Marjories Story

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A personal peek into her story.

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Loving Wives but Non-erotic, I would guess? This is a composite of real-life experiences, heard and over-heard. As narrated by family and in-laws, friends and acquaintances.

Considering how many different versions were told by the individuals who had actually lived these events, I hope that this story is reasonably accurate to the people involved. And that I captured their true voice. As they would actually speak when telling of their lives.

Yes, I have changed the names of everybody I wrote about. As far as I know, the original people are all deceased. But, they were a litigious bunch of old cranks! So, better safe than sorry.

No sex, some graphic verbal violence, mass calamities and individual tragedies. But also charity and compassion, hope and happiness achieved. I suspect a number of the adult readers will recognize people and events in their own lives of similar consequence.

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Marjorie's Story

Chapter July 1951

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It was a hot, Ohio summer Sunday as the children went chattering out of the church schoolroom. To join their parents in the kirkyard for the Lady's Auxiliary luncheon spread.

I was sorting their workbooks back onto the shelf for next week. When the Pastor's wife came in to the little room.

Surprised, I hesitated with an armful of booklets and greeted her, "Good morning, Mrs. McDowell."

The other woman took a quick glance around the room, approving that even immediately after being filled with children, the classroom was neat and tidy.

With a satisfied tone she replied, "Hello, Marjorie dear. When you have sorted those out, please come to the Ministry office."

I must have looked confused. I couldn't think of anything I had done wrong, "Yes M'am. I'll be there in five minutes?"

Mrs. McDowell smiled and kindly offered, "Do not fret dear. It is good news and your parents will be there."

Relieved, I chirped, "Oh, thank you."

Hastily, I finished shelving the children's workbooks in alphabetical order, more or less. Honestly, my mind was not focused on the alphabet, instead I was wondering what was going on.

When I arrived at the outer offices I found Mrs. McDowell waiting for me. She shooed me into the Pastor's inner office, interrupting the conversation between the Reverend Dr. Rodney McDowell and my parents, Albert and June Howard.

The distinguished elder of the church, came around his desk and clasped both of my hands with a reassuring pat, "Miss Howard, I want to commend you for the fine job you have been doing for us with your Sunday School class. The children can be quite a handful! However, they all respect you and their parents have told me of their good impressions of your efforts."

I blushed at his warm compliment. He then requested, "Please, have a seat."

My parents looked at me with proud faces as I sat next to them while Mrs. McDowell took a seat to the side of the desk.

I then replied, "Thank you sir! I have so enjoyed my time assisting in the work of your ministry."

"Yes, you work well with everyone and you are devoted to your Christian Faith."

I could feel a tingle of pride at his praise but quickly realized he was trying to tell me something important. I listened with anxious curiosity.

"Congratulations are due you upon your graduation from High School. With Honors I might add! Since then, I have been in discussions with your parents and have learned of your desire to further your education?"

Now very embarrassed, I gave a mortified glance at my parents.

They had a proud but sad look on their faces. My Father gave me a stern tilt of his head to encourage me to pay close attention to the good Doctor.

I bit my lower lip as I obediently faced our Pastor as he continued speaking.

I do not want to hurt my parents feelings by admitting my family's inability to help me pay for college. Daddy has not criticize me for my vanity about wanting to achieve a higher education. However, I could feel how badly he felt about his inability to provide me with the opportunity.

"Mrs. McDowell and I have been seeking a way to help you fulfill your laudable ambition."

I managed to choke out, "Doctor McDowell, sir. My family's needs must come first."

"You are a devoted and faithful daughter to your loving parents."

Mrs. McDowell wisely interjected, "Oh Rodney, do go on and tell the poor girl what you have arranged before we all melt in embarrassment!"

He looked at his wife with a tight smile but admitted, "Quite right my dear."

Looking back at my parents, he gave my father a thoughtful nod of acknowledgement and said,

"Marjorie, we have been looking into finding a way to reward you for your devotion to your family and our church and we have found a scholarship for you."

I bet my eyes about popped out of my head in astonishment!

"It will pay all costs for two years at the Covenant Institute in Cleveland. Classes, books, a dormitory room, meals, almost everything. You will just need to bring your clothes and personal items. There will even be a small stipend for pocket money."

I was flabbergasted, "Oh my goodness, that would be wonderful. Oh Momma. Poppa. Did you hear that?"

My father gave a forced smile and replied, "Yes Marjorie-honey, Pastor McDowell has explained it to us. But please! Listen closely girl, there is an obligation."

I turned back to the Pastor and in a puzzled tone asked, "Sir?"

"Uhmm, yes, yes. The Covenant Institute is an offshoot of a one of Mr. John D. Rockefeller's Foundations. He was a faithful Covenanter. He also was a Sunday School teacher, as you know. His charitable legacy supports the Presbyterian Synod's missionary efforts abroad.

In exchange for training you in clerical functions, pastoral duties and a foreign language, you in turn will commit to giving the following two years, working abroad at one of the Mission offices.

During which service you will receive further education, both classroom and by correspondence. In addition, you will earn a small salary and an allowance for living expenses. At the end of which experience you will have earned a Bachelor's degrees in pastoral office management and charitable administration."

As I listened astonished at that generous offer, I could feel my cheeks burning. I gasped out, "Oh my goodness, oh my. I, I do not know what to say. It all sounds so wonderful."

"Of course my dear, this has been quite a surprise for you. I apologize for springing this on you so abruptly. Naturally, you need to discuss this with your parents before making such an important commitment. Binding you for the next four years."

I have always prided myself on being calm and collected in every situation. But this time, my mind was in a giddy whirl.

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The Reverend excused himself and with his wife, leaving us in private. For a second I sat stunned and silent in the chair, then my father cleared his throat as my mother pulled a hanky out of her purse.

Impulsively I threw myself into their arms as they tried to congratulate me. Kneeling on the floor at their feet, I looked up at the two people I loved the most in the world. Oh, and my twelve year old sister, Anne!"

With an anxious voice, I declared, "Momma, Poppa. This is my dream but I cannot run off and abandon you!"

"Who will take care of you Momma, when you take sick? Poppa, it would be selfish of me to abandon you. You need me to help care for Momma and the household chores. Anne is still too young to take up such responsibilities."

The turmoil on their faces was breaking my heart when Momma replied with a choked voice, "Oh my darling, I beg you, please. This is your chance to make a life for yourself."

Then she whispered. "I can take care of myself."

My father looked away, shamefaced to admit his inadequacy's as a husband and a father. After a brief internal struggle, a determined look settled on his face.

"Marjorie-honey, please do not sacrifice this opportunity out of your devotion to us. We will manage. I have written your Aunt Ruth about coming to live with us in exchange for her helping to care for your mother."

Momma looked at him, stunned. We all knew how much he disliked her younger sister. He had bluntly criticized Ruth for her loose living when she tried to borrow some money last Autumn.

I could see that Momma was deeply moved at Poppa having the strength to swallow his pride. Overcoming his dislike of his sister-in-law to beg Aunt Ruth for such a burdensome favor.

I know Momma feels guilty about being sick so often. If only Dr. Forrest could cure her. But the malignancy is slowly, remorselessly spreading and medicines have been of little help.

Poppa wiped his damp eyes with a quick swipe of the back of his sleeve. Gently, he laid a hand on his ill wife's fragile arm and then, with a determined voice, said to me, "You must accept this scholarship offer. It will be a chance to improve yourself and see the world. You will be gone to school most of the two years and then traveling abroad for the two years afterwards."

"Ruth will have your room and I can get Albert and Walter to help me enclose the back porch and make it a spare room for when you come home on visits."

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Chapter September 1951 - November 1953

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Miss Marjorie Howard studied hard the two years she was at the Institute. She majored in secretarial skills and bookkeeping, in addition to studying basic Japanese and Korean languages.

When she graduated, she accepted a posting to the far east. Spending the next two years working at the Mission administration offices in Yokohama, Japan and then Pusan, South Korea.

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Chapter February 1954 - January 1955

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Yokohama, Japan

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The offices of the Missionary Administration were in the Moto Building. Located in the Naka Ward of the City of Yokohama. The Central Post Office, next to the railroad tracks to the river bridge, is halfway between the Mission offices and the Kanagawa Prefectural Office. The temporary City Hall is for now, located in the CPO building.

I found my stay in Japan overwhelming. It was just so different! Than the comfortable, Middle America neighborhood and the Covenant collegial campus that had been my only life experiences to date.

This huge, crowded, noisy, foreign city was a stunning blow to my immature psyche. Everyone was so different! They look foreign, they sound foreign! They have strange customs and social rules that constantly baffled me.

An alien environment, that is very different from what I had imagined when I had been sitting in a comfortable Ohio classroom, reading about exotic locations.

Whatever I had expected six months ago, turns out to be a deeply disturbing reality. On the tram, to and from my apartment, or several times a week to the post office or a couple of times delivering forms to the prefectural offices.

It felt to me like I was sleep-walking in a very strange dream.

Now I better understand Alice's confusion down the rabbit hole and through the mirror. As a private joke, I began to address myself as Alice during inner monologues while attempting to make my way through the politely pushy crowds of little people wherever I went.

Fortunately, the steady work at the administrative offices and our regular pastoral duties, plus twice weekly church services in addition to mandatory continuing education studies, provided me with a strong anchor of normalcy.

Since I had also been trained in basic Korean language, as part of my pastoral duties I found myself working often with the Reverend Chon Hwanyan. He was a third generation Korean Christian who had been brought to Japan as a forced laborer during the Second World War.

He had come back to Japan to work with the Joint UN/US Korean Refugee Administration. And he proselytized among the large population of Koreans who had remained in Japan after WWII In addition to the new refugees from the Korean Conflict.

I shared a small apartment in the Naka Ward with Lois Saunders who also worked for the Mission. Catherine Lane, a secretary at the American Consulate and Vickie Smith, a nurse at the U.S. Armed Forces Medical Transit Center, are our other two roommates.

I was required to deliver a packet of formal notification forms to City Hall. Counting myself fortunate that I was not the one who had to deliver copies to the Ward Offices or the Prefecture.

The dock workers were very casual about insulting American women that strayed into view. I regretted that my still imperfect knowledge of Japanese, meant that I could understand the gest of their nasty comments but was still lacking in a sufficiently satisfactory response.

Then of course, even if I was fluent, it probably wouldn't help me if I lost my temper and gave vent against the laborers. They were a mob of Japanese untouchables, mixed races and ex slave-laborers with their own degenerate dockside argot.

They have become so inured by a lifetime of abusive treatment, that all they understand is a policeman's nightstick on their thick skulls.

It is my Christian duty to forgive their transgressions but every day it takes me just a little more effort to find any sympathy for those brutally oppressed people.

Of course I should not even think about returning insults. It shows how uncertain I have become here in this mysterious land of heathens. I fail to see that our Mission will ever, truly, reach deep into the Japanese psyche.

I know that I should not take it so personally, but I do. I know there are Japanese Christians but I just haven't felt as comfortable with them as I do when I am working with the Koreans such as Reverend Chon.

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Upon my arrival at the temporary City Hall, within the Central Post Office, I presented myself at the information booth. I must have made a grammatical error when I asked for the office of the Planning Commission.

I found myself two flights up, being left ignored in a busy hallway for a good ten minutes. Finally a junior clerk shows up and with a perfunctory bow offers to lead me to the correct office on the next floor up.

As we went up the stairs, I could feel the building shake from a passing train. My guide brought me to a counter with a neatly lettered sign, 横浜市計画委員会の市.

The processing clerk behind the counter was an older and very polite Japanese gentleman. Who dismissed my guide with a wave of his hand,

Since he is an older man of superior official rank, I gave a bow and waited for him to speak first.

With a graceful head bow he introduced himself, "Watashi wa, toshi keikaku iinkai no tame no dai san jikanho Yashinorodesu."

I replied with a lower bow. "Watashi wa Yokohama no chōrō misshon kanri no misuhawādo gozen"

In really good English, Mr. Yashinoro said.

"Miss Howard, is it? I am pleased to meet you. Please come this way to the anteroom."

Several times during our training, we had been advised that, when you are dealing with foreigners in an official capacity. To acknowledge right up front that you could at least speak some of their language.

Without that introduction? If they find out later that you can understand their side conversations, they may well feel personally embarrassed and publicly humiliated.

He held open a swinging gate for me and waved me to enter. Behind the busy office was a secluded alcove with several overstuffed chairs arranged around a small table.

As I took one of the chairs, he stood by and with another bow asked if I would care for some tea. It had been a dreary trip on a crowded tram and I replied, "Ocha wa sutekina kotodeshou. Arigatō."

In my mind, I speculated if that look of quiet pleasure on his face was genuine or if that was his "being polite to the ganja, who think they can speak with those atrocious accents" face.

He snapped his fingers and a serving boy appeared, who took the order for the tea service and vanished. Quickly reappearing with a steaming thermos jug of boiling water. Then a tray with a ceramic teapot, with matching cups and a small jar of green tea leaves.

As the Third Assistant Secretary was preparing the tea, he asked in English. "Miss Howard, if it is not too forward of me? Could we please continue our conversation in your language? It has been a couple of years since I have had the opportunity to speak English. I must confess I have failed to practice as often as I should."

"Goodness, of course Mr. Yashinoro." I replied. "You are very fluent in English and do I detect a British accent?"

He again gracefully bowed his head and in a modest tone answered, "During the Pacific War, I was an electrical engineer. Stationed in Hong Kong and assigned to learn English for reading translating technical journals."

Now here is where I fail to live up to the proper Christian standards. His casual mention of his war service implied a number of unfortunate circumstances, the thought of which, sent a chill up my spine.

I scolded myself to not think about how the British POW's had been coerced into giving language lessons. Forcing my attention back to this "polite gentleman" as he poured our tea. Instead, I tried to look calm and change the conversation.

"Hmm, that smells delicious."

"A very fragrant leaf indeed." He agreed.

After a few minutes of enjoying the pleasures of imbibing a truly excellent tea and a refill while we were discussing some of the current events. Both of us expressing relief that it appeared that the Truce in Korea was continuing.

Holding up the manila envelope containing the forms I had brought, I explained. "These are formal notification forms for your department to approve several possible construction plans, the Synod is contemplating. My understanding is these are provisioned upon your department giving preliminary approval."

Standing, I offered the packet with both hands and a bow to the Third Assistant Secretary, as dictated by Japanese customs. Standing, He accepted with a generously low bow considering my sex and low official status.

As we both resumed our seats, he just sat there holding the large, heavy envelope. Doing me the courtesy of not opening the packet, just sitting there holding it in both of his hands. While listening as I outlined the Synod's intentions.

"We wish to begin with considering well-located properties that can be made available to build on. Plus we intend to publicize a design competition for architectural firms. There will be at least one Church Sanctuary with annexes. At least one high rise or possibly two lower office buildings. And one or more residential apartment blocks."

I thought his expression indicated that he was withholding questions until I had completed my exposition, so I kept going.

"With the Planning Commissions preliminary directive. We can get definite budgeting approval for design and abatement studies. With, operational usage projections from the New York Synod Headquarters to enable property funding, either by purchase or long-term leases.

After all that, we will return for the Commissioners final approval of our plans. That we may put out for bid the contracts for surveying, clearance of redundant structures, geological hazard tests, structural and utilities engineering and construction."

Mr. Yashimoro allowed an expression of being impressed cross his face, he understood what kind of an investment we were talking about that would certainly benefit his city.

Nodding his head, something he must have learned from his British 'tutors'. With a friendly smile, he quipped. "And finally, to put the spade to the ground!"

I had to laugh at that. Of course while politely covering my mouth. "Ā,-shi Yashimoro! Anata sensei wa, totemo ki no kii arimasu."