Remembering Violet Starr, First Ute Baha’i

I knew Violet Starr quite well. As far as any of us, including Violet knew, she was the first member of the Ute Nation to become a Bahá’í, and she taught the Faith constantly to her family and tribal members. A number from both groups declared.

Violet was a very special person, full of wisdom, love, and generosity. She was esteemed in the Roosevelt branch of Utes. She shared many stories, including one about first contact by missionaries from the prominent religion here. She once took a handmade silver and turquoise ring off her hand and gave it to me, that’s just how she was.

My family and I were invited to many traditional Ute events, and I took part in a Bear Dance one year. We couldn’t do the Sun Dance because it was a very sacred event, including several days of fasting. I knew several members of Violet’s family, including her granddaughter, Minnie. Dr. K Dean Stephens, August 17, 2022

Violet Starr September 1976 visit to Ignacio and the Southern Ute Reservation

The Back Story. Often before blessings occur, there is a back story of events leading up to them. By 1976 there was enough adult believers to form a local Spiritual Assembly on the Southern Ute/Ignacio community. Word about the Faith was spreading, and it was decided that is might be a good idea to reach out to the Christian religious leaders in the community. A plan was made to present J. E. Esslemont’s standard introduction to the Bahá’í Faith, Bahá’u’lláh and the New Era, to the priests and ministers in the area with a cover letter personally addressed to each leader letting them know that interest in the Faith was growing in the area, and the Bahá’í community wanted them to have a copy of the book to help them be knowledgeable about what the Faith teaches, if and when individuals in their congregations seek their advice about the Faith. If my memory is correct, we presented the books personally and were cordially received. Well, of course, it wasn’t expected that we would receive many responses, but we felt it was an appropriate effort at the time. Well, sure enough, the only direct response came from a fundamental church minister condemning the Faith as being from the devil. However, one of the counsellors at the Peaceful Spirit Alcohol Treatment Center, who was a Baptist minister, and who was always friendly with the Baha’i’s responded by including a positive and accurate summary of the Faith in a tract he produced explaining what different faiths believe. The Bahá’í section even quoted directly from the Bahá’í Writings. Within a year he was the only Christian cleric who had received the Bahá’u’lláh and the New Era still serving in Ignacio. Strangely, they had gradually been replaced or reassigned to somewhere else, including the Catholic priest. The Baptist counsellor was still serving at the Rehabilitation Center and still as friendly as ever. I think for his quiet support of the Faith, Bahá’u’lláh blessed him with Violet Starr.

She came to the Rehab Center in September 1976 to help with alcohol rehab trainings. What a blessing she was. Violet displayed all the qualities that Dean Stephen shares above. At the Center she demonstrated her skills as a counsellor, immediately establishing rapport and never with a trace of condescension or patronizing attitude.

I came across a newspaper clipping from The Uintah Basin Standard in Roosevelt, Utah dated September 26, 1963.

“Baha'is gather with Ute Indians and others; talk by Violet Mart Starr

Social planned at Whiterock next Saturday

A community social and potluck luncheon will be held in the Whiterocks gymnasium this Saturday, September 28th from 11:00 a.m. until 1:00 p.m. All of the residents of the Whiterocks community and of the reservation are urged to attend, as well as all others interested. The Baha’i World Faith communities throughout Utah will be the hosts. All interested persons in the Uintah Basin are invited to come as their guests.

Mrs. Violet Mart Starr of Whiterocks will be the guest speaker at this social and will give a report on her recent trip to Gallup, New Mexico, where she went as the representative of the Ute Tribe to an all-Indian Baha’i conference on Indian teaching.

This conference was the summation of a series of eight conferences held throughout the past year on various Indian reservations from New Mexico and Arizona in the south, to Washington and Idaho in the north, and as far east as Nebraska in the central states, Mrs. Starr reported. As a result of these conferences several hundred Indians, representing many different tribes, have become members of the Baha’i World Faith, a faith which teaches that this is the age of world peace and unity foretold by Jesus Christ, Mrs. Starr concluded.”

Violet was a courageous Bahá’í teacher.

 

Remembering Tom Powell

Texans are often thought of as friendly and approachable people, and Tom Powell certainly fit that kind stereotype.  Linda and I had many visits with Tom and his wife, Mary, and other members of the Powell clan starting around 1972. Tom had a broad smile he always wore, especially when he greeted someone at his door.  Mary might follow close behind.  And then, for a time, there was the howler monkey screeching from its cage, it long arms stretched out of the bars to greet visitors. Tom jokingly said that his pet monkey could tell if someone was a good Bahá’í by how excited it was.

Tom was a bold teacher, especially direct with his fundamentalist Christian friends, like the dentist he had.  They were good friends, it seemed, though Tom would challenge the dentist’s literal interpretation of Bible prophecies, such as the one in Revelation 16:20 that spoke of the time of the end when “every island disappeared, and all the mountains were leveled.” “You mean all those mountains up in Colorado are going to be flat?” Tom would ask the dentist while waiting for his teeth to be cleaned.  Even when he challenged Christians’ understanding of their own Book, Tom’s face shown with love for them.  He told me that his boldness in teaching even brought high level members of the Jehovah Witnesses from Brooklyn, NY one time and they sat sharing their respective knowledge of the Bible. Tom might tell them that the new Name of Christ referred to in Revelation is Bahá’u’lláh, The Glory of God. Outwardly, his forthright way of teaching may not have drawn fundamentalists to the Faith, but there surely must have been a lasting impression upon their souls.

Tom and Mary ran a catering truck that served the power plant and other areas every day for the workers. Tom liked to joke with his customers, sometimes calling himself Tom Yazzie.  If a customer asked Tom for credit on a meal until payday, he would give the person the meal and tell them that they know what they owe.  And, certainly on pay day, the customer would bring what was owed to Mary and get a warm thank you for being honest and trustworthy.  The food truck was a hard way to make a living, needing to rise early to finish preparing the meals before driving out to the mine. Tom also made sure his customers knew about Bahá’u’lláh and the New Message from God.  This led to an invitation to visit the customer and his family at their home, where many of the clan members might attend.  Tom also suggested that, if a Bahá’í visiting the Reservation needed permission to teach the Faith, it would be better to go to the tribal police chief, because he has first-hand knowledge of the problems.  If the police chief understands the Bahá’í message is to be shared without proselytizing, oftentimes the Baha’is visiting the Reservation would be given permission.

Tom had a camper truck.  In June 1973 Tom offered to take some of us youth to the Oklahoma Bahá’í youth conference in Oklahoma City. I don’t recall all who we travelled with, except for Harry Duran, a new Bahá’í from Aztec.

The first night we stopped at a campground in Dumas, Texas.  A big sign greeted us as we came to the town: Welcome to Dumas, the home of the Ding Dong Daddy.  None of us had a clue what that meant, and we rested in the pleasant night air. *  

In addition to youth from all over the country, special guests included the Hand of the Cause of God William Sears, Seals and Croft (and their friend, the singer, Cher).  Mr. Sears always had a way to convey serious and lofty spiritual messages from the Writings with a touch of humor.  For example, Mr. Sears spoke of being at the Shrine of the Báb on Mount Carmel and thinking of the radiant countenance of the Báb. He said he closed his eyes to reflect on the Báb’s life and as he did a pleasant fragrance of orange blossoms drifted around him.  He knew that the Báb had planted an orange tree outside his home in Shiraz, and seeds from the trees had been shared with friends in other parts of the globe. After inhaling the fragrance for a few minutes, Mr. Sears opened his eyes and nearby sat one of the caretakers peeling an orange.  https://www.bahai.us/orange-tree-is-a-living-reminder-of-the-bab/

At the Conference, each of us who came with Tom mingled in the gathering mostly in separate ways.  The air was pleasantly warm, yet the chiggers were a nuisance.

Filled with the spirit and overflowing with fresh knowledge about the wondrous Revelation of Bahá’u’lláh, we rejoined Tom for the journey home to New Mexico.

We made it all the way to Cuba, New Mexico in the early hours before dawn and parked near a restaurant that was still closed.  As the sky lighted slowly for the day, one by one those of us in the back of the camper woke up.  Harry started sharing the dream he just had: He was sitting at a counter in a restaurant and in his head was a distinct message that he must teach the Faith to whoever sits next to him.  Harry was eager for the restaurant to open, and, when it did, Harry saw several empty seats at the counter. The rest of us decided to sit in a booth where we could see who the fortunate soul might be to hear of the new Divine Teacher from God. We ordered breakfast while waiting.  We could tell that Harry was eager, but a bit nervous at the same time.  And then, the café door opened and in came a very large man in working attire, who was Dine (Navajo). He strolled right up to the counter and sat next to the small build Harry. The shared greetings and the man ordered breakfast.  Harry became very still and quiet. Meanwhile, those of us in the booth silently prayed for Harry.  Finally, Harry turned to the man, as they both had finished their meals, and told him that had just come from a wonderful Bahá’í gathering in Oklahoma. The man looked interested, and Harry explained that the conference was for Bahá’í youth. Harry had the man’s full attention. With that Harry showed the man a Bahá’í pamphlet that explained who Baha’u’llah was and the Teachings He had brought to mankind for unity. The man was silent and then asked Harry if he could have some pamphlets, because he knew a lot of people in the area who would like to know about the new religion. Harry reached into his teaching bag and pulled out a stack of pamphlets and handed them to the man who graciously thanked Harry.  With that the man rose left the café with the pamphlets in his hand. Surprised by what had just happened, Harry came to our booth to relay the story, full of joy as he shared it with us.

As some of Tom and Mary’s family members joined the Faith, including (Doris Cook), we consulted on having a family “new believers” conference to learn together more about the Faith.  This was before the Ruhi Institute was established.  They asked me to facilitate it, and I suggested we each take a Bahá’í topic and study it, then we could come back together, taking turns give a brief presentation on our topic.  I don’t remember all of the topics, but they included the Local Spiritual Assembly, Prayer, the Central Figures of the Faith, etc.  When we came together a week or two later, each one shared something about their topic and we would clap and add a comment or two. Then each person would take their turn and present their topic. The family new believers conference was very intimate and uplifting. I could feel the confidence each family member gained from being involved.

When my family moved to southern New Mexico and later to Vieques, Puerto Rico, we lost contact with the friends in the Four Corners.  A few years later, I heard from Harold Seibel that Tom and Mary had moved to a small town north of Cuba. Harold said that he went to be with them and help with some carpentry once or twice. 

It is difficult to leave the friends you have when you move.  Richard Gurinsky, who was a homefront pioneer to the Mescalero Apache Reservation for awhile with his family, once told me that he spoken with House of Justice member Amos Gibson about this often-emotional separating from dear friends.  He said Mr. Gibson knew well the feeling from his years of pioneering in the Navajo (Dine) Reservation. Mr. Gibson told Richard that you always carry the memory with you of those you knew.

*"I'm a Ding Dong Daddy from Dumas" is a song written and sung by Phil Baxter, accompanied by Phil Harris and his orchestra in 1928. 

 From The American Bahá’í circa 2008: Thomas H. Powell,83, San Juan County, NM The Bahá’ís of this locality were stunned to hear that Thomas Powell was found dead of a gunshot wound at his Farmington-area home on November 29, 2007, "While deploring the senseless and premature manner of their end, we join you in celebrating Tom's more than eight decades of this life, well over three of which were spent in enthusiastic efforts to disseminate the unifying teachings of Bahá’u’lláh a letter of tribute from the National Spiritual Assembly said in part, "A dedicated Bahá’í teacher," the letter continued, "Tom is warmly remembered for his faithful endeavors - together with his first wife, Mary - to pioneer the Faith on the home front, among them his settling under the open skies of Otero County, Colorado. We will also be ever grateful for Tom's services on two Northern New Mexico District Teaching Committees appointed by this institution." Thomas H. Powell Aug. 26, 1924 - Nov. 26, 2007

From the New Mexico Obituary and Death Notice Archive: Thomas H. Powell, 83, of Farmington, was born Aug. 26, 1924, and was taken from this earth Monday, Nov. 26, 2007.

A faithful servant of Bahá’u’lláh and the Bahá’í Faith, we pray that he has a swift journey to the next world to join all his preceding family members. Originally a furniture salesman from Houston, Texas, Tom made a living with his wife, Mary, in Colorado, with a unique sign-making business, then in San Juan County with a catering truck business that served the power plant and other areas. Each of these jobs afforded Tom and Mary abundant teaching opportunities. He especially admired his American Indian customers.

After retiring from work, Tom spent the majority of his free time at the Bonnie Dallas Senior Citizen Center in Farmington. He delighted in playing pool, dancing and eating the food. In 1978, Tom wrote a self-published book, "The Hammer of Truth." The book is about a sailor who found the Bahá’í Faith. Tom kept teaching the Bahá’í faith to all he met. The National Spiritual Assembly of the Bahá’í of the U.S. has lauded him for his more than three decades of steadfast teaching of the Bahá’í Faith. Local Bahá’í members will miss him as a valuable resource, a bible scholar and a teacher of the Bahá’í Faith to Christians.

Tom was preceded in death by his third wife, Pauline; his second wife, Mary; and by his first wife, Grace, and their sons, Donald and Thomas III.

He is survived by his grandchildren, Mary, Steven, Julie and Charles and their children; step-grandchildren, Vicki Branch, Donette Searcy and Les Searcy; step-great-grandchildren, Jason Blackwell and wife, Jami, Tahirih (Terri) Branch, Amanda Montgomery, Derrick Killen, Billy Killen and wife, Carean, Donny Montgomery, D.C. Chapman and Kody Chapman; 14 step-great-great-grandchildren that loved him dearly; and also by his half-sister, Dorothy James, and half-brother, Raymond Cook.

We'll miss you, Grandpa!

 

 Remembering the Street Preacher

      In the spring semester of 1974, I neared graduating from Fort Lewis College in Durango, Colorado. Surrounded by mountains, Durango is set along “El Rio de las Animas Perdidas"  (The River of Lost Souls) supposedly named by an early Spanish explorer. I lacked two courses to have enough credits to earn a BA in Psychology.  One afternoon while chatting with my most respected professor, Dr. Leland Stuart, he told me that he would be taking a Sociology class to Richmond, Virginia as part of a special Sociology Urban Studies course. He confided that the course was actually to study institutional racism. That sounded remarkably interesting to me. Students from Fort Lewis would join a class from Concordia College in Minnesota and a class from Virginia Union University in Richmond, where the course would be held.  It was tempting, but my wife was pregnant with our third child, and leaving the family for a month didn’t seem like a timely thing to do, but it was a rare opportunity to explore the Deep South, something I had wanted to do for a long time.  My wife acquiesced and encouraged me to take the class. 

     In May our small group set out over the beautiful Colorado Rockies on our way to meet up with the Concordia class with a rendezvous in Madison, Wisconsin.  Dr. Stuart (who preferred us to call him Lee) drove the rented station wagon.  Participants in our Fort Lewis College included Smokey, a cheerful white guy always in learning mode, and Rita, an Inuit indigenous student from Alaska. 

    Lee had arranged for us to include extra travel days before the course and also for our return trip.  He had a few planned stops along the way, such as a drop-in center for homeless men in downtown Denver, and visits to Mount Rushmore and the Crazy Horse monument in South Dakota. In Madison we connected with the Minnesota students-- four black students, one of whom was a woman from Ethiopia and two white students along with their faculty advisor, a dynamic African American woman and Sociology professor, who arranged for us to have lodging in a YWCA hostel for women only.  I and two African American male students from Concordia, had to sneak into our room at the YWCA without being caught. My roommates came from south Chicago and I remember that it felt awkward at first trying to get to know one another in the small room; we were coming from completely different cultural worlds.  

     The Concordia class had rented a large van and one of the white female students would spell the driver from time to time.  She had had a bicycle accident just before leaving for the course, and she still had a few bruises and a large bandage above one of her eyes. 

    Stops along the way continued, now with our two vehicles in tandem-- an experimental school in Kalamazoo, Michigan; a wonderful night in Toronto; an extraordinary rest stop on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls and back into the US.  Things got interesting in Syracuse: We had hospitality waiting for us with a professor friend of Lee's near Amherst, Massachusetts and we needed to speed up our travel.  In Syracuse, we stopped for gas and to use the restrooms.  We were 20 minutes out of Syracuse when poor Rita, our native Alaskan, realized she had left her purse in the gas station restroom with all of her money in it, all cash.  Though we knew it would be unlikely the purse would still be there, we felt the need for Rita's sake to return to the station in the hopes that some kind person had found and given the purse to the manager for safekeeping.   In the days before cell phones, we could not alert the other car about what was happening, so we had to pull over and wait for the van behind us to do the same.  After a brief consultation, the decision was for all of us in support of our dear Rita, to go back to the gas station in hopes of Rita's purse and money still being there.  As we started to leave the toll road at the next exit, we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by police cars flagging us over.  What now?  The reason quickly became clear:  This was in the days of the Patty Hearst and the Symbionese Liberation Army.  Apparently, someone had called the police to report a van carrying an interracial group of passengers and a blond woman driving with a large bandage over one eye.  Very suspicious.  Everyone in the van was asked to get out and produce identifications.  The poor driver had left her ID in her suitcase packed in the back of the van. The baggage had to be removed and the ID produced.  It seemed our faculty professors were able to convince the police who we were, and after verifying our identities, we were free to leave.  The officers were all polite, calm and none of us got shot.  This unexpected stop had delayed us returning to Syracuse for Rita's purse.  She was feeling worse than ever, having forgotten her purse in the first place, and we consoled her not to worry; even if her purse was gone, things would still work out.  We made it to the gas station and Rita dashed out of the car and into the restroom.  She came out with the happiest smile a person could possibly have-- her purse was where she had left it and nothing was missing.  We gave her hugs and happy shouts of joy.  We continued our ride toward Massachusetts in giddy glee of laughing and retelling our encounter as members of the  Symbiones Liberation Army and referring to the driver as Patty for a while.

      The seminar facilitator (whose name I have forgotten) graciously welcomed us upon our arrival at the campus of Virginia Union University.  As we began unpacking other staff members came to welcome us. We quickly noticed that staff members addressed one another by their appropriate title: Dr., Mr, Miss in a formal way.  My sociology professor and friend, Lee, became Dr. Leland Stewart, which was enough to raise my eyebrows.  In our western frontier Fort Lewis College, titles were acknowledged on written things, like research papers and faculty directories, but once a professor became familiar with a student the relationship usually shifted to a first name basis, except when addressing old, tenured professors who preferred formality.   At Virginia Union addressing faculty members, we were told, was a traditional form of respect.

      Regrettably, I did not take a camera and cell phones were not on the market yet.  Though I still see many of the participants' faces in my mind's eye, I do not remember most of their names.  Somewhere I have the journal I kept for to course and travels, but after several moves, I have not come across it in a long time. 

      I had met one of the Virginia Union students before.  Don had attended a quarter at Fort Lewis College in the Fall of 1973, and we had become friends at that time.  We also had the Bahá’í Faith in common, and Don attended some of the Bahá’í College Club activities while he was in Durango.  Don came from the North and had been a vocal activist in Race and Civil Rights issues.  He engaged passionately in all the class sessions.

     During the opening orientation session faculty members and students spent time learning about one another.  It was at that time I first became acquainted with Rev. Linwood Corbett (Sr) who was introduced at "the Street Preacher" for his on-going civil rights activities in Richmond.  He combined fiery confidence in his views with a respectful bearing towards the opinions of others in the class. Most of all he was a steadfast advocate for people of color and for all people suppressed by racism and inequality.  The Seminar coordinator showed marked respect toward Rev Corbett, confirming how often he was willing to be a voice of justice in uncomfortable settings in a racist city.  Linwood's integrity was certain, and I always listened more intently when he shared a point, because it clear that he lived what he was talking about.  For someone like myself growing up in rural Colorado, still naive in my understanding of the extent of systemic racism, I looked to Linwood as a mentor. 

      The Urban Studies seminar took us on a journey of fluctuating settings and emotions.  Through the several weeks of the course, we had stimulating discussions that sometimes-included clashes of different opinions that evoked strong emotions, sometimes leading to tears being shed.  However, we were never left down and miserable, but sometimes uncomfortable, yes.  We learned what most of the VUU students and the two guys from south Chicago already knew; how institutional racism was ingrained into our American democracy in all aspects of life, from voting laws, gerrymandering of districts, policing practices, prejudiced education and health systems, biased employment and banking practices, racist housing policies, and legal systems that were not equal for all. Basically, slavery never really ended; it just took different, perverted turns, like Jim Crow laws.  But we also looked at the positive influences of black culture on music, literature, and the arts.  We learned of the many, often overlooked contributions to science and progress by African Americans from throughout world history and throughout our own country's history.

     Excursion complemented our classroom activities, including two days in Washington D.C. One highlight for me was going to see the Micki Grant musical, Don't Bother Me, I Can't Cope at the Ford's Theatre. 

     Personal time was provided for us to explore areas of interest.  I enjoyed interviewing a number of students and faculty members to find out what their experiences and views were. Most of those I spoke with shared how the trans-generational effects of slavery continued to be embedded in their lives, directly or indirectly. 

     The most special time for me during the entire Seminar was the opportunity to spend an afternoon with Rev. Linwood Corbett.  We had been able to get to know each other better during the course, and I felt honored when he invited me one day toward the end of the seminar to go to his home.  I do not clearly remember how we reached his neighborhood, but I remember walking and talking along the way.  As a polio survivor, I wore leg braces and used crutches to move around.  Linwood was expressing with fervor that he did not feel that black people working with white people on race issues had accomplished much.  He wondered if it would be better for blacks to work in their own black communities, building a strong black identity to push for the rights of people in the black communities; and if white people sincerely wanted to be part of a change in dealing with racism, they should do so in their own white communities,   I remember saying that I could see his point, but I also strongly felt that interracial efforts needed to be a part of any effective change in dealing with racism in America.  As we were bantering this point, we were walking past an elementary school and it must have been recess time, because many children were running around on the playground.   I'm not sure what it was that caught the attention of the children, all African Americans-- maybe seeing a white guy walking with crutches together a black man they may or may not already have known -- but suddenly all the playground activity stopped, and the eyes of the children stared at us.  I ventured to suggest, nodding with my head toward the children, that maybe they were the reason we needed to work and be seen together, black and white. As long as both races were sincere and clear in their purpose of gaining true racial unity.  Linwood gave a kind of "maybe" nod as we continued past the playground, and the children returned to playing and shouting. We agreed that there was so much to do to change America, an overwhelming task.

     Our stroll soon came to Linwood Corbett's home.  As the door opened into his living room, the first thing I noticed was a large poster of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.  The second thing I noticed was that there was person fully dressed up as a vibrant clown in the room.  Linwood introduced me to his wife and she, with her painted, clown face with the bright red nose and wiry hair and that huge smile lovingly greeted me.  She was on her way to being the clown at a community program.  Linwood and I continued our conversation in a hopeful sort of way.  I felt relaxed and at home and was in no hurry to rush back to campus.  We took our time returning to campus; our talk became more relaxed and personal. 

   The stroll together enraptured in serious dialogue; the children's' reaction to us passing by their playground; facing the large poster of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. as we entered the Corbett home; and meeting Mary Corbett, transformed into a colorful clown, whose presence filled the room with a burst of joy-- the culmination of all I had been learning during the Urban Studies seminar. I had experienced to a small degree proximity to disease of racism.  I had started my own narrative of experience on the issues.  I still had hope, and I believed I was willing to be uncomfortable when seeking justice and speaking truth.  All that would and has been tested over the years since 1974.

     Our journey home through the South gave us further chance to understand what was really going on in our county. 

We are a racially diverse group including an Inuit student from Alaska. After spending a night in New Orleans with its gumbo, Bourbon Street jazz and raucous nightlife, we drive through the lush and humid Louisiana countryside and reach the small town of Ama, where Lisa is from. The air is a rush of elation when Lisa appears from the van and is met with shrieks of excitement by her family. Joyful tears announce that a family member has come home. After greeting Lisa’s family members inside the house, I go back outside with a couple of other students in our traveling group to let the family celebrate the moment.  On the porch we meet an older man known as Coon sitting in a chair. A young man with little, green-tinted glasses wearing a circular straw hat sits by his side on the porch itself. We enjoy a brief chat.

“Gotta make peace with the Master.” The elderly one says.  The day is heating up and they are hoping the morning on the porch will keep them cool for a while. “Prices getting’ high,” old Coon continues, “can’t hardly buy nothin’, but I know the Lord’s watching.  Turn to Him and everything be all right.”

            That’s what the old one kept talking about on the porch: the porch of the house he made, bypassing lumber yards and going straight for the trees he made it from.

            “Gotta make peace with the Master,” the younger one with the round, straw hat and little green tinted, wire-rim glasses says.  “Old Coon can talk two weeks about making peace with the Master,” he laughs.  “Old Coon’s something else.”

            Coon greets a passing neighbor, Riley, who responds with, “Morning Coon.”

            “Riley, come on over ‘n’ meet the gang.  Lisa’s home.”

            “Yeah,” Riley says cheerfully, “Well sure, I’ll come right over.”  Riley greets us from the front yard and then begins talking with Coon. 

            While the older two are visiting, the young guy in the straw hat says, “Coon never used to be so much for the Lord ‘til right before he hurt his leg. ‘Bout ten years ago.  Since then, everything’s for ‘the Master’.”  He laughs, but his manner reveals a quiet respect for old Coon.

            Coon says, “Come on in, Riley.  This here’s some of Lisa’s friends from school.  They from Minnesota ‘n’… ah… Colorado.”

            “Well, that’s shore nice,” Riley in his blue work pants and grease-spotted shirt steps up on the porch and greets us, “Shore nice having ya here. Kinda hot here in Louisiana ain’t it?”

            Coon struggles to stand up hopping about on his good leg and welcomes Riley, with one hand holding the back of a chair for support on his bad leg side. Riley moves slowly and drawls out, “Well, that’s shore nice” which he says after anything anyone says, or “Well, that’s shore is something’” whether the talk is sad, or some new gossip is being shared. Then he goes on into the house to meet the others and to give Lisa a hug.

            Lisa’s family is surprised and thrilled to see her, and the house is filled with joyous laughter and chatter.  A couple of the women start rushing about to bring out iced tea and snacks. Lisa had not been able to announce her visit beforehand, and the suddenness of her arrival creates a festive feeling. 

            That joyful suddenness gives way to another, different kind of suddenness when two social workers, a man and a woman, drive up and insist that they need to meet with Lisa’s grandmother about her welfare status.  No, they cannot come back another time; it’s the annual renewal for her benefits. The one blurts out.  The other tries to soften it by swearing it will only take a few moments of the grandmother’s time.  The air stops and feels heavy and sad as a silent scream of resentment flows through the house, but the grandmother is very patient and acquiesces to do the interview in the living room while we move to the dining area. I sense that the grandmother has been in this situation before and knows the routine.  Be tight-lipped and play the game, or risk losing what little benefits you might be entitled to.   

            The two sociology professors are checking their watches and indicate we have a long way to go to reach Lake Charles before nightfall where we will stay with another student’s family for the night.  Lisa is home now and can catch up with all the news of her family while she’s been away to college.  We each give Lisa a farewell hug and interrupt the interview to thank her grandmother for the hospitality.  Outside, Coon sits alone on the porch chair.  Riley and the young man with the green-tinted round glasses and straw hat are no longer there.  They slipped away when the social workers arrived.  Coon looks peaceful with no sign of anger, resentment, or discontent. Everything will be okay. He’s made his peace with the Master.

    Our last night with the Concordia group was at Lake Charles, Louisiana, where one of the Concordia student's family had a plush lake side home.  I stayed up most of the night conversing with the two guys from Chicago. Unlike the stiffness we felt on that first night we had met in Madison, our hearts could spoke more freely now.  

      The time with Reverend Linwood Corbett Sr. has stayed in my heart and mind ever since. I'm perplexed with myself that I didn't make more effort to stay connected with him.  I certainly have kept him in mind wherever we lived. 

     Once out of college that Spring, I was hired as a county welfare caseworker serving old age pensioners (Colorado's term), persons with disabilities and families in a mostly Latino community.  The smelter had been closed for a number of years leaving many families with unsure futures, forced to live on government welfare and food stamps with all the stigma that went with it.  My family and I moved into that neighborhood and we enjoyed being part of that community for several years. My boss had been a welfare rights activist in St. Louis and had brought his values to conservative Durango.  We organized poor people, stood up for the rights of nursing home residents, worked with self-help groups in the Latino community and felt hopeful for progress.  However, the director was fired after five years of being a "troublemaker."  He had stepped on too many toes, especially prominent doctors not used to be called to account.  I saw the writing on the wall and, along with another community activist, resigned.  I did stay in touch with the self-help groups I had worked with, and at least one of them-- a group of older citizens who did fund raisers to pay for dental work not covered by government programs-- last several more years as a self-help group. They were able to find a couple of dentists willing to lower prices on dentures and dental work, making their funds go farther in helping more people.  

      Twice I had opportunities to spend several months in small communities in North and South Carolina working on race unity projects sponsored by the Bahá’í Communities in those areas.   At times while walking and talking with others in a village,

I would suddenly remember strolling past the schoolyard with the Street Preacher.  In those times, I even thought about heading up to Richmond and trying to connect with Linwood perhaps to share some of what I was learning in life and thanking him again for kindly mentoring me the struggle for racial justice.  Some wishes maybe are not meant to be fulfilled. 

     The civil rights movement for people with disabilities was in full swing with demonstrations, protests, and sit-in around the country.  In San Francisco, a sizable group of people with disabilities, even some who were quadriplegic took over the Federal Building for twenty-eight days.  Groups like the Black Panthers brought in bedding, food and medical supplies until the 504 legislation was finally implemented removing barriers to government buildings such as schools, health clinic, and government offices and facilities.  It took another twenty years for the ADA to be signed requiring disability access to public places and programs, employment accommodations and removal of other barriers that excluded persons with disabilities. 

     For most of my working years, I worked as a disability advocate, but I also desired to experience life outside of the United States. Starting in the 1980s we my wife and I and our six children moved to the island of Puerto Rican Island of Vieques for four years.  I was able to visit numerous other islands in the Caribbean, including St. Lucia, St. Kitts, the Dominican Republic, and others.  I fell in love with the island life.  Later, after completing a master’s degree in Agricultural and Education Extension at New Mexico State University, we moved to Belize in Central America for seven years.  Again, I fell I love with village life.  Life changed and the need to find a suitable place where six our children, now coming out of high school one after the other, pressed upon my wife and me.  We chose south Texas on the Mexico border.  Over the next three years we had opportunities for occasional excursions into the indigenous Tenec and Nahuatl speaking areas of central Mexico.  As our children were making their own choices of what to do and where to live, Linda had an opportunity to finally finish college at the University of Hawaii in Hilo, where we spent most of the last twenty-three years until moving to Arizona this year.

     Twenty years ago, I had to forsake my crutches for a wheelchair, and now I use a power chair.  The present pandemic and my arthritic shoulders keep me home a lot, which may be why I am finally writing this, freer to reflect and ponder past to present.

The urgency to arise against oppression and fight for justice is greater than ever, and that is true globally. 

     Shoghi Effendi, who served as the head of the Bahá’i Faith from 1921 until his passing in 1957, wrote in 1941: 

        "We are indeed living in an age which, if we would correctly appraise it, should be regarded as one which is witnessing a dual phenomenon...The one is being rolled up, and is crashing in oppression, bloodshed, and ruin. The other opens up vistas of a justice, a unity, a peace, a culture, such as no age has ever seen. The former has spent its force, demonstrated its falsity and barrenness, lost irretrievably its opportunity, and is hurrying to its doom. The latter, virile and unconquerable, is plucking asunder its chains, is vindicating its title to be the one refuge within which a sore-tried humanity, purged from its dross, can attain its destiny.  “Soon,” Bahá’u’lláh Himself has prophesied, “will the present-day order be rolled up, and a new one spread out in its stead.”

https://www.legacy.com/obituaries/name/linwood-corbett-obituary?pid=128172996

 SOME EARLY EXPERIENCES AS A BAHA'I

            by Chris S. Cholas

             In the year 1969 waves of new believers were entering the Faith in the United States.  For many of us who declared our belief in Bahá’u’lláh at that time, the spirited momentum of the Faith intoxicated us.  We spontaneously and enthusiastically joined the Cause ready for action, unaware of the patience and long perseverance exerted by our Bahá’í teachers to reach such exciting times.  We didn't realize that the hundreds of enrollments occurring especially among the youth around the country and among the black people of the Southern States was a new experience for the American Bahá’í Community. 

            Our handbook for world change was The Advent of Divine Justice, the powerful letter from the Guardian of the Faith, Shoghi Effendi, directed to the North American Bahá’í Community. For us Nabil's Narrative, The Dawnbreakers, was the ideal model for teaching methods. 

            Many of the novice believers became highly mobile, unrestrained by the cares of the world, even with the Vietnam War hanging over the mood of the nation.  At times we were too mobile, too spontaneous, temporarily setting aside important responsibilities, such as work and family unity in the name of urgency.  However, most of us as new believers gradually balanced our lives through devotion to the teachings--a devotion to arise and teach, while working towards being self-supporting and responsible to our practical needs at the same time.

             When I enrolled as a Bahá’í in April 1969, my whole being became immersed in the Faith.  I lived for the summer months with another new believer, Bill Bright.  He attended Colorado State University, while I was employed as a shoe repairman in Fort Collins.  At five each weekday afternoon we usually drove home to Loveland, Colorado, had dinner followed by a quiet evening of reading the Writings.  Bill would read one book, while I read another.  Often, we shared quotations that dazzled us, and our reading would turn into a deepening. Each week we hosted firesides, which were often attended by Bahá’ís from Fort Collins, Boulder, and Greeley.  In turn we visited the meetings in nearby towns, which, for me were confirming occasions.  

            I was fresh out of high school and immature, and I must have been a test on Bill's patience. Somehow, we grew together until one time we journeyed to Steamboat Springs to be guests of an isolated Bahá’í named Diane (Dee) Carson, who ran a hotel with her husband, Roger (who later became an active believer).  Dee longed to have another believer living there, and Roger consented to rent a room to me at a reasonable rate.  By the end of my first summer as a Bahá’í I moved to that delightful hotel, where I spent three months.  Most of the time I studied all of the Bahá’í books that I had already bought, and when my savings were depleted, I found employment as a dishwasher at a neighboring restaurant, which provided me one free meal a day; enough income to pay my rent, buy more Bahá’í literature and contribute a small amount to the Bahá’í Fund regularly (a habit I had learned from Bill).  In those days many young people were drawn to the Faith searching for mystical experiences.  For some the Faith was not magical enough, or the Laws seemed too restraining; but others found full freedom in the oceans of the Bahá’í Revelation.

            The hotel gained a reputation far and wide. Many interesting souls came in and out most of the time. One couple from Montana rode into Steamboat Springs on beautiful Arabian horses, on their way by horseback to Arizona. Some stayed for a while; many showed interest in the Faith. 

             Few Bahá’ís, however, made their way to visit Dee and myself, and sometimes we became lonely for Bahá’í companionship.  Two believers who refreshed us when they came from Denver were Leah Dagen and Ray Kahn. Leah was already up in years, vivacious and talkative; Ray, who grew up on the Navajo Reservation, was quiet, had a warm smile and spoke softly.  We cherished their visit for weeks afterwards. 

             Seekers from many backgrounds attended firesides during the autumn of 1969: Quakers, an Episcopal priest, an Israeli family from Haifa, and many youth. 

             One local farmer, named Daisy, who was the daughter of a black slave, had written a small book about her father's struggles for freedom. We enjoyed her company when she came by, and I remember going to her farm one morning to pick carrots in the cold, autumn mud.

             The atmosphere of Steamboat Springs changed drastically when hunting season arrived.  Despite my studies in the Writings, and the joyful Feast and meetings that Dee and I held, my spirit became despondent by the dismal procession of hunters with their victims draped over their vehicles on the streets of the town. Graceful elk and white-tailed deer faded to dull gray when they were dead, and so did I upon seeing them.  After hunting season came the ski crowd, a materialistic bunch of pleasure seekers. Drug traffic increased, and alcohol consumption soared. Also, I had anticipated more support from Bahá’í travel teachers, who I expected would be eager to assist our small efforts in Steamboat Springs.  I felt let down by Bahá’ís and experienced my first real test of Faith. My unfair expectation of other believers was becoming an obstacle to my own spiritual growth.  Simultaneously, winter set; the snow added another burden to my perturbed condition, and by December I contemplated moving south.

             Around Christmas time, by coincidence (if such things really exist), two New Yorkers, both Jewish, were living at the Carsons' hotel.  Dee and I became close friends with them, spending many evenings talking about every kind of thing until late into the night.  As Christmas was approaching, the four of us thought it would be a nice act of goodwill to volunteer to go caroling with local Christian groups.  Oddly, we could not find any Christians willing to go out into the frosty night to sing, so on Christmas Eve, two Jews and two Bahá’ís took to the streets singing a handful of traditional Christmas carols we recalled from our childhoods. That was my last activity as a resident of Steamboat Springs. The next afternoon, thinking about New Mexico, I planned to take a bus to Denver.

             My one concern about leaving was leaving Dee Carson, who I deeply respected, as the lone believer in Steamboat Springs.  However, a young Bahá’í from Greeley had just arrived, and I felt that my replacement had come.  The morning I departed amidst a heavy snowstorm, Roger and Dee kindly bid me farewell, and the new boarder asked me where I was going.  I replied that I thought about traveling to New Mexico. She, without hesitation, said, "Are you going to the Bahá’í conference in Alamogordo this weekend?  Some Bahá’ís from Cheyenne, Wyoming were headed that way.  Maybe you'll meet them there."

            Little did she know the tumult of my heart.  I had no intentions of mixing with Bahá’ís for a while.  My strongest test of faith had struck.  No, I could not deny Bahá’u’lláh, but I wanted to flee the Bahá’í Faith, not Him.  I soon discovered that the two couldn’t be separated.  The Bahá’í organism with all its newsletters, institutions and imperfect believers could not be cut off from its Source, Bahá’u’lláh, the Supreme Manifestation of God.  One followed the other.

             It was Christmas Day and the snowfall delayed the bus almost six hours, and I sat in the lounge of a motel that also served as a bus stop waiting anxiously.  My mind continually justified my decision to leave Steamboat Springs and follow my whims to New Mexico.  I had my prayer book with me, but I had no wish to contact Bahá’ís or attend a Bahá’í Conference.  When the Denver bus finally appeared, I climbed aboard, nervously moving into a strange adventure.

            On the bus, surrounded by a cavern of self-pity and agitation, I pondered my plight.  Praised be to God that He didn't leave me to my own devices, but mysteriously and gently raised my heart back to life.  A new horizon of Bahá’í life had opened up for me. It happened in stages long the way to New Mexico beginning in Denver.

             I had to wait two hours in the Denver bus terminal for a southbound bus.  A young woman in her late teens seated next to me excitedly began telling me about her obsession to go to Chicago.  She was distraught (like me, I suppose).  For some reason unknown to her, she had to go to Chicago!  Still absorbed in my rebellion from God, I hesitated to teach her about Bahá’u’lláh.  She pressed me for advice; she already had a ticket for Chicago.  Finally, I wrote down the "Remover of Difficulties" prayer for her.  I told her to use it all of the time, and when she reached Chicago, she should go to Wilmette and pray in the Bahá’í House of Worship for guidance.  She relaxed as she took the little card that I had written the Báb's precious prayer on.  With much relief, she thanked me.  A few minutes later, the departure for the Chicago bus was announced, and the young woman left.  Alone in the crowded terminal, I realized that I had just given advice to someone that I refused to use myself--prayer.  Already, my journey's purpose began changing.

             Long rides on buses, trains or planes can heal wounded emotions.  Movement can increase perspective, and one's mundane concerns can be seen in the panorama of the whole.  By the time that I entered the "Land of Enchantment"-- New Mexico-- in the Trailways bus, I had resolved my estrangement towards Bahá’ís.  In fact, I now focused on finding the Alamogordo Bahá’í Conference.

             Perhaps the tranquil and "enchanting" ride over La Veta Pass helped, as I peered out at hundreds of deer roaming the valleys in clusters of ten to fifty.  The power of seeing large numbers of gentle deer far surpasses looking at an isolated doe or buck.  The Faith is like that, too -- groups of believers in a united front present a grandeur that an isolated Bahá’í cannot compare with.  The Faith is not only a personalized religion like many Christians teach, but it is also like a collective garden of souls united, striving to know and to love God, to serve Him and to serve humanity.

             I had bought a bus ticket to Taos with the idea that from there I could decide my direction in New Mexico.  Having chosen to attend the Bahá’í Conference in Alamogordo, I determined to find Bahá’ís in Taos in hopes that they would be traveling to the Alamogordo gathering. 

             Since visiting Taos with my family when I was a child, I had a mystical attraction to the place.  I did not realize that a small scale "civil war" was being waged in Taos between lifetime Hispanic residents and dozens of incoming young people known as "hippies", who came to "get back to nature" by squatting on land in communes.  The unresolved bitterness by the Spanish-speaking population against the sometimes-arrogant rebelliousness of the hippies resulted in violent confrontations: shootings, burnings, and fistfights. State police were often called in to halt such rioting.  The Taos Pueblo Native Americans generally took a neutral stand in the dispute but were bothered by the negative impact the discord had on their lives.

             I arrived during a temporary lull in the violence, and, in searching for Bahá’ís, I wound up at a craft shop run by some peaceful "hippies". They apparently knew one or two Bahá’ís but informed me that their Bahá’í friends had left for the weekend. 

             While in the craft shop, an "Indian faith healer", seeing my crutches, approached me and asked if he could pray for me.  He did this in the midst of a crowd of people.  I told him that to be spiritually healthy was far better than being physically sound without spirit.  He insisted on doing his ritual, already putting his hands on my head, so I reluctantly submitted in order to make him happy.  (Later, I discovered that this "healer" had a violent temper and easily erupted like a dangerous, unpredictable volcano. Maybe my submission to his ritual had been a protection.)

             Still unaware of the hostile atmosphere between the Hispanics and outsiders, I found a Mexican restaurant and ordered a lunch.  The waiter was a young, soft-spoken boy, who asked me in his hushed voice what I wanted to eat.  Not hearing him clearly, I asked him to repeat his question.  Suddenly an angry woman from behind the counter rushed over to the table and furiously yelled at me: 

            "What's wrong?  Can't you give an order to my son?  He's just as good as anyone else!"

            I apologized to her, saying that I just didn't hear what he had said, but the woman started yelling again.  At that point I wondered if I should leave, but my intuition cautioned me to stay calm, order something to eat, and try to restore peace at least for the boy's sake.  The woman sent the boy away, and took my order herself, and brought me my food soon after.  Thank goodness, as I was leaving, the boy reappeared, and I thanked him and shook his hand before the mean gaze of the waitress.

             Unable to locate the Bahá’ís in Taos, I tried calling the Bahá’í number in the phone book, which was listed under Santa Fe. The person who answered told me that probably everyone had left for Alamogordo. I asked her for an address or phone number in Alamogordo, but she replied that she didn't have any information about the Conference or about the Bahá’ís in Alamogordo.

             Pondering what to do, I set out to hitchhike south.  Within several moments of sticking my thumb out by the highway, a Volkswagen bus with a couple from the craft shop stopped and warned me that hitchhiking was prohibited in Taos city limits, but they could drive me to the edge of town.  I got into their van, and I asked them if Taos had any inexpensive rooms to rent. They took me to a quaint place that rented cabins for a few dollars. 

            That serene cabin was paradise for me; I had time to pray and meditate, gather my energy and thoughts together, and rest.

            After that peaceful pause, I decided it would be wiser to catch the next bus to Albuquerque and change buses to Alamogordo from there.  I purchased a ticket and with a few hours free, I visited several the artists' galleries in Taos, including the one of the well-known painters, R. C. Gorman.  I had a pleasant visit with him, as I admired his paintings, but I failed to share the Bahá’í message with him, which I regretted later.  To pass up such teaching opportunities when people are open causes remorse. What effect can nice visits have, if they do not lead to sharing with wisdom God's Message for this Day?

             In Albuquerque at midnight, I walked two blocks to the Greyhound terminal.  The next bus to Alamogordo left in seven hours.  I met a Mescalero Apache who was waiting for a bus to Texas. We sat together for several hours, though I don't remember his name, and he told me everything he wanted me to hear about his land and his people.  He seemed very prejudiced toward Mexicans and all the harm he felt that they had done to the Apaches.  (Even the Mexican name -- Apache -- means enemy.)  I attempted to remove this prejudice, but he held his ground. I excused myself briefly to find a water fountain, where "by chance", I met a youth from Mexico, who spoke English well.  

             I invited him to join my Mescalero friend and me, oblivious to the prejudices expressed by the Mescalero man only moments earlier.  After an initial tension, the three of us became good companions while we waited in the depot for our particular buses.  My bus was announced first, and after bidding me farewell, the Mescalero and the Mexican continued visiting as I left to catch my bus to Alamogordo.

             During the restful, morning ride to Alamogordo, I watched the landscape most of the way.  A familiar looking man sat in the seat in front of me.  He seemed tranquil.  I could not remember who he reminded me of. 

             Alamogordo, New Mexico.  A warm place after the snows of Colorado. I wandered through the small depot to a phone book, flipped through the white and yellow pages looking for a Bahá’í listing.  Nothing.  Not even under "Churches" in the yellow pages.  I inquired at the bus counter and at the snack bar, and no one had heard of Bahá’ís living in Alamogordo.  They just stared blankly at me when I asked them.

             I counted my money, which amounted to a ten-dollar bill and some loose change.  I spent the loose change on a cup of coffee and sat down at a table.  A teenage girl stopped to chat about astrology with me a few moments.  I asked her if she knew of any Bahá’ís in Alamogordo.  She didn't.  I sipped my coffee.  The girl left.

             Ten dollars wouldn't buy me a ticket back to Colorado.  I knew no one in New Mexico. To be so close and yet so far.  Several times in my mind I recited the "Remover of Difficulties" prayer revealed by the Báb.  I kept thinking, "Chris, a fine fix you've gotten yourself into this time." and "How do you plan to get out of this mess? What a fool you are?"

            Ten minutes passed, but it felt like hours dragging by.  I stared down at the table. 

             Suddenly, I heard a man say to me, "Alláh’u’abhá!"  It was the man, who had been sitting in front of me on the bus. "They'll be here in a few minutes to pick us up," he said. "I'm Chester Kahn from Chinle, Arizona."

            Shocked with surprise, I exclaimed, "Are you Ray Kahn's brother?"

            Chester nodded, "Yes."  No wonder he had seemed so familiar.

            "How," I asked in amazement, "did you know that I am a Bahá’í?"

            Chester pointed at my coat that I had dumped on the table, "I saw the Bahá’í button on your coat."

            I had forgotten about my "Youth for One World" button.

            Within five minutes a car loaded with people pulled up to the depot and I was on my way to the Mescalero Apache Reservation with Chester Kahn, Richard and Pauline Hoff and four believers from Cheyenne, Wyoming.  Gladly relieved, I had returned to my spiritual home among Bahá’ís.  I made a commitment never to estrange myself from the company of Bahá’ís again.

            A Mescalero believer, Meredith Begay, had arranged a meeting in her home for some of her family and friends to learn about the Faith.  Because her husband was Navajo, she was especially happy to have Chester Kahn there to talk to him.  I remember those times as heaven itself.  Several races were represented.  Three of us spent the night with the Begay family, listening to Mescalero stories and prophecies about the promised time.

            It takes great courage to proclaim the Tidings of Bahá’u’lláh in your own homeland, and only in time did I realize the courage of Meredith Begay, who clearly let everyone know that Bahá’u’lláh had come to help her people and all mankind out of the troubles that surrounded them.

            Soon several Mescalero youth and adult joined the Faith.  Wisely and lovingly, Meredith held fireside meetings in her home, and then helped arrange large "Council Fire" gatherings each year.  No one knows how many skeptical torts the jealous among her people cast at Meredith.  Certainly, she had to sustain much tribal antagonism in spreading the divine fragrances of Bahá’u’lláh Teachings.

            The weather turned cold during that conference held partly in Mescalero and partly in Alamogordo, but the spirit stayed high.  From that three-day meeting several of us started a teaching team that would journey the southwest for the next two months immersed in the Ocean of the Writings, long-sustained prayer sessions and hundreds of miles of travel from Alamogordo to Cheyenne, Wyoming; Denver, Colorado; Taos, Santa Fe and Albuquerque, New Mexico; Phoenix, Arizona; Pasadena and on to the Oakland-San Francisco area of California.

            Here I share a few stories from that memorable time:

            "Do not be satisfied until each one with whom you are concerned is to you as a member of your family. Regard each one either as a father, or as a brother, or as a sister, or as a mother, or as a child.  If you can attain to this, your difficulties will vanish; you will know what to do."    -- '‘Abdu’l-Bahá, (quoted from The Pattern of Bahá’í Life.)

            We were traveling in two cars across the lonely stretch between Carrizozo and San Antonio, New Mexico headed toward Albuquerque as day crept into night.  I was in the second car, an old 1954 Buick, with Chuy Villagomez, Jo Kuntz and another young Bahá’í girl, when we had a flat tire.  It was at night. The first car was far enough ahead of us that they didn't realize we had stopped.  Chuy informed us that there was no jack, and we began reciting prayers.  A car went by in the opposite direction.  Up a hill it went, then it stopped, turned around and came back.  The driver saw our flat and sadly told us that she didn't have a jack either, so she left.  After several minutes a westbound car passed and stopped. Several people got out of the car.  They tried their jack, but it didn't work.  In the meantime, another car with several passengers pulled behind the other car.  They tried their jack, too, but it didn't work.  By this time, we had a small conclave gathered around our pitiful Buick in the starry, desert night.  We saw car lights coming from the opposite direction; it was the other Bahá’í car.  Surprisingly, their jack didn't work either.  Finally, a fourth car with several more people arrived, and their jack worked.  The conclave had grown, and with two carloads of Bahá’ís and three carloads of "good   Samaritans" stuck in the middle of nowhere, the teaching opportunity was tremendous.  All of those souls expressed interest in the Faith. 

            Chuy Villagomez commented afterwards, as we resumed our adventurous journey, "I've heard that when you set out to teach the Cause of God, every test that occurs along the way is preordained by God."

            Many times, Chuy would utter something like that, always beginning with the words, "I've heard that..."  Whether his assertions were true didn't seem as important as their uplifting effect upon us. 

            One time he said, "I've heard that if you take a bath, put on clean garments, open the window, and say the 'midnight prayer' (revealed by '‘Abdu’l-Bahá) before going to sleep that you will receive a vision." 

            Another time he said, "I've heard that if you say the long healing prayer one hundred times, a miracle will occur."  Later, while in Phoenix, Arizona at the home of an early and precious believer named Zahrah Schoeny (702 Portland Avenue), she allowed Chuy and I to use one of her vacant rooms to do just that, and we did.  Another believer joined us for part of the marathon prayer encounter.  We paused occasionally to eat granola and fresh grapefruits.  After twenty-two hours, we had finished.  For several days we walked about as if in the dream world.  What the miracle was, I still don't know; perhaps that we survived to serve the Faith a little longer.

            Chuy taught with great confidence. When with him we always read the Writings of Bahá’u’lláh and the Master, and constantly referred to the Dawnbreaker stories.  The "Tablet of Ahmad" was a daily habit, often we read it nine times before going out to teach or visit Bahá’ís.

            I remember when Chuy visited my hometown of Fort Collins, Colorado.  He talked with my parents for a long time, and gave them a copy of the beautiful compilation, The Divine Art of Living.  That night, after we went to bed, my parents stayed up reading many parts of the book. 

            We went to visit the mother of a new Bahá’í in Fort Collins.  She asked Chuy what he wanted to be (in the context of profession), and he kindly answered her, "I want to be spiritual."

            Ten or eleven of us wanted to attend a weekend conference in Sedona, Arizona in the last week of December 1969.  We agreed first to return to Taos, where two of our group lived as homefront pioneers.  They needed to arrange their affairs and prepare for the journey.

            John Lehman was one of them.  He lived with a new Bahá’í couple and worked part time as a sign painter with them.  When John wasn't working; he'd spend hours alone having prayers in his room or painting striking portraits of '‘Abdu’l-Bahá taken from photographs. 

            So I returned to Taos, this time in the cherished company of Bahá’í teachers.  While in Taos during that visit, two souls discovered the Faith through dreams at separate times that they had of John Lehman-- his prayers were working. 

            One was a youth named Susie McCombs, who was living at that time in a mountain commune of "hippies".  On the frosty morning of our departure for Sedona, John went into downtown Taos to buy supplies for our trip.  He met Susie as she was crossing a street. She told him that she had dreamt that she must leave the commune immediately and go into Taos, where she would meet a person, who had an important message to give to her.  The first person she met following her dream was John.  He told her that he was part of a group of Bahá’ís preparing to go to a spiritual conference in Sedona. Susie joined the expedition to Sedona.

I remember watching her in Sedona, immersed in the mystical work of Bahá’u’lláh called, The Seven Valleys. Tears poured down her face throughout the Sedona meeting.  As moving as her experience with the Faith was at that time, for some reason she hesitated to embrace it.  Instead of returning to the commune in Taos after the conference, she went to her parents' home in Oregon.  I corresponded with her for several months, until a letter arrived one day from her sister, informing me that Susie had taken her own life while using narcotic drugs.  May Bahá’u’lláh have mercy on her tender soul, her "moment's hesitation" may have resulted in her despondency.  Yet, she was of gentle spirit and possessed a sincere love for humanity.

            We set out in the cold air of December for the warm spirit of Arizona; some of us in our infamous 1954 Buick, and the rest in pick-up with a camper on the back.  Even with blankets wrapped around us, the drive froze us to the bone.  The Buick was especially cold, as we had to keep the windows partially open to keep from getting "exhausted" to death, due to the bad muffler.  Our teaching target to and from Sedona must have been to share the Message with policemen, because we had numerous encounters both in New Mexico and in Arizona with enforcers of the law.

            Our first "close" encounter was too close; driving through Gallup in heavy traffic, we accidentally rear-ended a car in an intersection.  The bump left only a tiny dent, but, unfortunately, the unmarked car was property of the Gallup Police Department's detective department.  The driver, a detective who looked to weigh about three hundred pounds, strutted over and poked his badge into the window of the Buick. 

            "You've just hit a private detective's vehicle.  Follow me to the Police Department," were his encouraging words.

            We spent the morning at the Police Department, while the passengers in the camper waited for us outside. Our contingent of six was a fairly mixed group of "hippie-looking" believers, blacks, and Hispanics.  Everything checked out okay, except that Susie McCombs had no identification proof, and so the sergeant insisted on doing a background check on her.  As we had just met her and she had suddenly become very quiet, we became nervous that something bad on her might show up. Meanwhile, our brave driver used the opportunity to explain the Bahá’í Teachings to everyone in the station, including the detective, whose car we had struck.  They couldn't believe that a group looking as we did was going to a "religious" conference, instead of a drug festival.  Susie was cleared of any suspicion, and even the detective loosened up and escorted us back to our innocent Buick in a friendly gesture.  Of course, we paid sixty dollars for the dent.

            In Arizona we were stopped twice for our bad muffler.  Once was a warning; but the second time, a patrolman stopped us and gave us 24 hours to fix the muffler or have our sweet Buick impounded.  That was on a Sunday night, and Monday was a holiday. Sedona had no parts shops, so we drove to Flagstaff on Monday morning following the wonderful, spiritual conference in gorgeous Camp Verde near Sedona. 

            Flagstaff had many parts shops, all closed.  One was adjacent to an open gas station, whose manager said it would be no problem to call the parts storeowner.  The owner agreed to come over and open his store for us.  Our racially diverse group stood around in the parking area, happy and still "high" from the Bahá’í gathering near Sedona. On a sudden we found ourselves surrounded several police cars.  A stern bunch of officers walked over to us. 

            One began interrogating us. "Who were we?  Where were we coming from?  What were we doing in Flagstaff?  Why were we loitering by the store?"

            We answered pleasantly that we had been attending a Bahá’í Conference near Sedona, and now we were repairing our muffler.

            "What kind of conference did you go to?" One of the men barked back.

            "A Bahá’í Conference," we replied courteously.

            "What's a Bahá’í?" 

            "Bahá’ís believe in one God, world peace and the unity of all people," we answered.

            Impatiently, one officer quizzed, "Yeah, did you do any drugs at that Conference?"

            "No, sir," replied one of our group, a Chicano believer from Denver with long hair almost down to his waist, "Bahá’ís don't take drugs."

            "How about drinking?"

            "No," the Bahá’í answered again, "we don't drink."

            At that point, another believer, a black woman, jumped forward and said, "I mean, we don't even fool around!"

            That comment made most of the police officers laugh, and as they relaxed the owner of the auto parts store arrived and verified our reason for being in there.  The policemen started back to their cars, apologizing for their suspicions about us.

            One said, "If I didn't have a wife and child to support, I'd go with you right now."

            A less thrilled officer remarked under his breath to another as they walked back to their squad car, "Ah!  Religious fanatics!" 

            I guessed that he was disappointed that we weren't drug pushers.   But we were probably among the happiest religious "fanatics" on earth that day.

            Our rendezvous with policemen didn't end in Flagstaff.  Only a few miles on Interstate 40 headed back to New Mexico, a state patrolman pulled over the camper pick-up, which was ahead of the Buick at the time.  Those of us in the Buick stopped behind the pick-up and watched anxiously from our vehicle. 

            "What could it be this time?" we wondered.

            The patrolman talked with the driver of the pick-up for a while, and then returned to his patrol car holding a book.  We couldn't wait to find out what had transpired, so one of us went over to the pick-up to find out.

            "You'll never believe this," our companion announced when he got back into the Buick, and we started on our way again. "Roger (the driver of the camper pick-up truck) said that the patrolman came over to the window, stared blankly into the pick-up truck and blushed, saying 'I'm sorry.  I'm not sure why I stopped you.' Roger alertly picked up a Bahá’í book from the dashboard and handed it to the patrolman, and said, 'Maybe it was to receive this book about the Bahá’í Faith.'  The officer replied, 'Maybe so,' and slowly ventured back to his car."

            We had agreed, as fellow travelers, that we would stop to assist persons along the way who had car troubles or the like.  Through this "policy", we met, helped and taught numerous souls, some who became believers. 

            One of those persons, whom we had met on the road, traveled with us to the Camp Verde Conference and asked to join the Faith during the weekend.  No one could find an official membership enrollment card, so we used a napkin, and he signed his name saying that he had accepted Baha’u’llah as the Manifestation of God.  He returned to Phoenix after enrolling as a Bahá’í. A few days later the Bahá’í teacher called him to see how he was doing.

            He said, "Well, right now I'm drunk."  The teacher shuddered and her heart sank to hear such words, but he continued, "…on William Sear's Wine of Astonishment."

I should include a few words about the Camp Verde Bahá’í youth conference. Sedona is a magically entrancing area with beautiful rock formations and mystic clouds.  The conference attracted a sizable group of youth and adults, too, from all around the Southwest and California.  The racial diversity was particularly impressive, at a time as race continued to be the “most challenging issue” facing American Bahá’ís, as emphasized by Shoghi Effendi in The Advent of Divine Justice.  I don’t remember much about the inspiring talks, except the one by a stately, elderly southern gentleman named Winston Evans.  Winston Evans had decided to focus his teaching primarily in sharing the Message of Christ’s Return to Christian clergy.  Over the years he had certainly met with blunt opposition, but he also had success in attracting a few divinity students and clergy to the Faith.  I recall one of the main gists of his talk was that the Bahá’í Faith was contagious.  We “catch” the Faith and before long we are giving it to others, who also arise to serve.  In Christian congregations that he had observed, oftentimes the pastor or priest were wonderful teachers and examples of the Christian life, but their congregations usually remained in a state of being passive followers. When the church leader died or moved away, the parish would flounder until another leader came to lead them. Not so in the Bahá’í Faith, where oftentimes, the new believer soon is more knowledgeable and active than the person who taught him or her.   

I was up early the next morning and took a walk to the top of a nearby mesa in the crisp December air.  No one was nearby and the spirit of the area beckoned me to recite the Long Obligatory Prayer revealed by Bahá’u’lláh on that lofty space.  When I rose from the prayer, I felt I had entered a different world.

Several Bahá’í homes along the route served as "inns" for Bahá’í travel teachers.  In Gallup two homes that always kept the welcome matt out were those of Gordon and Jeanne Laite, and of Jim and Roan Stone.  One time, we stopped briefly to see the Laites and, at least, fifteen more Bahá’í travelers headed to different parts happened to be there at the same time.

           Jim and Pam Womack, who lived then in Albuquerque, offered much love and hospitality.  Jim, an Afro-American, and Pam, who was white, had tried to pioneer for the Faith in the Deep South, but after several horrifying incidences with burning crosses on their lawn and attempts to run Jim over while he was riding his motorcycle, they found it wiser to serve the Faith in New Mexico. 

            Dick and Pauline Hoff's home in Alamogordo became a heaven of constant activity and spirit. Day and night seekers from all walks of life came for a taste at the fountain of Bahá’í love, knowledge, and fellowship.  Mescalero youth would hitchhike to the meetings; servicemen from Holloman Air Force base often attended the meetings, which might last deep into the night. 

             The home of Seymour Malkim and his family in Mesa, Arizona was a source of great inspiration and loving guidance.  They were preparing to pioneer to Brazil at that time, and yet they did not wish to be deprived of any last chances to spread the Faith in Arizona before going to their new post.  Seymour passed away several years later during his pioneering service in Brazil.

             Zahrah Schoeny in Phoenix was a perfect hostess and a gentle deepener.  Humbly, she nurtured our souls. 

            Teaching ventures were loosely structured-- our little band of youth asked the National Teaching Committee how we should set up our travel teaching plans, and they lovingly suggested that we phone Bahá’ís when we entered a city or town and ask them how we could benefit their community.  If they needed our help, we could stay; if not, we were to proceed on.  This guidance served very well, leading us to places where Bahá’í teachers were really needed.

             We went through Los Angeles, the pleasant voice answering our call to the Bahá’í Center told us that she didn’t know of anyone needing our help, so we drove on to Pasadena, where a wonderful man, whose name I think was James, warmly invited us to spend a night at his home.  He was a professional dance and had just returned from travels abroad.  He asked us if we would like to meet his grandmother, Dora Bray, who was 101 at the time and living in a care home. We, of course, said we would love to spend time with her. It was January 1970 a year or two before she passed. She was in a care home and had taken up painting canvas. Her son, who was an accomplished ballet performer and a Baha'i living in Pasadena, took our teaching team to the care home where we spent a remarkable morning with her. She was like "Grandma Moses". Nice to see her remembered here. Our teaching team was on the way to the Bay area to help Eloy Anello and others with consolidation of over 200 new believers in the area. Eloy went on to Puerto Rico and then to Bolivia where he was appointed to the Board of Counsellors.

             Between the hospitality offered by the host Bahá’ís, and the savings some of us contributed to the travel costs, we covered thousands of miles.  In Hayward, California, when the money we had became almost depleted, four of our group obtained employment cleaning boarding houses owned by a Bahá’í in San Francisco.  If a Bahá’í family extended us room and board, we tried to repay them through service to their Bahá’í needs, and by doing household chores.

             In those days, being risk-taking adventurers and to conserve our funds, we sometimes resorted to hitchhiking if a vehicle wasn't available.  Later, this manner of transport was strongly discouraged by the National Spiritual Assembly, wisely, for the protection of the believers, as hitchhikers were occasionally robbed or worse, killed.  Also, it could appear as a form of begging.  When the new policy was published, most of the Bahá’í youth discontinued the practice of hitchhiking.

            One time (before the policy from Wilmette) I left Alamogordo to visit some Bahá’í friends in Arizona using the thumb method to catch a ride by the highway.  An older, white man from Tennessee, driving a long, white Cadillac, gave me a ride.  I offered to buy him lunch in return for the ride, but he refused and "forced" me to be his guest for lunch along the way.  I told him about the Bahá’í Teachings, and he was impressed with them, especially with the principle about racial unity.  Being from Tennessee, growing up around white prejudice towards blacks, he was deeply aware of the need for loving amity among the races. 

            My brief acquaintance with that Tennessee gentleman also taught me much about not judging others by appearance.  Easily, I could have presumed him to be a rich, white bigot, who spoke with a southern drawl, based on the stereotype of a southern white man in a fancy car.  Eliminating prejudices of every kind means looking to the heart of each person, and never to judge one by appearance or faulty knowledge.

              Before going to Arizona, I had just finished reading a new pamphlet written by Dr. Daniel Jordan entitled, "Becoming Your True Self."  From his essay I became absorbed in the thought that "becoming" a Bahá’í is a never-ending process, that one never completely becomes a Bahá’í.  Rather, one strives toward the state of perfection; of becoming like '‘Abdu’l-Bahá. 

             When I reached Tucson I found my friend, Barney Baiz.  He told me that he had some personal business to tend to for a couple of hours, but that he would take me to a fireside meeting at the Bahá’í Centre and pick me up later.  Barney dropped me off at the Center and I went in.  I didn't see anyone who I knew.  A young man came over and immediately asked me if I were a Bahá’í.

            Thinking about Dr. Jordan's essay, I answered without hesitation, "Well, I'm becoming a Bahá’í."

            From my comment, he understood that I was a seeker interested in the Cause, but who hadn't "declared" as a Bahá’í yet.  For some reason, I accepted his premature conclusion and entered the meeting as a "seeker."  It turned out that I was the only "non-Bahá’í" at the meeting, and all eyes were upon me. 

             I thought to myself, "Is this how we make people feel at our meetings, as if they are under a spotlight?" 

             Still, I continued in the role of a seeker, asking questions about the soul and mind, saying that I had read some of 'Abdu'l-Bahá's Writings on such matters and was very much drawn to them (I was devious, wasn't I?).  They responded briefly to my inquiries, and then they broke for refreshments.  Everyone seemed to relax and engage in personal conversations.  Two believers discussed fervently the yoga meetings that they were attending.  Others talked about mundane routines of their lives, nothing of importance.  However, they were polite and friendly towards me, even if they could not focus on the Faith in a meeting set aside for that purpose.  I was disturbed by the experience.  Why could not the friends concentrate on the Power of Bahá’u’lláh Revelation for more than a few minutes?  Why did they seem distracted?  My aversion to cities grew as I found similar conditions among Bahá’í communities in other large cities. 

             In the vast regions of the homefront, the small, dusty towns of the Southwest; in the meager homes of adobe and cinder block, I found my heart content and richly satisfied.

             After several months of travel teaching, I accepted the chance to live in Alamogordo for a brief period in 1970.  We were stimulated by news of the wonderful teaching victories happening in the Southern states, and on many campuses of the U.S.  Almost every day we held open meetings in various homes, where seekers felt the spirit and joined the Faith.  The format was kept simple: We started with prayers and songs, then one or two of us gave a short introduction to the Faith followed by a film strip.  Afterwards, we served refreshments or water, and different seekers could get together with one or more Bahá’í to ask their particular questions about the Faith.  Marvelous results came from this method; often two or more seekers would ask to join simultaneously, after having their doubts gently removed.  I remember one meeting where seven youth enrolled together representing the Apache, Mexican, black, and white races. Teaching at the Hoffs’ home often went deep into the night after Dick and Pauline had gone to bed. At times one or two of us youth would be staying with them and serve as hosts for those seeking to learn about the Faith.  Late at night a soft knock might be heard on the front door, and one of us hoteliers would answer it and see several servicemen wanting to know if they could hear about the Faith.  Dick had told them to come over anytime they were free, and the middle of the night was usually when they were free.  We’d quietly pray and read from the Writings together and discuss questions they had.  Several became strong believers staying active after they completed their Air Force term of service.

            Every method of teaching was tried, and most efforts led to success.  Lunch dates were made with interested prominent persons; collaboration worship services were held with churches; park gatherings, poster campaigns and family teaching produced wonderful effects.  A local motorcycle “gang”, encouraged by their bike “queen”, started showing up at meetings, and several joined the Faith.  The queen never did, but she continued to encourage the bikers to stick close to the Bahá’ís.

            Concurrent with these local activities in Alamogordo were teachers exchanges with northern New Mexico; some believers from Alamogordo and the southern part of the state would travel to Santa Fe to teach, and on another weekend a group of Bahá’ís from the north would arrive to help out in Alamogordo.  These events had a planned activity, but also relied on the workings of the spirit, too, such as going to White Sands National Park for dawn prayers on the sands.

            Once, a Bahá’í named Gary Dragna and I hoped to visit members of the New Mexico State Goals Committee to discuss statewide teaching. (We wanted to try to set up a backpacking teaching team to walk from village to village to teach the people.)  The Committee members lived near Santa Fe.  As we had no vehicle, and only a small measure of funds, we made a cardboard sign with the words "Santa Fe" on it and headed toward the highway on morning eager to catch a ride north.  I felt uncomfortable hitchhiking, as I had recently heard some Bahá’ís say that hitchhiking could be considered a form of begging, which is clearly forbidden in the Kitáb-i-Aqdas (The Holy Book of Laws).  So I suggested to Gary that we recite the "Remover of Difficulties" that we would be guided in the right way.  We had gone but two or three blocks when we passed a house where I had met a man the day before.  The resident had invited me to return to talk about the Bahá’í Message with him.  I felt moved to visit him right then, and Gary agreed.  The man seemed to be waiting for us, and he warmly invited us in.  He wanted to know where we were headed, and we explained that we hoped to go to Santa Fe to meet with Bahá’ís there.  He asked us how we were going to get there, and we showed him our cardboard sign, neatly folded under Gary's arm. He pointed to an old pickup and said, "I've needed to have that truck run out on the highway for some time now.  Would you be willing to take it to Santa Fe?  Tell me whether you would be willing or not, because you don't have to if you don't want to."

             With those words, our guidance had come, and we departed for Santa Fe in the good man's pickup truck.  As we left his front porch, we stopped to watch from a distance his snarling German Shepard, which, thank goodness, was tied to a post.  It was a very big dog.  The man told us that the dog was so mean, that he didn't even go close to it, but kept it chained up all of the time.  Gary in his fearless way ventured towards the growling dog.  He repeated the Greatest Name as he calmly walked closer and closer to the dog tugging angrily at the end of its chain.  The man warned Gary again about the dog, but Gary moved toward the dog without acknowledging the man's advice.  In the next moment to our amazement Gary was petting the dog, as the dog's tail wagged furiously.  Gary, without words, had demonstrated that all of God's creatures can respond to love, and that the Bahá’í Cause possesses a great Power to spread that love.  The man, of course, was very impressed by such a brave deed.

             The trip to Santa Fe turned out to be like heaven. Many plans were set in motion to teach during the summer months of 1970 following the anticipated National Youth Conference which was scheduled for June 1970 in Wilmette, Illinois right at the Mother Temple of the West.  The official notices about the upcoming event assured the youth that Hand of the Cause of God Amatu'l-Baha Rúhíyyíh Khanum, widow of the beloved Guardian, Shoghi Effendi, would be speaking to the Bahá’í youth of America!

             The 1970 National Bahá’í Youth Conference was a milestone for many of the 2500 young believers who attended.  The Conference was a major turning point in my development. The spirit of the gathering surged. An immensity of knowledge poured out upon us from the Hands of the Cause of God and other learned Bahá’ís. An abiding love bound the hearts of that diverse group together.

             One rainy evening, June 23rd, the gathered youth were divided into three groups of several hundred each.  Each group took its turn going into the House of Worship for a memorial service commemorating the one hundredth anniversary of the passing of the Purest Branch, younger brother to '‘Abdu’l-Bahá.  Though, at the time, I knew nothing about the Purest Branch, I felt his tender presence in that sacred spot as the Tablet of Visitation was recited by one of the Hands of the Cause of God.

             I also knew very little then about the station of the Hands of the Cause of God, but I remember watching Hand of the Cause of God Mr. Khadem walking amidst the crowds of youth one day during a break in the sessions.  I stood, somewhat awestruck, trying to decide whether I should walk over to meet him.  I trembled at the thought, and never gathered the strength to do it.  He was not threatening or frightening, but his humility and dignity overwhelmed me.  All I could do was to stare at him for a long time.

             At the Conference I decided to return to Fort Collins to see my parents.  They had expected me to return to Colorado to attend college.  My heart told me that it was time to prepare for the next phase of life.  Already, a Bahá’í from Colorado named Claudia Plymel had invited me to ride back to Colorado with her. Along the way, it seemed that everywhere we stopped, we met other Bahá’ís also heading home from Wilmette.  Like threads of light being woven on the loom of service. Within a few months Claudia pioneered to the island of Kaua’i in the Hawaiian Islands, where she married and served the Faith.  A few years later, she passed away at her pioneering post.

             My return to my hometown closed the first phase of my adventures as a Bahá’í.  My future was changing, and anxiously I chose to attend a small college in Durango in the southwest corner of Colorado.  The entire western slope of Colorado in those days boasted only a dozen Bahá’ís or so, scattered in tiny towns.  Half of those believers were women whose husbands were not Baha’i’s, which limited their opportunities to attend the few existing Bahá’í activities.  Despite our weaknesses the Faith grows in a mysterious way that defies logic.  What else can one do then, but submit oneself to its Power, teach and serve and beg that Bahá’u’lláh will aid us in His Path?  As the Master has written:

             O thou who art turning thy face towards God!

            Close thine eyes to all things else, and open them

            to the realm of the All-Glorious.

            Ask whatsoever thou wishest of Him alone;

            seek whatsoever thou seekest from Him alone.

            With a look He granteth

            a hundred thousand hopes,

            with a glance He healeth

            a hundred thousand incurable ills,

            with a glimpse He layeth balm on every wound,

            with a nod He freeth the hearts

            from the shackles of grief.

            He doeth as He doeth,

            and what recourse have we?

            He carrieth out His Will,

            He ordaineth what He pleaseth.

            Then better for thee

            to bow down thy head in submission,

            and put thy trust in the All-Merciful Lord.

                               (from The Words of God)