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)