Go Retire Psychiatrist

Last night Bob DeForest (Bobby D) was doing the driving spinning the blues on Friday night. One song brought back memories, but it wasn’t the song itself because I never heard until last night. It was on the list of records last night, but missing this morning. Hey, I was there. It was “Jesus Dropped the Charges” by the O’Neal Twins. I’ve never heard of them, but they reminded me of an era long ago in my life.

I’m not a lifelong fan of gospel; in fact, I never heard it growing up in Mason City, Iowa. Maybe “never” is too strong a word. There was a church about half a block down the street from our house. I have a dim memory of seeing the black minister and members of the black congregation arriving for service. They would park along the street. I could hear them singing.

That was a long, long time ago. Dad had left the home and left me, my younger brother, and my mom. The irony of the role of religion in my life is strong. Dad was black and Mom was white. We were poor and times were hard. After Dad left, we joined a white church way on the other side of town, far from that black church within a short walk of our house. Our church members didn’t sing gospel. I was baptized there. The preacher and his family welcomed us in their home when Mom was sick and had to be hospitalized. The preacher sat up half the night with Mom when she was so sick it was scary. When another preacher took over, he came to our house and point-blank told us that he would never allow that “black buccaneer” meaning my dad, in his church.

I don’t remember exactly who in our congregation gave me my first Bible, but it was only as big a man’s hand and had a calf-skin cover. I read it every day, mostly Revelations but I started with Genesis and toiled through all the “begats.” I read it so much I got eyestrain. That Bible is long gone lost and for a while, so was I.

Fast forward to the 1970s when I was a student at Huston-Tillotson College (now Huston-Tillotson University) in Austin, Texas. It’s one of the historically black institutions affiliated with the United Methodist Church. I first heard gospel music at the King-Seabrook Chapel. Several students were gifted gospel singers. I’d never heard anything like that wave washing over me—and to hear “Jesus Dropped the Charges” last night reminded me of that experience.

I don’t go to church now, but I remember being lost, found, lost again and found again, and in the middle. Case dismissed.