the toy department at Frederick and Nelson’s and pick out a couple of special toys for myself. Then in the evening, we would go to a special event, like the Ice Follies or the circus. Sometimes we would go to a performance at a theater or to the horse races at the Longacres Racetrack and try to pick the winners. Another time, we went to hear a lecture by Adell Davis, the famous food expert, and before long, my Mom was stuffing me with exotic health foods, like blackstrap molasses from Africa, brewer’s yeast, and tiger’s milk. I will admit that I think these “radical” vitamin ideas had a lot to do with my robust health throughout my life. We rode the train to Seattle on these excursions, in the “Club Car,” and were waited on by the only Negro people I ever got to meet in my childhood, since there were no Negroes in Bellingham. My Mom and I were very close buddies, even though she was always extremely busy. Thanks for the wonderful memories, Mom!