ARTHUR ELLSWORTH8 CHENOWETH (DAVID BLACKMAN7, GEORGE WASHINGTON6, JOHN I.5, JOHN4, WILLIAM3, JOHN2, JOHN1) was born Abt. 1869 in Wood Co., WV, and died August 20, 1955 in Bonx, New York, NY. He married MINNIE VIOLA SPROUT June 14, 1901, daughter of DAVID SPROUT and MARY ROSENBERGER. She was born November 04, 1869 in Ohio, and died November 1956.
Children of ARTHUR CHENOWETH and MINNIE SPROUT are:
By Arthur E. Chenoweth
198 Park Hill Ave
Yonkers 5, N.Y.
Blank Publishing House – Boston
reprinted with permission 2011 all copy rights apply
To My Wife Minnie Sprout Chenoweth And Our Children David Arthur & Ellen Marcella
This life story is being written at the insistent request of members of the writer’s family, who know the details of the story; and the urgings of a number of close friends, who know only some of the more interesting incidents and experiences. Each group thinks this generation of young people may find help and inspiration from this record of how a boy of an earlier generation met his problems.
The writing has not been easy. The story must be personal. To avoid this, to some extent, it is written in the Third Person. Even so, it was difficult to avoid what might seem like mock heroics, and self-pity, and at the same time stick to the truth about events, incidents, and experiences which happened to the writer and affected his life.
Readers are asked to keep this in mind, and to try to give the writer credit for endeavoring to keep proper modesty in mind as he wrote his story.
Since this is a true story covering a period of more than eighty years, and all of the characters, except a few, are not now living; the real names of people and places are used.
CHAPTER 1 - The Run-away Boy
“Well, Hattie, I am ready to go.”
“I hate to see you go, Arthur, but I believe it is for the best; try to find work soon so that you will not have to return home as you did last year. If you have to come back again you will probably be treated worse than you are now.”
“Never fear, Hattie, I will not come back this time. I have fifty cents that I have kept since Christmas; and Mr. Mackey promised to see me tonight and lend me $5.00.”
Mr. Mackey was the town Chief of Police and one of Arthur’s close friends. A teen-age inexperienced boy and Mr. Mackey, a middle-aged police official – a singular friendship!
Five dollars seemed like a young fortune to a boy who had never been allowed to have any money of his own.
“Be a good boy, Arthur, and be sure to try to find Annie.”
They had never forgotten a baby sister who, on the death of their mother fifteen years before, had been given by their father to a couple without children. They had no idea where this sister, Annie, might be. Often they had talked about Arthur trying to find her. They had a vague remembrance that this separation had been somewhere down the Ohio River.
But, somewhere in the United States was this sister, if still living, and this teen-age boy was setting out to find her.
“Yes, I will, Hattie. I know that father will say that I never will amount to anything. But, if I never amount to much, I am going to behave myself, and I am going to try to become a good man; and I surely will try to find Annie.”
“But I must go while father is down at the barn, for if he should look at me closely now, he might suspect that something is wrong, as I have on two full suits of clothes under my overcoat. I will write to you from somewhere as soon as I can.”
“You must. Send the letter to Minnie Reese, she will give it to me secretly.”
Minnie Reese was about Hattie’s age and a close friend of the two.
The speakers were brother and sister about seventeen and nineteen. The brother was running from home for the second time. Their home was in Cameron, West Virginia.
There had been a week or two of mild weather, but the day Arthur planned to leave turned cold and a mild blizzard developed toward evening. That was the southern fringe of the great blizzard in New York City in March 1888, which is still talked about there, and commemorated every year.
Arthur had been wondering how he could get away from the house safely. The Good Templars Lodge of which he was a member met that night (Friday), and, normally, he would not be expected home until around eleven o’clock.
However, a rather unusual event helped him. The family rarely had guests at meal time, but that afternoon two close women friends of their stepmother came to see her and remained for supper. So, after supper, while the women were visiting in the living room, he quickly dressed and went to bid goodbye to his sister in the kitchen.
As he left the house, his heart in his mouth, the father called to him from the barn:
“What’s your hurry, Arthur?”
“Oh, I am going to the Lodge and I want to be there early.”
“Well, you are surely early! Feed the cows hay in the morning.”
He went on, trying to saunter along nonchalantly. (He didn’t know that word then, but he gave a good imitation of its meaning).
He met Mr. Mackey. Got the $5.00, promising to repay it as soon as he could. (Within six months the loan was repaid).
Another friend, a young blacksmith named Ben Charnock, borrowed $1.00 and gave it to him, making him promise not to repay it.
Thus the journey out into an unknown future was started with $6.50.
He then went to the Methodist Church where the Lodge was meeting, and sent in word to Minnie Reese, asking her to come to the door.
“Well, Minnie, I am leaving again.”
“Oh, Arthur, are you going now?”
“Well, be a good boy, Arthur, and don’t come back this time. Write to me as soon as you can, and I will get the letter to Hattie.”
She kissed him goodbye.
That “be a good boy” from both his sister and that young woman, and that goodbye kiss to an affection-hungry boy became memories which helped him more than all else; when, as a lonesome boy in a great city, he met temptations from many sources.
(Many years later, as an ordained minister and returned missionary from the Philippines, he preached in that church and Minnie Reese Wilson and her husband were in the audience. And, later on, he had a part in the funeral services for that sister. He had tried to be a good boy). ?
Shortly after the close of the Civil War millions of acres of rich farm lands west of the Mississippi River were opened up by the Federal Government for settlement. One hundred and sixty acres could be had without cost, after doing five years work on the land. There was a great migration from the eastern and middle states. Those were the “Covered Wagon” days in the Great West.
In the spring of 1870 a little family of father and mother and three small children aged one, three, and five, left Parkersburg, West Virginia, going by boat down the Ohio River to the Mississippi, then to St. Louis, where the father bought a team of horses and a covered wagon; and the family started overland across Missouri to Kansas.
The father’s name was David B. Chenoweth, and the mother’s Frances Edwards Chenoweth. The mother’s ancestry was English, of which no details are known. The father’s ancestry was Cornish and details are known for over a thousand years. The name still exists in Cornwall in the neighborhood of Tintagel, the seat of King Arthur’s legendary court.
In the Domesday Roll, or Doomsday Book, of 1087, the district was taxed under the name of CHYNOWEN, meaning New House. That “New House” or Manor House, or home, was built by John Trevelisek, a younger son of a family of that name, who held land as freemen. He was thereafter referred to as “John de Chynoweth” (John of the New House). Thus began the family name of his descendants. That New House, built of stone over a thousand years ago, is still standing and occupied by a Chenoweth! The name was spelled in various ways.
John Chinoweth of Cornwall and Mary Calvert, daughter of Charles Calvert, Third Lord Baltimore, were married about 1705, and came to the Baltimore Colony about 1715. They settled on Gunpowder River, near Joppa, Maryland, on an estate belonging to the Calverts. They lived there thirty years and raised a family of eight children. Because of their long residence the place became known as Chenoweth Manor. To this family the father’s ancestry is directly traced.
CHAPTER 3 - The Start
Of the family on the way to Kansas in 1870 the story of Arthur, the youngest, is here to be told as briefly as possible.
The father took up his claim near the village of Wetmore in the northeast section of the state. At first the family lived in the covered wagon; then the father with the help of other settlers, built a one room sod house.
The prairie grass had been growing for unknown centuries. A plow with a cutting wheel would turn the sod over, then it would be cut into lengths suitable for handling, and the walls of the house built of these blocks of sod, and even the roof of the same material laid on rafters of poles.
Once a large snake was found inside the house back of the bed. Also, in a heavy rainstorm, the roof leaked so much that the children were placed on the bed and covered with the bedding; while the father held the horses with their heads inside the blanket covered door opening.
The family lived in this sod house for probably a year or more, during which time the father plowed and planted, and quarried stone on his land for a stone house. For weeks he would be away with his team and wagon, working at grading for a new railroad. Another child was born, and named Annie.
Stone sufficient for a house was ready. A cow had been secured. A flock of over 200 chickens had accumulated. The prospect was bright for establishing a home in one of the best farming sections of Kansas.
Then tragedy came into the family. The mother died suddenly and now lies in an unknown and unmarked grave. The father, discouraged, felt compelled to take the four children back east to be among their own people.
Arthur remembers distinctly the death of his mother and how he often cried for her on the long trip, by covered wagon, rail, and river, back to West Virginia. (Many times up through his boyhood years, when he saw other boys with their mothers, he would wander off alone and cry because he had no mother).
Upon arrival there, the father gave away the baby, Annie, to a couple who had no children of their own. Legal adoption was never thought of. The children were thus separated from this sister, and never saw or heard of her for fifteen years.
The father, leaving the three other children with relatives, went up the Ohio River to Wheeling to find work. He then sent back for the children, then aged about four, six and eight. They were placed on a river steamboat; and, unaccompanied, traveled for several days up the Ohio River. Arthur remembers only the end of the journey when his father carried him off the boat in his arms while tears streamed down his cheeks.
The little family lived in almost bare rooms – a cook stove, a table, a few chairs, and two beds. The sister, Hattie, was the only housekeeper from the time she was seven until nineteen. Those children never had a normal, healthy, happy childhood.
When Arthur was about seven and Hattie about nine, they were started in a school which was about a half hour’s walk away. They were often hungry; and in winter so cold they would cry as they walked or ran to school. Indeed, Arthur never knew what underwear was until he was in his teens.
The older brother, Lloyd, about twelve, worked in a factory with the father, and never got to go to school.
Neither of the children ever had any of the toys or playthings that children then, as now, usually received from parents and relatives – there was only the father, and no relatives, and no money except for bare necessities. So Hattie made her own rag dolls and played house with broken dishes.
Arthur never in his boyhood life had a sled or little cart or wagon, or toy of any kind except what he made himself. This, however, was not quite the hardship it sounds, because he did get a lot of pleasure and satisfaction out of trying to create his own playthings, though he had few tools and materials to work with; hence what he made was prized far more than many boys do now, who are surfeited with gifts of all kinds.
We has never forgotten one incident which nearly broke his heart. He and his boy playmates had a fad of makings chains out of cherry stones. The cherry stones were secured by hunting through back alleys where housewives sometimes threw them after canning, or by knocking on back doors and asking for them.
A cherry stone would be half imbedded in a piece of soft wood, and ground down by long patient rubbing on a sand step or curb, until one side was flat; then it would be turned over and the other side ground down the same way. The result was a thin ring. When several rings were made a slit would be made on one side – then the rings would be sprung together making links for a chain.
After weeks of tedious toil and patience Arthur had made a cherry stone chain over two feet long, and it was the joy of his heart. He was proud to show it to the other boys. One day in school he was slyly showing the chain to nearby boys and the teacher saw him. She promptly took the chain from him and threw it in the stove! No comment is necessary now. ?
The father was a member of church; took the children to church and Sunday school; and always voted the Prohibition ticket. But the burden of work and care on him was very heavy; and, sometimes when downhearted or discouraged, he would take a drink of beer or whiskey. One drink always meant more, and started him on a drinking spree that would last for weeks until he realized he would die if he did not stop. Then he would put himself into the hands of a physician for days, or even weeks.
At that time the city law for regulation of the saloon business forbade the serving of liquor to anyone if a member of the drinker’s family, in person, requested the barkeeper not to do so. So when Arthur was about twelve his father, after recovering from a drinking spree, said to him: “Now, Arthur, I don’t want to drink; I hope I’ll never get this way again; but, if I do – go with me, stay with me, and when I go into a saloon, go in with me and ask the barkeeper not to give me drink; he then will not dare do so because the law forbids him.”
Hence, when Arthur was twelve to thirteen, when he felt sure that his father was drinking again, he would follow him all over Wheeling, usually crying. When he saw him go into a saloon, he would dart up to the saloon, burst in the door, and say to the barkeeper:
“Don’t give that man any liquor!”
“Is that your boy?”
“Then it is against the law for me to give you liquor.”
Neither the saloon keeper nor the father ever abused Arthur. But the father would go outside meekly; and, there, beg him to let him have just one drink, promising that then he would go home.
Once, the father, more than half drunk, stood him up against a fence, peered at him through bleary eyes and said:
“Aren’t you an angel?”
“No,” replied Arthur.
“Yes, you are! You’re an angel sent by your mother in heaven to try to keep me from drinking.”
(Arthur, now after many years, thinks his father may have dimly sensed a divine truth).
Once the father was arrested and sent to the city jail; with Arthur hunting everywhere for him. Finally the father smuggled a note out through a friendly policeman, who delivered it to the house, and Arthur went to the jail with food and clothes for his father. He found him breaking stones on a rock pile. Arthur then carried word to the physician, who used his influence to get the father’s discharge, and then began treatment leading to recovery.
During these periods of recovery the father always asked that Arthur take care of him. Several time he was in such a critical condition, that the medicine had to be given every hour day and night for several days; then he would insist that Arthur promise to stay awake to give him his medicine – saying he knew he could trust Arthur if he promised. Only then would the father fall asleep.
One time, the two started in the morning to walk out into the country – no plan, no preparation, no lunch – just the thought that a long walk might be helpful. After noon the father became so weary that he nearly collapsed. They had to ask a farm woman for help. She kindly prepared a hot mustard-water foot bath; and prepared some food for both of them. They finally were able to walk back home.
Is it to be wondered at, that Arthur has had such a fear of liquor.
At that time economic conditions were such that, the needs of a middle class family were very closely related to the cash income. Food prices were low, it is true, but so were wages, and paid on a daily basis: consequently families of day workmen sometimes, had little or no surplus sometimes for months; due to strikes, or lack of orders.
During one of such periods Arthur’s father fished in the river all through one summer, using long trot lines which had a short line and hook every yard or so. These trot lines had a weight at each end, and were left there day and night. The father, in a row boat, would look over each trot line several times a day – take off any fish and rebait the hooks. Some of the fish helped provide food for the family, but most of them were sold from house to house by Arthur for 25 cents a string, thus bringing in a little cash.
Thus the family managed to exist when mills and factories were shut down. Public Relief was many years in the future. Had any kind of relief been offered this family it would have been resented as charity be every member of the family from the oldest down to the youngest. Arthur was too young to earn wages; Hattie, from the age of seven was the housekeeper; Lloyd and the father worked at whatever jobs they could get. ?
Wheeling was then known as “The Nail City.” In and around the city were probably a half dozen large nail mills, which, when running, needed a constant supply of kegs in which to ship the nails.
Arthur’s father was a skilled workman; with marked ability to repair and keep running all the complicated machines used in making staves and headings for the kegs needed by the steel mills. Consequently, his services were in demand when mills and factories were running.
When Arthur was about thirteen, the father secured a position as foreman of a stave factory in Benwood, an adjoining town. There also, Lloyd and Arthur were soon put to work.
The working hours were from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. This meant for all three, out of bed at 4 a.m.; a hurried breakfast; a walk of over three miles in the dark along a railroad; twelve long hours of work; then so tired they could hardly walk the long distance back home. Wages for Arthur were fifty cents a day. There were no child labor laws in those days.
At about fourteen Arthur took work in the furnace room of a glass factory in Wheeling. Glass melting is continuous, day and night. So, work is carried on twenty-four hours a day. This fourteen year old boy worked from 7 a.m. until noon; then tried to sleep in the afternoon, in a crowded, noisy neighborhood; then back to work from 6 p.m. until 11 at night. The wages were twenty-five cents for each five hour period. No work, no twenty-five cents.
The stave factory in Benwood having shut down, the father became foreman of another one in Wheeling. This factory was located on the river bank; which, there, was on a higher level than the residence section, a short distance back from the river. Soon the two boys also were working with the father in this factory.
In order to be near their work, the family moved into a four-room two-story house near the factory; but on the lower ground back from the river.
Practically every year, the Ohio River overflowed its banks; and in February 1884 occurred the worst flood ever known up to that time. In fact, the ’84 flood still ranks as among the highest in the river’s history.
Early one morning, the water began backing up through the sewers into the street gutters. The water level was rising more than a foot an hour, and all information indicated that this rate might continue all day.
The family carried up stairs everything except the heavy furniture and piled it on the beds and a table in the center of the floor. Then, before the water covered the sidewalks, the father started out on foot to try to find some kind of a boat.
Before noon the rising water had forced the three children to go to the second floor. Late in the afternoon the father came back in an old flat bottom boat and took them out through a second story window.
There was practically no organized public relief in those days. People living on higher ground opened their homes and took in those forced out of their houses by the flood. So this family was taken in by strangers, and for over a week lived with them in crowded rooms, sleeping on the floor. Food was provided by contributions, chiefly from wholesale groceries, and was distributed by voluntary relief committees.
After about two weeks the family was able to get back into their home, and found the lower floor covered with a thick layer of mud. The water had risen about half way up the walls of the second story, just high enough to topple over the table and dump everything into the water. Everything was damaged, some beyond repair. ?
After the flood subsided and the stave factory resumed operations; Arthur was placed at work on a machine called a stave-jointer. His wages were seventy-five cents a day.
Staves are sliced off a block of steamed wood by a machine called a stave-cutter, and have uneven edges. The stave-jointer is simply a large wide knife about twenty inches long, sliding rapidly up and down in a perpendicular frame, by means of an overhead crank and pulley.
The boy operator, sitting on a bench in front of the big knife, would place a stave on the bed plate; the down stroke of the knife would chop off the edge; the boy would quickly turn the stave over, to have the other edge chopped off; thus making a symetrical stave with even beveled edges.
This procedure goes on hour after hour on a kind of assembly line basis.
Wood working machinery has always taken its toll of maimed and injured operators. One day, while Arthur was feeding the staves to the jointer, another older boy who had taken a liking to him, came up behind him and began tickling him, pulling him backward off his bench. Arthur, squirming and kicking, threw his right foot over under the knife; off went half of the shoe, with all five toes straight across the foot; and the knife never stopped running.
In those days, there no factory safety laws, nor workmen’s compensation. Thus was this fifteen year old boy crippled for life.
Other boys working near him, were so scared that they all ran. Word quickly reached the father who was working in another part of the factory. He ran and found Arthur standing, dazed and moaning, with the cut foot up on the end of a wheelbarrow. Machinery was still running within a few feet of him. His father picked him up in his arms and carried him outside, where a tourniquet was applied to stop the bleeding.
In those days there were few public hospitals or ambulances; probably not one in the whole city of Wheeling – so, by horse and buggy Arthur was taken to a drug store, where, in a rear room, a surgeon operated on the foot; and he was then taken home, where he was placed on a bed in the living room.
Hattie was at home all day, but the father and brother had to be away at work. Neighbors and acquaintances came in and helped with the nursing; some sitting up all night, at first. They also brought food and delicacies. Here he had his first taste of bananas; brought to him by his Sunday school teacher.
He feared he might have to lie in bed for a long time; and, that for the rest of his life he would have to walk with a cane.
After about two weeks he was able to get out bed and slide around the floor holding up his foot.
For something to do, he began, with sand paper and scraper, to clean off the paint and varnish from the furniture damaged by the flood; and in a couple of weeks had most of it ready to be repainted by his father.
He was young and healthy and the cut was clean with no bruising; so, on the thirty-first day, he walked slowly to Sunday school.
The father was a natural born mechanic; practically no education, but a genius with machinery. He should have been a great inventor. At that time, many shoes were hand-made by the local shoemaker. So, the two together devised and made a shoe with a narrow steel plate between the soles extending nearly the full length of the shoe to keep the sole stiff. This arrangement was a success; and Arthur still wears that kind of a shoe, with a piece of cork in the toe space. Not only has he never needed a cane – but, he walks with only a slightly noticeable limp.
Within the year previous to Arthur’s accident two other teen-age boys had been maimed for life by the same stave-jointer. When the sticks were chopped off the edges of the staves they fell down into a rack attached to the back of the machine. When a small bundle had accumulated, a boy would father the bundle up in his arms and tie a heavy twine around it. These bundles were then sold for kindling-wood.
One boy, endeavoring to reach around a larger bundle than usual, thrust the side of his right hand under the knife; off went the side of the hand leaving only the index finger and the base of the second finger.
Another boy, in the same manner, thrust his hand under the knife; off went half of all four fingers; dazed the boy thrust his hand further and off went the base of the fingers straight across the knuckles.
And yet each of these three accidents, and probably others in preceding or succeeding years, could have been prevented by sheet iron shields, inexpensive and easily attached.
But when Arthur suggested something like this, he was told to keep quiet about it – that if the machines now were thus shielded it would call attention to their previous dangerous condition, hence might lead to damage suits against the factory owners. In fact there had been one such lawsuit over a boy killed in the stave factory at Benwood before his father was foreman there. A lawsuit which was long drawn out, at considerable expense, and never was settled. ?
In 1885, the father secured a responsible position as manager-foreman of a stave factory in the town of Cameron, West Virginia. This position provided a fair cash salary, but, only when the factory was running; in addition, there was the use of a house and garden, and pasturage, free of rent. So, the family moved there.
Lloyd, the older brother remained in Wheeling; where he worked in a glass factory, learning the trade of making artistic cut glass ware.
This stave factory employed about twenty men and boys; and was the leading industry of the town and surrounding country, as, its supply of oak and poplar wood was secured from nearby forests. As the manager of this industry, the father and the family enjoyed considerable social standing in the community. For the first time the children had pleasant associations with other young people.
In this factory the father put Arthur at a man’s job at $1.25 a day. Wood, to make staves, needs to be steamed for many hours in a closed steam box or room. His work was to open the door of the steam box; bend over so as to get under the live steam; dive quickly into the box; throw out some of the split logs; then out and close the door quickly.
All of this was under a shed roof open on all sides to the winter cold. Often, when he came out of this live steam, his clothing would almost instantly be covered with frost.
Gradually, also, he became proficient in doing any job around the factory, so that his father could place him on any machine or job when a boy or man failed to come to work; until the regular workman returned.
Here occurred another instance, illustrating the insatiable cruelty of open unshielded machinery, and the constant danger to the operator.
A boy, about sixteen, sitting on a bench, operating a machine which had a large revolving wheel, lost his balance and, instinctively throwing up his right arm, thrust it into the rapidly whirling spokes of the wheel. Instantly, the boy’s whole right arm was drawn into the wheel, torn and shredded clear up to his shoulder. And the machine never stopped running.
In this case, not only was the boy’s body crippled for life, but, mentally and spiritually he never recovered from the shock; and as he grew to manhood, he became the town derelict; pitiable, hopeless, vainly seeking forgetfulness and release in alcohol.
The assembly line work had to go on; so, after this maimed lad was carried out and on to him home, it became Arthur’s task to operate this same machine until another boy could be trained.
In this story it will have been noted that stave factories ran very irregularly. This was due to several causes, two main ones being; the uncertain supply of oak and poplar timber used for making staves and headings; and the shutting down – for various reasons – chiefly strikes and lack of orders; of the large nail mills which used the mail kegs.
During one period when the Cameron factory was shut down the father contracted to cut down oak trees in a nearby forest. He would chop down the trees; then he and Arthur, using a long cross cut saw, would saw the logs into the right lengths, and split them for use in making staves. Pulling one end of this cross cut saw was work entirely too strenuous for a small size sixteen year-old boy.
When the factory was idle, the Insurance Policy required a night watchman. Arthur became the night watchman at seventy-five cents a night; so, for weeks at a time he was up all night, and slept in day time on a pile of shavings in the factory. The home was not quiet enough.
Neither here nor in any previous work did he ever get any of the money he earned. But since this seventy-five cents was the only cash coming in for the home, at that time, it really was needed there.
Arthur is small of stature and body. He feels sure that his growth was stunted by all of this work before he had a man’s growth and strength, and by the lack of nourishing food. Vitamins were unknown then – but they existed, and a proper amount was needed then just as now; especially by an active, growing boy.
A small creek ran between the home and the railroad, and on down through the valley toward the Ohio River. Trying to get a little money of his own, he took to trapping muskrats along this creek, during the winter months; tending his traps as best he could early in the morning. He caught some from time to time, skinned them and dried the skins, then sold them to the local general store for ten cents each. He was allowed to keep this money and spend it as he wished; but it never amounted to much. ?
Hattie was now nearly nineteen and had been house keeper for the family for twelve years. However, the father married again, and brought into the home a stepmother with one child – a boy about fourteen. Soon friction began; probably each member being responsible to some extent. But the father was so stern that the children dared not say anything. It is not necessary to mention details, but, with no opportunity to talk things over there was nothing left but brooding, and ever increasing resentment and unhappiness.
In early August, 1887, Arthur decided to run away from home. So, one Thursday night – having told only Hattie, who secretly prepared as large a package of food as she could – he left a light burning in the factory, where he was still the night watchman, hurried uptown to the railroad station and stealthily climbed on the front end of a through westbound passenger train; a blind baggage car with no door to the platform. He did not have a cent of money. (Two other “tramps” were already there. It was that easy to join the hobo fraternity).
The Baltimore & Ohio railroad, going west, crosses the Ohio River at Bellaire, Ohio. There a guard caught him and put him of the train about 11 o’clock at night. He went out the railroad to the freight yards, climbed into an empty freight car, and soon was on his way, going west through Ohio.
He could not sleep all night. Whenever he thought of having to run away from home, he became depressed and lonesome and sat on the floor, or in the open doorway of the car, and cried and cried.
The train pulled into Newark, Ohio about 10 a.m. He climbed down from the car, and tried to wash off some of the grime and dirt in a nearby canal. All that day he wandered around the town, and even out into the country, trying to find work. All day he carried the lunch Hattie had prepared for him. He couldn’t eat. He was too full of emotion.
Late that evening he decided to go back home. He felt sure his father would not punish him, and he thought he might let him talk about the home conditions; and, he might receive better treatment.
But, he also, then and there made another decision; that, if he did not receive better treatment, he would wait until he could accumulate some money and then would leave again; and, if he ever left again, he would starve before he would go back.
The decision to return home eased the emotional strain; and he was very hungry. He had neither slept nor eaten for a day and a night. In the railroad freight yards, where he had gone to find another freight train going back east, he met another “tramp,” also wanting to go east. He, too, was hungry, so Arthur shared his lunch with him.
But both were still hungry. They boarded a freight train; and that night, when the train sidetracked to let another train pass it, Arthur got off and climbed over a fence into a garden. He was so hungry that he pulled up a half grown stalk of cabbage and gnawed on that; at the same time fearing that it might have Paris Green on it to kill worms.
The latter part of the night, the train crossed the Ohio River into West Virginia, the end of its run.
Arthur and his tramp friend, both still hungry, robbed a garden of a few potatoes, and several ears of half grown corn; built a fire in a culvert under the railroad, and roasted and ate the potatoes and corn. Then, they went into a wheat field and crawled under the edges of a stack of newly cut wheat (it was raining), and slept an hour or two.
This was only about eighteen miles from Arthur’s home in Cameron. Again the two climbed on a freight train going east, and were put off at the first stop, Glen Easton.
They were still hungry. Walking along the railroad track they found some food a railroad man had dumped from his dinner bucket – some slices of buttered bread and a piece of apple pie. They brushed off the dirt and cinders and ate it all. Arthur then went up into the town, where he went to a back door and asked for something to eat. The woman was friendly and gave him a generous slice of bread and butter and jam, which he took back to the other “tramp” and shared equally. (Arthur did not know it then, but he learned later, that this woman recognized him. She was a friend of his stepmother, and had visited her in the home in Cameron). They climbed on another freight train and were put off that one, two miles from Arthur’s home. They walked up the railroad and Arthur sent his new friend to a farm house, the home of Ingram Lough, where he knew a hungry person was never turned away. (The most sumptuous meal Arthur ever had was in this same log farm house the preceding Christmas).
Arthur went on to his home in nearby Cameron. When he walked into the house, Saturday about noon, Hattie was there alone.
“Where’s father?” he asked.
“He and Allie (the stepmother) have gone to Wheeling to hunt you.”
“He might have known I wouldn’t go to Wheeling, because I would know that’s the first place he would go to look for me.”
Midway between Cameron and Wheeling is Moundsville, where, a camp-meeting was held every summer, attended on Sundays by many hundreds. Special trains were run on the railroad. (On this same camp-ground, five years later, Arthur felt, and responded to, the call to the ministry). Hattie was to join the father and stepmother at camp-meeting the next day (Sunday), but she had only enough money for her own fare.
Arthur decided that would be the best place to meet his father; so, he went to a friend and borrowed a dollar; and, on Sunday morning when the crowded train stopped at the camp-grounds, where a crowd was at the station, he got off the train with Hattie.
The father was there in the crowd, and showed complete astonishment at seeing Arthur. When they met the following conversation ensued:
“Where did you come from?” asked the father.
“From home,” replied Arthur.
“Where have you been?”
“Out in Ohio.”
“Why did you come back?”
“I had no money, and couldn’t find work; and, also, I thought if I came back maybe we could talk over things, and conditions at home might be better.”
“Have you any money now?”
“No, I borrowed enough for the fare, but I have none now.”
“Well, here is some money; you will need to buy some lunch by and by.”
The father did not count the money. Never had he been known to do this before. A second time that day he did the same thing.
As they wandered over the camp-grounds, that Sunday, they talked freely, which also was unusual. Occasionally each would cry. So Arthur felt sure conditions would be better at home.
Conditions were better for a while. He continued as night watchman at the factory. He still received none of his wages, but he knew the money was needed at home.
In order to try to accumulate a little money, he would lie down at daylight; then, after a short sleep, he would take a bucket, walk two miles to a hillside where raspberries and blackberries grew wild, pick a bucketful, sell them for twenty cents in the nearby village; and then pick another bucketful to take back home. Then back to the factory for the night. This he did for several weeks until he had earned and saved a little over $2.00.
His father had given a calf to him for his own. After he had cared for it for about six months, a nearby farmer offered him $7.50 for it, and the offer was accepted; but before the money was paid, the father learned of the sale and took and kept the $7.50.
Then the father learned of the berry money – demanded and took that, also.
These, and other things, led Arthur to decide to run away again; but the winter was on, and he had to wait, and plan, and brood; and try to get some money together. He wasn’t given even a nickel for Sunday school – just two or three cents. The factory was running again and his daily wage was $1.25, but he never got even a cent of it. His father was the manager and handled all of the wages.
At Christmastime he was given fifty cents for the Christmas Sunday school collection. Can he be blamed if the Sunday school never received that fifty cents? He kept it for over three months. Then, in March 1888m he decided to leave home again. (The beginning of that trip is told in Chapter 1). ?
After bidding goodbye to Minnie Reese, at the Methodist Church in Cameron (as related in Chapter 1), Arthur went over to the railroad to wait for a train.
He had planned to get on a blind baggage car on the front end of a fast passenger train going west shortly after 9 p.m., just as he had done on the first trip the preceding August. But, he was delayed by being unable to locate Mr. Mackey; so , he did not get away on the passenger train.
After he met Mr. Mackey and received the $5.00, he waited and watched for a freight train going either way, as he must get out of Cameron some way.
Had he been able to start the trip as planned, going west on that passenger train, there would have ensued an entirely different course of events; and an entirely different story than here related.
About ten o’clock that night a freight train going east, pulled into the town, and Arthur climbed into an empty box car, and soon was rapidly traveling away from his home. The cold had become so intense that he would run from one end of the car to the other – back and forth – trying to keep warm. Then he would take off his overcoat, crouch down in a corner of the car, pull his overcoat around him, and try to sleep. Had he ever gotten to sleep, he probably would have frozen to death.
About daylight, the train pulled into Grafton, West Virginia, about one hundred miles from Cameron. He climbed down from his “Side door Pullman”, and was soon warming his benumbed body in front of a red hot stove in the locomotive round house.
He remained all that day in Grafton, waiting for another boy who had asked that he wait there for him; as he, too, was going to run away from home. That boy did not come. Had he done so, Arthur’s whole future life undoubtedly would have been entirely different. The other boy did leave later, and was killed on the railroad.
While sitting in the railway station that day, the door opened and Minnie Reese’s father came in, and walked across the room and out another door. He was a partner in a flour mill in Cameron, and made trips along the railroad to sell flour. He was elderly; a class leader in the Methodist Church; and, therefore, was considered to be very pious and strict.
Arthur quickly left the station and walked out into the residence section. He feared that if Mr. Reese should see him he might feel obliged to report it to the father back in Cameron.
Later, as Arthur was walking to the station, he started to cross a bridge. There, a short distance away, coming on to the other end of the same bridge, was Mr. Reese walking directly toward him. Quickly he turned around and darted down a side street. (Years later, when he told Mr. Reese of this incident, he said if he had seen him he would have given him money to help him on his way).
The weather had become warmer, melting the snow into wet slush. He bought a pair of rubbers for fifty cents; and at a small bakery shop, a hunk of ginger bread for ten cents. This was the first money paid out of the $6.50, which he had at the beginning of the trip.
At that time the main line, of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad, starting in Baltimore and going west across the Allegheny Mountains, branched at Grafton. One branch extending to the northwest went through Cameron and crossed the Ohio River at Bellaire, Ohio. The other branch extending to the southwest and crossing the river at Parkersburg, West Virginia. Arthur had come east on the branch from the northwest.
Towards evening of the same day, he saw a freight train slowly pulling out on the southwest branch. He climbed into an empty freight car and congratulated himself on getting out of the town so soon, and undiscovered.
But that night was even colder than the preceding one; so, when the train stopped to take water, he felt that he must get out and build a fire or he would freeze. Just then the conductor came along, and, thinking he might possibly be a kindhearted man, Arthur asked him if he might ride in the caboose. With an oath he ordered him to leave the car at once. He did so, and soon had fire burning close to the railroad. The station was locked up.
About three o’clock that night the telegraph operator came along the track, spoke pleasantly to him and opened up the station. Arthur went up to the station and asked permission to sit by the stove. The operator told him to come in and lie down on the bench near the stove and sleep until morning. In the morning the operator shared his breakfast with him, and told him a freight train would be along soon.
When this train came and stopped for water, Arthur climbed upon an open flat car loaded with lumber. When the train stopped from time to time, he was careful to keep out of sight of the train crew. However, once when the train was running very fast down a grade, the engineer blew the whistle for “down brakes”, Arthur, being familiar with the signals, was setting the brakes on his car, when the brakeman came hurrying back over the train to set the brakes on each car, and check the speed of the train. He said nothing to Arthur and went on. (There were no air brakes then).
The next time the train stopped, on a curve, Arthur was walking on the ground, on the outside of the curve, when he ran right into the conductor.
“See here, young fellow,” said the conductor, “I want you to stay off this train! I told that front brakeman to keep you off, and if you know what’s good for you, you will stay off.”
“All right,” said Arthur, “What town is this?”
“This is Petroleum; and it’s just the place you want to stay.”
The train must have waited nearly an hour on this siding. Arthur walked away from the conductor and went into the station. Of course his clothing was soiled and his face and hands dirty. And he was a lonesome, seventeen year old, country boy.
In the station was a small group of young people about his age; neatly dressed, and jolly and careless. He saw them sizing him up, and making remarks, and laughing at him. Greatly hurt, he soon left the station.
Outside, he saw the conductor going toward the caboose at the rear of the train. He walked on, and when the conductor was out of sight, he climbed up into a box car loaded with coke. He crawled back over the coke until he could not be seen, and thought he was in luck. He had to lie down on the coke – there was not enough room to stand up. After the train started again, bumping along, it wasn’t long until the lumps of coke seemed to find every bone in his body. About noon, the train pulled into the yards at Parkersburg; and he was glad to climb down and ease up his sore body.
The front brakeman came along; looked astonished, smiled, and said:
“Where in the hell did you come from?”
“Oh, I was in a car of coke back there.”
“Well! It’s a good thing for you that the conductor didn’t find you! When we were running slowly up that grade back there, he went over the whole train, from caboose to engine, looking on every bumper for you. Then he got off at the front end, and, as the train passed, looked on all the brake rods.”
“Well, he didn’t find me and I’m here.”
It was Sunday morning about eleven o’clock. Arthur went into the town, found a small store open; bought a bar of soap for five cents, and five cents worth of crackers. He was dirty and grimy from the trip, especially from the bed on the coke; so he used soap to wash up, and throughout the day ate the crackers.
He wandered around the town, and entered into conversation with a watchman at the gates of a large combination saw mill and flour mill; asking what chance there might be of getting a job in the mill; and was told the chances were poor. Several days later, he learned that his grandfather (his mother’s father), was working in that mill at that time. He was thus within a few hours time of seeing his grandfather, and never had another opportunity.
A cod, drizzling rain had begun; so, trying to find a place to spend the night, he wandered down to where the Little Kanawha River empties into the Ohio. Seeing a small towboat tied up, with a light in the cabin, he went on board and went upstairs to the upper deck. Through a glass door, he saw a big bearded man sitting at the supper table, and a woman waiting on the table. He knocked on the door and a gruff voice called:
“Are you the captain?” asked Arthur.
“Yes.” said the Captain.
“Captain, will you let me sleep on the boat? It is raining outside and I have no place to stay.”
“There’s the woman who takes care of the beds.”
“Oh, I don’t ask for a bed – all I want is to get under a roof out of the rain.”
That’s all right; the boat is tied up and there is little work to do, and there are plenty of empty beds; if she is willing, I am.”
She said she was willing. Then the Captain asked,
“Have you had any supper?”
“I ate some crackers a while ago.”
“Well, come and get some supper, and don’t leave in the morning until you have had breakfast.”
So he had a warm bed that night, and two good meals. Excellent food was served on those river boats. And the woman washed out and dried his socks – (the only pair he had). ?
The next day, Arthur started down the Ohio River, paying seventy-five cents for an all-day ride and two meals, on a small packet boat which made frequent stops at small landing places. A handkerchief waved from the shore would bring the boat to the shore for freight or passengers.
About dark this boat stopped for the night at Ravenswood, West Virginia – the very same town where the three little children had been put on a boat fourteen years earlier for the trip up the river to Wheeling.
Another small boat was tied up just below where the first boat stopped; and Arthur learned that it would be going on down the river the next day. He went on that boat; approached a group of men sitting outside the engine room, and asked whether he might stay on the boat all night, then work his way down the river to Clifton the next day. He was told to wait around and ask the mate.
The engineer, a big gruff man with a long beard, said:
“What are you doing, a young boy like you, running around the country like this?”
“I’ll tell you and I’ll tell you the truth,” replied Arthur. “I have a stepmother at home, and conditions were so unsatisfactory that I ran away from home.”
“You did just right!” said the engineer, with an oath. “You did just right! You stay here in the engine room where it is warm, and I will speak to the mate.”
Arthur slept on the engine room floor that night. While the room was warm, the floor became very hard before morning.
Incidentally, after the sleeping arrangements had been settled, Arthur went up into the town to a revival meeting going on in the Methodist Church, where his uncle had once been pastor.
The next day he was permitted to work his way south on this boat. He still was wearing the two full suits and the overcoat, and looked almost a man’s size. Anyway, the work was that of a man, and was almost too much for him. About noon this boat arrived at Clifton, West Virginia, which, he thought, was the place of his mother’s old home; and also, where his sister Annie had been separated from the family.
Going up into the town, he began to inquire for an aunt, whose name he remembered, and was directed to the old Edwards homestead – his mother’s own family. He knocked on the door and a woman opened it.
“Are you Mrs. Stanley?” he asked.
“I am,” she answered.
“Well, I think you are my aunt.”
“Why, this is not Arthur Chenoweth! Is it?”
“That’s my name.”
“Well! Well! Come in, Arthur!”
Another aunt, Mrs. Crawford, also was living in the same house. They all were eager to hear his story. So he told them about home conditions and why he ran away. Of course, they believed him, and sympathized and why he ran away. OF course, they believed him, and sympathized with him – for was he not their deceased sister’s own child?
He had no baggage; was still wearing his two suits and overcoat; and probably looked dirty and unkempt. Mrs. Stanley took him into another room where he could wash up. He took off the outer suit, soiled and wrinkled by freight train and coke car travel, and came out wearing his better suit, clean and tidy. He was gratified to hear one aunt whisper to the other, “Why, he has good clothes.”
They then told him his sister Annie lived in Cincinnati, and that, just across the river from Clifton, in Middleport, Ohio, lived Captain Joe Burnsides who knew where Annie was in Cincinnati. They thought his boat was then down the river at Point Pleasant; just about ready to start for Cincinnati with a tow of barges loaded with coal.
Soon after arrival at Clifton, Arthur wrote to Minnie Reese and his sister Hattie. Within a week, a reply came in which Hattie told him that the night he left, when his father learned that he had not come home; he woke her up about 3 a.m. and told her:
“Arthur has not come home. His best clothes are gone. He has run away again. He will run around until he has worn out all his clothes and then come back. He will never amount to anything, anyway.”
That remark, too, became a strong influence in Arthur’s life. He said to himself, with considerable determination: “All right, Dad, I may never amount to much; but I’m not going to go to the bad; and I’m not going back home!”
While waiting for Hattie’s reply to his letter, he worked one day in a salt works warehouse, shoveling bulk salt to load a river barge. For this day’s work, he received a credit slip, good for a dollar’s worth of goods at the Salt Company store. He got a cap, and gave the balance of the credit to his aunt. Thereafter, the shoes that he wore that day (the only paid he had) exuded salt every time they got wet, as long as they lasted.
Before leaving Clifton, he also bought a cheap valise, in order to protect his best suit of clothes; and to carry the few things he had. He was guarding carefully the balance of the $6.50 he had when he started on the journey. ?
Arthur was now ready to start on the trip to Cincinnati. He had a letter of introduction to Captain Jo Burnside, whose boat was named “Thomas W. Means”, and was supposed to be at Point Pleasant, where the Kanawha River empties into the Ohio. He paid seventy-five cents on another small packet boat, and arrived at Point Pleasant before noon.
He walked over to the mouth of the Kanawha River; and saw up the river, among other boats, one with a big letter “M” between the smoke stacks. Thinking that must be the “Means” he walked on quickly. It was not the “Means”, but, the “George W. Matheson.” Upon inquiry, he was told that the “Means” had been gone about a week, and that the “Matheson” was to leave for Cincinnati that night.
He went on board the “Matheson”; asked the name of the Captain, and whether he could see him. He was told that” the Captain’s name was Wright, and he was over in the town, but would be back soon for his dinner.
Arthur went to the upper deck; sat down on a coil of rope; and was eating some lunch his aunts had fixed for him, when a man came up the stairs. He spoke pleasantly to Arthur, and went back into the cabin. He felt sure that must be the Captain, so he waited.
About an hour later, when this man came back, Arthur stepped up to him and asked, “Is this Captain Wright?”
“Yes”, he replied.
“Captain, will you let me work my way to Cincinnati on your boat?”
“I can’t do that. It is against the rules; and I might get into trouble if I permitted it.”
But, he did not send him away, nor did he leave. So Arthur waited.
“Why do you want to go to Cincinnati?”
“I want to try to find work there. Also, I have a sister there that I haven’t seen for many years, and I want to see her.”
“You can’t get any work in Cincinnati. When I was there a few weeks ago, men were walking the streets looking for work. No, I am afraid I can’t permit it.” But still, he did not send him away.
After further hesitation, Captain Wright asked, “What is your sister’s name?”
“Annie Kallam,” said Arthur.
“What? Why I know her!” said Captain Wright, with astonishment – “I board with her aunt when I am in Cincinnati. Have you had any dinner?”
“I ate some lunch awhile ago.”
“Then go back to the dining room and eat some dinner.” Calling back to the cook he said: “Give this boy some dinner, than let him help you with your work.”
Was this all merely coincidence? This boy had started from his home 300 miles away, less than two weeks previously, with only a vague idea as to where he was going. He had planned to hop a passenger train going west; but had been compelled, by a minor circumstance, to board a freight train going east. He had stopped a whole day in one town, waiting on another boy who didn’t come. Had been put off two freight trains. Had spent a day and a night in another town, and had tried to find work there. Had traveled two days on two different river boats. In another town had written home and waited a whole week for the answer. Had proceeded on a third river boat. Had been given a letter to the Captain of one boat only to find that boat had gone. And now meets another Captain within a few hours of the departure of his boat for Cincinnati. Neither this Captain, nor the boy, had ever heard of each other. And this Captain knew the boy’s sister and where she lived in Cincinnati!
About dark, the boat started for Cincinnati, 300 miles down the river, with its tow of barges loaded with coal.
After supper, Captain Wright said, “I’ll have to find a place for you to sleep.”
He took him into a cabin with two berths, -- one above the other, and told him to sleep in the upper one. Then hesitated: “No, the night pilot sleeps in the lower berth and you might disturb him. You come with me.”
The Captain took him to his own private cabin, which had a wide double berth, and said, “You crawl over there in the back.”
So Arthur slept with the Captain of the boat all the way to Cincinnati!
When they arrived, about eight o’clock on a Friday night, Captain Wright took him, and, pointing to a street leading straight up from the river, said: “That is Central Avenue. You go straight up Central Avenue until you come to this number. That is Mrs. Martin’s. That is where I board. Mrs. Martin is Mrs. Kallam’s sister. Tell Mrs. Martin who you are, and that Captain Wright sent you. She will take care of you tonight; and tomorrow, she will take you to your sister.
Before leaving the boat, Arthur put on his best suit of clothes which had been in his valise. This greatly pleased Captain Wright, who said he was glad that he had better clothes as he wanted him to make a good impression.
On the way up Central Avenue, he came to a barber shop; and, influenced by Captain Wright’s remark, he went in and had his hair cut; then ordered a shave, (the first time in his life) which brought smiles and amused remarks from the men in the shop. He was indignant when the barber charged sixty-five cents. This was a normal price but he didn’t know it, and he was shocked at this depletion of his money.
He easily found the address on Fifth Street, and when he gave Mrs. Martin Captain Wright’s message she received him pleasantly; made a place for him to sleep; and the next morning after breakfast, took him to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Kallam.
Annie was working in the office of the Union Central Life Insurance Company so they did not meet until she came home in the evening.
They were both too young then to realize completely what a dramatic moment this was for each one. For Arthur it was the fulfillment of the fifteen years long dream of Hattie and himself; and the successful ending of the search which began when he left his home in Cameron. For Annie it was the shock of being suddenly confronted by a boy a little older than she, about whom she had never heard; and being told that he was her brother. It really took some years for her to become adjusted to this new relationship.
In retrospect, the drama in this meeting with Annie; as well as in the happenings of the entire trip from Cameron to Cincinnati is quite apparent.
In just three weeks: he had traveled 200 miles on the B. & O. railroad on three different freight trains; about 500 miles on the Ohio River on four different steamboats. Starting with $6.50 he had over $3.00 when he reached Cincinnati – and he had not once been hungry! And he had found the sister about whose location he knew practically nothing when he started.
When he told the story of his trip to Mrs. Kallam she said: “Surely, God must have been watching over you.” Arthur still thinks so. And he thinks also, that spiritual principles governing life in heaven, permitted that angel mother to watch over him then, and all through his life. ?
Arthur landed in Cincinnati on a Friday night. The next Tuesday he got a job in a candy factory at $3.50 a week. He gave Mrs. Kallam $2.50 a week for board; thus leaving only $1.00 a week for his clothing and personal expenses.
But he was in a great city and was interested in everything about him. He sent word back to Hattie that he had found Annie; and he had frequent letters from Hattie and Minnie Reese. For a few months he was contented and happy.
When the children were separated, fifteen years before, Annie was too young to have any recollection of her sister and brothers. Mr. and Mrs. Kallam had reared her as their own child. Annie knew she was not; but all of her friends and acquaintances supposed she was the child of Mr. and Mrs. Kallan. Now, at the age of sixteen, an older brother with a different name, turns up, who has to be accounted for. Of course it was embarrassing for her.
Arthur soon sensed something was wrong. Then, when he learned that Annie’s friends spoke of him as her cousin, he decided it would be best to live away from her. So he went to another part of the city, several miles away, where he rented a small hall bedroom for fifty cents a week. This arrangement separated him from Annie’s social group, though of course he went back to see her from time to time.
He lost his job in the candy factory. Then he became a newsboy for a morning paper on weekends; and, on Sundays, sold Sunday papers on the streets. The morning paper went bankrupt. Then he found a job in a brass foundry; then a harness factory; but continued to sell the Sunday papers.
His boss in the harness factory was a German. Every Saturday afternoon the boss took him to a saloon near the factory, where the boss got his check cashed, and paid him his wages. Arthur never drank anything but he did eat all he could get a t the free lunch counter, which most saloons had at that time.
Thus, he managed to live, and eat, and clothe himself; and, though often lonely, still continued to be affected by the glamour of the city.
Here was this boy, from a home where he had had little liberty; with a father who was so strict that the children were practically forbidden the usual social life with other young people; now, all alone in a great city – no one to say a word if he stayed out all night, or many nights.
He and another boy from the harness factory, had become enamored of playing pool. Every dime either could spare was spent for a game of pool. Pool tables, then, were always in saloons or beer halls. The game cost nothing but the loser had to spend ten cents at the bar. Neither of the boys drank beer, so they took some soft drink. The two boys had a quarrel and separated. Arthur had no other chum, or close friend.
One Sunday evening he was wandering along Vine Street – “Over the Rhine” – the theater and concert hall district of Cincinnati. He was lonely and depressed. He went into a public library reading room and tried to find something to read; but couldn’t find anything which interested him. Wondering what to do, he thought of a Methodist Chapel he had seen near his room, and decided to go there for the evening service. (Old Findlay Chapel in the West End on Clinton Street). It was a long walk, but he arrived before the service began. The old sexton at the door spoke to him kindly, and introduced him to a young man named Frank Stevens who went into the Chapel with him. After the service, Frank invited him to come to Sunday school the next Sunday. He went, and soon was one of a group of fine, clean, ambitious young men, and women. One of that group became a prominent lawyer, and another became a Congressman.
That was before the days of the Epworth League; but these Methodist young people there, had enough initiative to organize themselves. They called it the Y.P.A. (Young People’s Association). They invited him to become a member.
The Y.P.A. held regular religious meetings in the church e very Sunday; and, once a month, a social or literary meeting in the church, or a home; which occasionally opened the way for him to get into the wholesome atmosphere of respectable homes.
One night the Y.P.A. hired a large furniture van, drawn by four horses, to take them back into the hills for a country party, in a large farm house. His share of the expenses was $1.50, which was about one third of his weekly wages. He stepped down from that van at six a.m. and had to hurry to get breakfast and to his work in the harness factory. But how he did enjoy that party!
He still sold papers on Sunday morning. (He needed the money). But he did not want those young people to know it. They had taken him into their social affairs as one of them, without question, and he wanted to pay his share of the expenses. When he got a raise in his wages, he stopped the Sunday papers. Those young people never knew what their friendship meant to that lonesome boy!
The Cincinnati Musical Festival, held every winter in Music Hall was the social and cultural event of the year. Arthur had no knowledge of classical music then, and has little more even now; and little money to pay admission. But he managed to attend several sessions.
Once he took a day off from work and went by train to a camp-meeting to hear Dr. T. DeWitt Talmadge. What a marvelous speaker and orator he was!
And so this country boy found many things of interest in this great city, which now come crowding back in memory; but which could easily become monotonous if related here. ?
When the family moved from Wheeling to Cameron, the older brother was working in a glass factory, learning the trade of glass-cutter; becoming a highly skilled workman, grinding or cutting the patterns of expensive cut glass. He remained in Wheeling; and, later became one of a group of glass men, executives and workmen, who went to Fostoria, Ohio, and started a new glass factory. (this was the Fostoria Glass Company, which now has a great reputation as makers of high class glass ware).
The brother was foreman of the cutting shop. He wrote Arthur offering him a job, and he went to Fostoria in September, 1889. Natural gas fuel had brought six glass factories, and other industries, to this small town of about 8000. About $50,000 a month paid to glass workers alone in wages, made a live, busy, thriving community.
Here, Arthur felt that he really began to live. The first Sunday found him in the Methodist Church. This was also the first Sunday for a new Methodist pastor, Henry C. Jameson. He was young and eloquent, a regular firebrand of a preacher. Every Sunday for the regular services, both morning and evening, every seat in the church was taken. People stood in the rear and in the aisles; and others were turned away. This interest continued for five years.
This preacher deeply stirred Arthur spiritually, emotionally, and mentally. Revival meetings were held that winter; and over 300 were brought into the Church. Arthur was one of these, and he never has questioned for a moment the religious experience that came to him that winter, and has remained through the years.
He took part, as the way opened, in the Church activities; became a member of the Epworth League, (which had just been organized in Cleveland); and was welcomed by the young people of the Church and community.
He became a member of the Glass Employees Association of America, a new organization taking in the non-skilled workmen. (Skilled workmen were in the American Flint Glass Workers Union). He was made the Secretary; was sent as a delegate to the Annual Meeting in Pittsburg; and there, was elected the National Secretary; which office he held one year. Then he became an apprentice to learn the trade of glass cutter; which took him into the membership of the older union as a skilled workman.
While on the trip to Pittsburg, he went back to Cameron; not in rags and penniless, but with good clothes; not much money; but with a place of respect and responsibility among his associates in Church, society, and labor.
He had been a little apprehensive about the first meeting with his father and stepmother; and the possible embarrassment of the walk from the railway station down through the town to his home. But the train on which he arrived stopped on a siding right in front of his home, on the edge of town, in order to let another train pass; so, he got off the train there, and walked across the bridge over the creek and up the hill to the house, where he was received kindly by his stepmother.
The stave factory was running, so he at once walked down the hill and across the intervening field, and into the factory. Of course, all the workmen were surprised. His father was bending over a machine repairing it. He looked up, nodded, and said, “How do you do?” Probably he was more nervous than Arthur was; for the meeting was a surprise to him, while Arthur was prepared for it. He continued his work on the machine, while Arthur walked out into the engine room, and greeted the engineer. Then, his father came, and greeted him more pleasantly.
During Arthur’s absence, his sister Hattie had married a young farmer and was in a home of her own. Minnie Reese was still at home, and was happy to welcome him. She was deeply interested in his adventures to which she had given so much help and encouragement. She later married a merchant of the town. They, and practically all others who helped, have long since passed away. ?
The supposedly inexhaustible natural gas began to fail, and in the summer of 1892 the glass factory was moved from Fostoria to Moundsville, West Virginia. Arthur went along with the factory; and, thus found himself back in the section where his early life had been spent.
There he took his place in the Church life; and in agitation for Prohibition, actively carried on by a group in Moundsville, which went out into the hills and valleys, holding prohibition meetings in country school houses and churches.
The camp-grounds, mentioned previously, were within walking distance of the glass factory, and, for the special evangelistic services, he was there practically every night and all day Sunday. The walk there and back, time after time, was spent in deep thought and much prayer. He was fighting against the call to the ministry.
The evangelist was Dr. Louis Albert Banks – one of America’s great evangelists – deeply spiritual, not sensational. During the last service, kneeling at the altar for the Communion, Arthur yielded. And he has never doubted that call, nor regretted that decision.
To become a minister, he knew he must go to college. He did not have even a High School education. He was engaged to be married. He wrote to his fiancée, and even took a quick round trip to Fostoria to see her. She was unwilling to postpone the marriage, so back again he went at Christmastime, and they were married.
Jessie was eighteen and Arthur was Twenty-three. In Moundsville, they lived in three rooms over a store. They had only the absolutely necessary furniture, but they were very happy.
Arthur frequently had gone to nearby towns on the river and the railroad, selling various things on Saturdays, holidays, or when there was no work at the glass factory.
After Jessie came, twice he borrowed a horse and buggy; and they took two over-night trips through the West Virginia hills to back country farms; selling towels, table cloths and bed spreads, made by a small cotton mill in Moundsville. Interesting happy trips in perfect weather and through beautiful picturesque mountain scenery.
When the glass factory closed for the summer they decided to go back to Fostoria.
While in Moundsville Arthur had become acquainted with the proprietor of a small factory making glass letters for signs on store windows, also, with the owner of a factory making mineral wool for insulating purposes – one of the earliest of its kind. He became the agent for each of these products when he and Jessie returned to Fostoria.
He made and sold two large window signs for the largest store in Fostoria. Also, he sold the mineral wool, through samples by mail, to several firms in Ohio; and, a full carload to a refrigerator firm in Cincinnati.
They had little money, however, so he had to find some work quickly. (There were no Relief Funds in those days. It was work or go hungry). But they never went hungry!
His first work was in a curtain pole factory, about two miles from his home. This work was too heavy for his slight body. Many times, walking home, after the day’s work, he was so tired he thought he must sit down and rest; but was afraid, if he did, he would not be able to get up again. The wage was $1.25 a day. After about three weeks he had to quit this work. It was just too heavy for him.
Then, the one remaining glass factory in Fostoria resumed operations, and he had work there for several months until it shut down.
From the local Express Agent he received a letter to a peach grower near Cleveland; went to see him and contracted to sell his peaches in Fostoria. From another friend, he secured an old spring wagon; and, from the Singer Sewing Machine Agent, an old lame horse for the cost of his feed.
Then, he and a brother-in-law became partners in selling peaches. When the peach season ended, they sold apples. The brother-in-law soon dropped out of the firm; then Arthur sold potatoes until the cold weather set in. Meantime, the Sewing Machine Agent said he would have to sell the horse. Arthur offered him $5.00. He said he could not report to the head office a horse sold for $5.00! They finally agreed on $7.50.
At Christmastime, he worked in a large department store for about three weeks. When the Christmas trade was ended, the proprietor told him he had a large stock of brooms. The broom-corn crop the previous season had been a failure, and brooms were sure to rise in price. He offered to stock him up with brooms to be paid for when sold. Arthur was to use his horse and wagon, and sell the brooms to country stores.
So he started out in an open wagon, in the coldest part of the winter, across flat country with nothing to break the bitter cold wind; the old horse sometimes stumbling along three legs. But, he sold his first load and sent back for more. He returned in about two weeks with the entire stock of brooms nearly all sold.
His father-in-law offered him $10.00 for the old horse, so he sold him.
Then a butcher, a member of the Methodist Church, proposed that he make regular country-style pork sausage; and Arthur sell it from house to house. He began, carrying the sausage in a basket. Soon he had enough business to need a hand cart. But success was too much for the butcher. He began to put beef in the “pork sausage”, and when Arthur learned this, he quit selling it.
Years afterwards, as a returned missionary, he was to give a missionary address in a county seat town in Ohio; judges, lawyers , and county officials were in the audience; the pastor in introducing him said, “When I first knew this man he was pushing a hand cart through the streets of Fostoria selling sausage.” ?
Arthur and Jessie were very happy in their small but comfortable home. But during all this time they kept thinking about finding some way for him to get to college. When they married, neither one realized how difficult it would be to earn a living, and at the same time get a college education.
After considering many plans, he decided he might make it by selling men’s clothing – running a tailor’s agency. He was working in the glass factory again. He took the Agency of Wanamaker and Brown, Philadelphia Mail Order Tailors. They sent him a supply of cloth samples; and a barber friend offered him the use of a large show window. The samples were placed in the window, and Arthur was there in the evenings and on Saturdays, to take orders.
No capital was needed. He didn’t have any. He took the measures for a suit; sent in the order, delivered the suit, collected the money, kept his profit, and sent the cost of the suit to the tailors.
The factory work again stopped. He rented an upstairs office room on Main Street; began to get some orders, and it looked like he could use this business for their support, and go to college at the same time.
Meantime, Jessie’s health began to fail. A kidney ailment which was common in that section, due to drinking water from wells sunk into the underlying lime stone. Then a baby boy was born the latter part of October 1895. An event which usually brings joy and gladness to a home, in this case added to the anxiety over Jessie’s rapidly weakening condition.
Her parents and sisters joined in helping in her care; but Arthur devoted his whole time to her until she died early in November.
When Jessie’s body lay in their little home he stood alone – looked around the home which now was broken up, and said to himself: “The only happy home I ever had, and now it is gone – only the memories of less than three years of love and happiness – but those memories, at least, can never be taken away.”
A favorite elderly aunt, who liked him, was very ill; he helped take care of her until she died in November.
Meantime Arthur and baby Paul had been taken into the home of Jessie’s parents. Her sister Elizabeth was still at home. All joined in the tenderest care of the tiny mite of humanity, with the frequent presence of the doctor; but he died in January. His life had been so short that it seemed natural to place his tiny body in the same grave close to his mother.
That grave has had flowers on it every Memorial Day for more than fifty years.
Life and death! How closely they are related! While Jessie’s body lay in their home waiting to be tenderly given back to mother earth, her older sister Blanche, in her home on the same street only a block away, gave birth to a baby girl. Of course the baby was named Jessie. She grew to be a lovely woman, and even while a working girl in a local railroad office, was honored by election to the office of Grand Matron of the Order of the Eastern Star, for the State of Ohio. She now holds an important office in the State Government at Columbus.
Arthur’s health was nearly ruined. He put a partition across his office, making a place to live and sleep. Gradually, through the winter, health came back. Considerable business came to him, and he began to clear off debts caused by the unusual expenses of sickness and death.
When he asked the physician, Dr. J.H. Norris, what his bill was, saying he would pay it as soon as he could. Dr. Norris said: “Now, Arthur, don’t you every say anything about the bill again until I do. I have been told, that once in the Epworth League Cabinet, when some things were said against me, you said some things in my favor. Your words then were worth more to me than any money could ever be. So there is no bill to pay; and I want you to let me give you medical attention whenever you need it. There will never be any charge.”
For four years he had been trying to find a way to get started at Ohio Wesleyan University, Delaware, Ohio. Now he had only himself to support; so he felt he must be in college when it opened in September, 1896.
He went to Delaware in the spring. A friend there helped him meet some of the students, and he took some orders for clothes.
One student said: “Chenoweth, why don’t you try to get the contract to provide the uniforms next year for the college cadets?” He was then the Agent for the Globe Tailoring Company of Cincinnati. He went to Columbus to confer with the State Agent as to the procedure, and both went after the contract and got it. So that made some business sure during the next college year.
CHAPTER 17 - College Life
September found him in Delaware. He was still several hundred dollars in debt. He had rented a room for both business and living. No room rent paid in advance. No money to pay board. He had bought and borrowed, used books. He had borrowed from the Children’s Day Fund of the Board of Education, for the first term’s college fees.
On his way to the first lesson hour, when he came in sight of Gray Chapel up on the hill, he put his hand in his pocket to see how much money he had, and brought up ten cents! He looked up at the college buildings and said aloud: “Thank the Lord I am here!”
He had never been in High School. Ahead of him were three years preparatory work, and four years of college work; before he could graduate – and he was twenty-seven years old. He has never been able to sing. He cannot carry a tune. He had recently gone through the saddest experiences that ever come to anyone. But, there was a song in his heart that day that never ceased.
Many years later, at St. George’s Church (Episcopal) in New York City, he heard Harry T. Burleigh, famous Negro baritone, sing “The Psalms.” The Hosanna climax expresses something of what he felt that first day in college.
Is it not true that, by the laws of spiritual psychology, sadness and grief prepare the sensitive soul for joy and rejoicing? The one may be so closely connected with the other as to seem complementary parts of the same emotion. One who has the capacity to suffer much, also has the capacity to rejoice much.
He has never stopped thanking God for the privileges and experiences, and blessings, that were his in that college. And the close associations with teachers who were great men and women; and with students, many of whom have since become great.
He had been hemmed in before, “cribbed, cabined and confined,” and didn’t know it. But soon all horizons fell down, disappeared – intellectual horizons, spiritual horizons – extended out until there seemed no limits to the intellectual and spiritual possibilities of the human mind and soul!
Of course it was hard, exhausting work. Several times his health nearly broke. With no money to be had except what he could earn there – it seemed like a case of lifting himself by his own boot-straps.
He took a laundry agency; and even before classes opened, he began soliciting the boys for their laundry. He carried the packages in his arms, and delivered the clean laundry in the same way. Part of every amount collected was his.
As a part of his clothing business, he advertised to press and crease pants for ten cents. This was a boon to the college boys, many of whom had little money, but still wanted to look neat; so he soon was taking in several dollars every Saturday.
When the commissions on the uniforms began to come in, he discontinued the laundry agency; but kept the pants pressing business all through his college course, arranging with another student to do that work during the last two years.
In addition to the clothing agency business, he carried on other projects from time to time.
He led in organizing a representative committee to select an official college pennant; then arranged for the making of the pennant, and sold over two hundred just before a big debate with Ohio State. He found, and bought a lot of canes in Columbus, and sold about the same number of canes with the pennants.
Each year he secured the contract to furnish the caps and gowns for the Senior Class. Incidentally, each year he had himself sworn in as a Special Policeman of the town; so as to protect the gowns from the Junior Class until they could be delivered to the Seniors.
Through his acquaintance with a Michigan potato merchant, while in Fostoria, he arranged to sell winter potatoes to the Delaware grocers, and that fall sold six carloads.
During his Senior year, he became the preacher in a country church, holding a Sunday morning service every two weeks.
During the college summer vacations: One year he worked in a glass factory in Morgantown, West Virginia; another, he sold books in Ohio; another, he compiled and published a Directory of the membership of William St. Methodist Church, Delaware; two other were spent in the College Summer School.
In addition to all these activities, as well as taking part in Literary Society, Y.M.C.A., and local church work; he carried extra studies, and completed the seven years course in five.
Even though he was quite openly working his way through college, and often had no money for some of the college social events, practically the entire college body, both teachers and students, gave him their respect and regard; and many of them were close friends then, and through future years.
A number of times President Bashford summoned him for conference about student matters. One incident in particular stands out: A student was about to be expelled, charged with breaking one of the college rules. He was one of Arthur’s close friends, a member of the same boarding club.
One evening George Walk, Fred Koch, and Arthur, walked away from the club together. Koch was greatly depressed. He was specializing in Elocution and Oratory, which his father disapproved. The next day he was to be expelled and would go back home in disgrace; all because of a misunderstanding which he had not been able to explain satisfactorily to the Faculty Committee.
All three felt sure, that, if President Bashford could be reached with a full explanation, the whole matter would be cleared up.
Walk said, “Fred, I would try to see Bashford tonight; but you and I are members of the same Fraternity, and he would think it was just one Fraternity brother interceding for another.”
After further conversation, Arthur said, “Well, Fred, I’m not a Fraternity brother; and I think I have Bashford’s confidence; I will try to see him tonight.”
Koch said, “Chenoweth, that is more than I would ask of you; but if you choose to do it, I will be eternally grateful, regardless of the result.”
Arthur thought it best to go to Dr. Bashford’s home without telephoning. When he arrived there, he was told that Dr. Bashford was at his office in the college. On arrival at the college, the office was locked and dark. He walked down through the main business street toward his own office, and on the way met Bashford. Arthur asked him whether he would come to his office for a few minutes, so that he could confer with him about one of the students. He replied, “Of course I will.”
It was a bitter cold night, and for over an hour they sat close to an air tight wood stove. Dr. Bashford thanked him for the explanation, and said that would change the whole thing. He said he would send for Koch the next day and call off the expulsion.
George E. Walk, now retired, for many years was Dean of Teachers College of Temple University, Philadelphia. Frederick H. Koch, now deceased, became the head of the Department of Dramatic Art of the University of North Carolina; and was especially noted as the founder and director of “The Carolina Playmakers”, which travelled widely; giving plays dramatizing the Folk Tales of the South, as well as legends and stories of other sections. From this group have come many, now noted, on stage and platform. ?
One who has never gone through a college, and especially a Christian college, can little realize and evaluate the influence of certain teachers and fellow students on a developing mind and spirit. An influence that may be little noticed at the time, but is felt more and more as the years pass. For Arthur to mention all who had a deep and lasting effect on him, especially in those first years, would make too long a list to be practicable in this story. But the story would be incomplete without mention some:
Above all, President James W. Bashford -– orator and preacher. What an inspiration to sit at his feet!
How he would like to go on and mention many more, but that, while gratifying to him, would make the story overlong.
During his fourth year in college he was sent as a delegate to a Conference of Y.M.C.A. workers at Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. There, under the influence of his associate delegate, J.E. Baldridge, and that never equaled group of leaders in work among students and young people: John R. Mott, S. Earle Taylor, E.T. Colton, Robert P. Wilder; he became a Student Volunteer for Foreign Missions.
During his final year, Arthur was honored by his election as President of the College Y.M.C.A.; the one college-wide organization among the men. ?
Turning the story back a couple of years, there occurred a series of events which not only changed Arthur’s entire future life, but also changed United States history – and indeed World history – for possibly hundreds of years thereafter.
The morning papers of February 16, 1898, told of the sinking of the U. S. Battleship Maine, in Havana harbor. He read the news on his way to breakfast at the club; and at breakfast there was much excited talk among the students. A little later came the declaration of war against Spain; and, on May 1st, 1898, Admiral Dewey sank the Spanish fleet in Manila Bay.
The immediate effect of all this on Arthur, as well as upon many of the students, was a strong desire to volunteer (many did) for the armed forces. He even went to the military camp in Columbus to try to hurry enlistment; only to be promptly rejected because of having no toes on his right foot – the result of the stave factory accident when he was fifteen.
But, even so, the blowing up of the Maine in Havana harbor, and Dewey’s victory in Manila Bay, did profoundly affect his whole life.
Two years later (1900) he was chosen by a committee of faculty and students, as the college/missionary representative in the Foreign Field, with a promise of approximately a thousand dollars a year toward his support.
He was accepted by the Board of Foreign Missions for service in the new mission being opened in the Philippines; just two years after Dewey’s victory in Manila Bay.
At the Central Ohio Conference, held in Ada, Ohio, in September, 1901, he was received on Trial and admitted into Full Connection. Then, in the same hour was ordained Deacon and Elder – all under the Missionary Rule.
Back in Fostoria, in 1896, when his friends and associates in Church and Epworth League work learned that he was planning to go to college, many were interested and spoke words of encouragement.
One of the young women in the League, a teacher in the Public Schools, who knew all about his marriage and the death of his wife and child, told him she thought it wonderful for him to try to work his way through college. From time to time as they met through five years her interest and encouragement continued, and they became very close friends. After his decision to be a missionary in the Philippines, he asked her to go with him, and she wrote on the first page of his Bible: “Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God, my God; where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried.”
During Commencement week, June 12, 1901, Minnie and Arthur were married, in Delaware, by President Bashford, (And now, they hope to celebrate their fiftieth wedding anniversary in 1951).
Also, during Commencement week, Arthur was graduated; receiving the degree of Bachelor of Literature.
Just as: two hundred and thirty-five years previously; John Chinoweth and Mary Calvert lured by the freedom of the New World, went west across the Atlantic; and following the Civil War; Arthur’s father and mother, influenced by the prospect of free land for a home, joined the stream of Americans migrating to the west; so, now following the Spanish war; influenced by the missionary program of both Government and Church in the Philippines, Arthur and Minnie joined the stream of Americans going west to reach the Far East; to become Missionaries in the Philippines.
The boot-strap story of this boy and young man ends with his graduation from college, and marriage. Someone may ask what about the future years of this missionary couple in the Philippines. Since that is another story only a brief statement can be made here:
Their first appointment was in Bulacan Province, with residence in the town of Baliuag. Arthur at once began the study of the Tagalog language, while he carried on evangelistic work. Minnie helped with the church work, and started a daily class in English for teen-age girls.
After three years they were appointed to Manila – Arthur as Publishing Agent in charge of the Methodist Publishing House, and in charge of five chapels in the outskirts of the city – Minnie as teacher in the Deaconess training school. In 1906 their son, David, was born. In 1907 they returned for their first furlough.
They lived in Delaware, Ohio, during the furlough year. Arthur took Post-Graduate studies leading to the degrees of Bachelor of Arts, and, Master of Arts; which were granted at the end of the year. During this year, at the request of Prof. Rollin H. Walker, he had the privilege of serving as his assistant.
Meantime their daughter Ellen was born, and before she was three months old the family started their long journey back to Manila.
There Arthur continued to serve as Publishing Agent; also was at once appointed treasurer of the Mission. (During the furlough year he had taken a complete course in Bookkeeping). Minnie, of course, with two little children, was kept busy in the home. When they became old enough she had daily lesson periods for each child.
In 1914 they started the trip back home for their second furlough, both weary and worn, but glad to have served through two full terms of missionary service.
CHAPTER 20 - The First Fifteen Years of American Occupation
No funds were available for their outgoing expenses, so Arthur set out to raise $600, among Methodists in Ohio. He was advised to see President McKinley and ask for passage on an Army transport. Learning that the President was at his home in Canton, he went there. On the famous front porch of the President’s home, George B. Cortelyou, the President’s Secretary, received him courteously, but assured him there was no prospect of getting transportation. The Army transports were for Army, Navy and Government employees, besides they were crowded, with a long waiting list.
He had raised the necessary fund by November, so they started for Manila. How far away that seemed to the folks back home. Minnie’s father held hand, looked long in her face and said, “I know I shall never see your face again,” Her sister, a member of the Catholic Church said, “I will pray for you both every day,” She was, and is , truly catholic.
Then came the long trip across the continent on the Great Northern R.R. to Seattle. Edwin M. Randall, pastor of First Methodist Church, asked him to address the Sunday night audience, and then asked for an offering for the new mission work in the Philippines. $56 was placed in his hands to take with him. That friendship, too, continued until Dr. Randall’s death.
At Seattle they waited nearly two weeks for the S.S. Victoria, a thirty-year-old Cunarder from the Atlantic, small, but built to last a century. They had most interesting glimpses of Japan in stops at Yokohama, Kobe, Moji; then Shanghai and on to Hong Kong. A stay of a week in Hong Kong (or Victoria, the real name of the City), waiting for a steamer to Manila. Thanksgiving Day came while they were on the northern Pacific and then Christmas on the China Sea. They landed in Manila on December 27, 1901.
Steamship service and dates had been uncertain, so there was no one at the dock to meet them. But some knowledge of Spanish, acquired at College, helped in making inquires, and they so on found the residence of Fred A. McCarl and wife, and Dr. Stuntz, who was living with them. Their welcome surpassed that of any possible band or committee at the dock. Dr. Stuntz was sailing for America that very day. He took Arthur with him as he made his farewells to various persons. That day there began another life-long friendship with a remarkable man: - Major Elijah W. Halford, Army paymaster, brilliant, versatile, once editor of a leading newspaper in Indianapolis; then personal secretary to President Benjamin Harrison. Always active in Church work, and deeply interested in Foreign Missions until his death at the age of 94. During the year that Dr. Stuntz was absent, Major Halford was the Sunday morning preacher in the American Methodist Church. Governor Taft often attended this church.
After a few days with the McCarl’s, they went to the home of J.L. McLaughlin and wife, and lived with them in their pleasant home for several months. During one month, while Mr. McLaughlin was attending Conference in Singapore, Arthur performed over forty weddings. Mr McLaughlin had over eight hundred weddings in his first year. High fees, and a feeling of revolt against Church and Priest had resulted in many couples making their vows to each other and living together. When they learned they could be married by a Christian minister for a modest fee (they usually paid $1.00) they came in crowds almost daily. One elderly couple, never married, brought twelve children to see their parents married.
W.G. Fritz, Thomas H. Martin, and W.A.Goodell, all unmarried, were at work in the provinces north of Manila. Fritz and Martin soon left because of illness, Goodell was acquiring a remarkable fluency in the Tagalog language. He did not remain single very long. Frances Furnas, beautiful of face and form, and gentle and lovely of character, came, and they were married in Manila. In a few brief years her heart weakened and they had to return to America, where, not many years later her heart stopped, and she went home. The tropical climate and unsanitary living conditions in those early years caused the early return home of many Americans in both Church and Government work.
Both at once began the preparation for active work; Arthur the study of the Tagalog language, and Winnie assisting a public school teacher who had more work than she could do. How the Filipino children did crowd into the public schools from the time they were opened, all wanting to learn English. Her school was at night, in a village just outside of Manila. Both went out together in a carromata, a two-wheeled rig drawn by a diminutive pony. Then after school they were brought back down the Pasig River in a dugout canoe, paddled by a Filipino boatman. This was really their honeymoon, and how romantic and dreamlike it all seemed, slipping along on the water in the darkness of the night, or in the bright light of the tropical moon, in the clear air of the dry season, only the soft slap of the boatman’s paddle in the water. A glamour never to be forgotten.
Bishop Thoburn was the first Methodist official to visit Manila. Arthur W. Prautch, an American businessman, a Methodist, had started services for Filipinos. He made arrangements for a theatre for meetings for Bishop Thoburn, and an interpreter in Spanish. Prautch had been using a Filipino named Nicholas Zamora, educated for the priesthood, and a brilliant speaker, to preach at the earlier meetings. Bishop Thoburn was so impressed by Zamora that he decided to ordain him. But the Methodist Discipline stood in the way. There was no Methodist organization of any kind in Manila.
The South Kansas Conference, then in Annual Session, was thrilled by the receipt of a cablegram from Manila to Bishop Vincent in Charge, signed “Thoburn”. The cablegram asked them to admit Nicholas Zamora, on Trial, and as a Full Member; and, under the missionary Rule, to recommend him for ordination. The Conference and the Presiding Bishop were wise enough to ignore all rules, and admit to their membership a man on the other side of the world, of another race, whom they never saw. A cablegram was sent to Bishop Thoburn, and he ordained Nicholas Zamora, the first Filipino Methodist preacher, and left him in charge of the first group of Filipino Methodists. When the Japanese came there were two Annual Conferences with 89 fully ordained ministers, 15 awaiting ordination, 155 appointed unordained workers, 177 women workers, 1200 volunteer workers, with a membership of over one hundred thousand.
What interesting true stories could be written of those earlier preachers and workers. None of them were especially trained, but had been leaders in their groups and communities, and had some education, their preacher training was acquired while at work. To name any means that many others must remain unnamed. There were Pedro Castro, Candido Magno, Felix Cruz, in Manila; Simon Blas, a wealthy layman, owner of a large cockpit in Malabon, who, after he became a Methodist, under the wise leadership and the influence of Marvin A. Rader, let his cockpit fall in ruins; Juan Macaspac and Arcadio de Ocera, (later a delegate to General Conference), in Pampanga; Felipe Marques, Lorenzo Tomayo, Filomeno Glaang, and Seveino Cordero, from the north, (some of these had once been Insurecto officers against the Americans); Mariano Cunanan, wealthy layman of Mexico in Pampanga Province, generous contributor and influential friend of missionaries and workers; these and many, many others equally worthy. Later, as the years went on, other young men and women, educated in the High Schools, took training in the Deaconess, and Theological Schools. They will now rank with the best workers anywhere.
The Philippine Islands had been made a District of the Malaysia Conference. At the Conference Session in Singapore in March 1902, they were appointed to Bulacan Province, north of Manila. W.A. Goodell was already at work in that Province and he had his bachelor home in the town of Hagonoy. The two had made several trips together and were impressed with the town of Baliuag as a place for a missionary residence. Arthur rented a house there, and then went back to Manila to bring Minnie. There was a severe Cholera epidemic, the worst since American occupancy. He had to get a quarantine pass to leave the town and another for him and Minnie to come back in. When they did come back they were stopped six times by armed Filipino guards, on the twelve miles of road from the railroad to Baliuag.
Mr. Goodell came to live with them so they could study Tagalog together. After some weeks Arthur and Minnie went to Manila for further supplies. On their return, when they got off the train they were handed a telegram from Goodell stating that his Filipino teacher had been taken from the house to the hospital with Cholera, that he was quarantined in the house, and advising them to go back to Manila. They decided that since conditions were no better in Manila they would refer to be in their own home where they personally could take all precautions, so they hired a Carromata and went on to Baliuag, and, on arrival, entered the house and did not attempt to leave it until the quarantine was lifted.
Every day people were dying. There should have been no crowds anywhere. But, every night, processions went through the street following the image of the Patron Saint, illuminated by candles and borne aloft on the shoulders of men. The following crowds pathetically chanting in a weird minor key: “Papanalangin mo camni, Papanalangin mo cami.” “Pray for us, pray for us.” As many as five different processions passed the house in one night.
Under these conditions Minnie began housekeeping in their first home; an old Spanish-Filipino house with a thatch roof made of the leaves of the Nipa palm. For furniture they bought what they could find there in the town, all second-hand, used for many years. A large wide bed made of hard wood, with high corner posts from which to suspend a net to keep out mosquitoes. Occasionally a little lizard would drop from the ceiling to the top of the net. Instead of springs there was woven bejuca cane (like a cane seat chair), on which would be spread a thick blanket or quilted mat. No mattress, too hot. A dining table and some chairs. All of these needed a liberal use of turpentine. The bed legs and the table legs had to be set in tin cans half full of kerosene to prevent the ants from crawling up. Other furniture was made from boxes and lumber. No cook stove was needed. Domato, the Filipino boy, cooked with an open wood fire under pots and pans set on three stones. Because of the Cholera all water had to be boiled twenty minutes, all food thoroughly cooked, and all dishes and cutlery inexperienced. Minnie had to teach him everything. Once when she told him to prepare a chicken she found him with the dressed chicken on the floor about to cut it up with a hatchet. But he learned, and when they moved to Manila he went along. When they went back after over a year on furlough, Donato was there to be their cook again.
They knew something of living on constant expectation of an uprising which might and enter life. The commanding officer of the town garrison told Arthur that on two different dates he was warned that the town would be attacked by the issurectos Had the attack occurred he planned to send a detachment of soldiers to bring them within the lines. Neither attack took place, and they knew nothing about until the danger had passed. Once, in response to an invitation to hold a religious service, he, with a small company of friendly Filipinos, crossed a swamp that shortly before had been thick with desperate men.
Protestant Christianity was spread out from Manila to towns and communities by soldiers, visiting relatives, travelers, and self-appointed Filipino preachers and evangelists, in much the same way that early Christianity spread out from Jerusalem. There was already a central group in Baliuag and smaller groups in outlying villages. The central group soon began to plan for a paid Filipino preacher. They suggested fifteen pesos a month and promised to pay half of that if the Mission would pay the other half, so a preacher, named Manuel Aurora, was secured. The people soon found it hard to raise their half. At a meeting to consider plans to raise the money Arthur made a suggestion which brought a reply interesting and revealing.
Baliuag was noted for its hats, similar to the Panama hat. They were made in the homes and sold to a traveling buyer who paid as little as possible, then took the hats to Manila and sold them at a good profit. Arthur suggested that the church members pool their hats, then select one to take the hats to Manila, sell them, and thus make profits themselves, and thus be better able to support their preacher. The answer he got was: “No tenemos confianza.” Freely translated it meant, “We have no one we can trust.”
However, it soon developed that there was at least one trustworthy person among them. A little old man, white haired and bent over, at least eighty, had at one time been an officer in charge of some community unit of government which gave him the title of “Captain”. This man, Captain Roman Canlas, was donating the use of an old sugar warehouse for a chapel for the central group. He had even cleaned it out and whitewashed the interior. One day he asked Arthur to loan him twenty pesos ($10.00) “por treinta dias, mas o menos” (for thirty days, more or less). The man had done so much for the Church tht it was hard to refuse without risking the loss of his interest and help, so Arthur decided he would take a chance. He explained that the loan would have to be from his own personal funds and must be repaid as promised, and let him have the money. As the end of the thirty days neared he wondered whether the loan would be repaid. One evening then he went out to the Chapel for the service, Captain Roman met him in the street, he was smiling and chuckling, his hands were cupped together as if concealing something, and when he opened his hands there were the twenty silver pesos. So there was one man in the group in whom one could have confinanza. But, on the whole, the Filipino people compare favorable with other peoples. Fundamentally human nature is largely the same.
For three years they lived in this province town as the pioneer missionaries and laid the foundations in that and other towns for what became a strong Protestant mission work. The work of the missionary was largely teaching, organizing and directing. Minnie took her part from the beginning, conducting classes in English for young women who were beyond the school age, leading in the music for services, with a small portable organ, and in the general church work.
The first services for Filipinos were held in little chapels of bamboo with nipa-thatched roofs, made by themselves. With the help of a gift from a farmer in Ohio, Arthur bought Oregon Pine lumber in Manila and had it brought by boat to their town, and there hauled to their front yard. Then he drew the plans, by scale, for Protestant Church donated a part of their time, and had the lumber cut according to plan and scale even to the boring of the auger holes, all in their front yard. The Filipinos wondered what it was all about. They were accustomed to cut the lumber a piece at a time, as needed, for a building being erected. When the lumber was all cut and ready, with the corrugated iron for the roof, it was taken to the church site, several blocks away, and put together for the church building. To the astonishment of the Filipinos (and indeed to his astonishment as well) the pieces all fitted together perfectly, and the chapel was soon ready for services, the best Protestant church building outside of Manila at that time. Regular services were held for Filipinos, in the Tagalog language, and once a month a service in English for Americans.
A few months after their arrival in Baliuag, a young man, son in a rather prominent family in the newly organized Protestant Church, one night on his way home in the unlighted streets, was attacked and his cheek cut open by a flow of a club. The next day they sent word to Arthur. For several weeks he treated the wound daily with Lysol, gauze bandages and adhesive tape, until the wound healed. Forty years later, just a year before this is being written, a letter came from the sister, who was a small girl when the brother was injured. This sister, now the wife of a Filipino preacher, wrote a beautiful letter, in perfect English, expressing her grateful remembrances and appreciation to Arthur for saving her brother’s life, and to Minnie for her classes for girls and women, where she began her study of English; and told about her children, all being educated, and the work of her husband as a Methodist minister.
In this town, and surround country, he did what he could in providing medicines for the sick. From the government he received a supply of quinine without charge; and from the Perry Davis Pain Killer Co. in America, a supply of their remedy, also without charge. The quinine controlled their fevers and the Pain Killer their stomach aches.
One day coming back home along a country road he heard a woman screaming and crying, and through the open window of a nearby house saw her apparently throwing herself around the room and a man trying to hold her. It looked like a fight, and he hesitated to interfere. But he did enter the house and found the woman apparently sick. She would be quiet for a while, than double up in a paroxysm of pain. Then she would scream and in Tagalog would moan, “I am going to die, I am going to die.” She did not look like she was going to die immediately, so he told her in Tagalog, “no, no, you are not going to die just yet.” He did not have any Pain Killer with him that day, so he told the husband to heat some water boiling hot. He fed her the hot water with a spoon, all he could get her to swallow. Quickly the pain became less and finally ceased. She had eaten something which gave her severe stomachache. When Arthur left he told her husband, “if the pain returns, just give her hot water, all the same as medicine.” Some seeks later he was going back up that road and some little boys yelled in Tagalog, “Here comes the Medicao, here comes the Medico.” The woman was leaning out of the window smiling. Arthur said, “Well, you didn’t die, did you?” She smiled and said, “No.” “Well, now, if you get those pains again just take hot water, all the same as medicine.” And the “Medico” went on.
The wife of one of the church members had dengue fever. Minnie sent chicken soup, and Arthur tried to give her quinine in capsules, but she simply could not swallow the capsules. The husband finally emptied the quinine into a spoon and she swallowed that, bitter as it was. When the time came for the next dose the husband tried a new method. He had the woman open her mouth wide and then, like a baseball pitcher, he threw the capsule into her mouth to get it far back. The first time failed, but he tried again and it worked. As the capsule went down her throat she breathed a big sigh of relief and fervently said “Salamat sa Dios”, Thank God. After a few days of treatment, and thanks, she recovered.
Of course, occasionally, there were cases needing more than simple remedies. Then he went to the Army doctor who always cheerfully visited such sick and provided medicines without charge for either his service or the medicine.
At the request of the Post Office authorities he served as the town Postmaster for one year, during which time he trained a Filipino young man to do the work, then turned the office over to him. During this year Pope Leo XIII died. Memorial services were held in the town Catholic Church, and the American Government and Military officials were all invited; so this Protestant missionary had a front seat as a Government official.
From the town of Bustos, across the river, came an invitation to hold services. On a Sunday afternoon, Arthur and Felix Cruz went and were courteously received by a family in a rather large house. They had invited others, making a fair sized group. After the service they asked for another service the next Sunday. But the next Sunday the house was closed and nobody seemed to know anything about a service. But, a man asked them to come to his home farther down the road, so they held a service there that Sunday and were asked to come again the following Sunday. Then the same thing happened again. But, they were invited to another house, and again were invited back the next Sunday only to find the same situation; but this time no other invitation. After considerable questioning, the preachers learned that the Filipino padre had visited each home and scolded them for having a Protestant service, and made various threats if they did it again. In fact, in one case a member of the family had died and the padre not only refused to conduct a burial service but forbade burial in the Church cemetery.
This questioning and conversation was held in the road. Quite a crowd had gathered around the preachers, and some still seemed to want a preaching service held somewhere; so they went aside to a vacant plot and began to talk and preach to the people. By and by a youth was seen coming from the road. He worked his way through the crowd and handed Arthur an envelope. In it was a note from the padre inviting him to come to the Convento (the padre’s home) for a “discussion” on religion. Meantime the bearer of the note had told some of the crowd about it. Arthur conferred with Felix. Neither wanted an argument with the padre. But they decided they could not very well avoid it without losing face with the crowd who now knew all about it. So the two, followed by a large crowd, went down the street toward the Convento. They went up a side stairway into the sala, a large room, followed by the crowd. The padre was courteous but not friendly. He asked them to be seated at a large table on which were some books.
This town had a reputation of not being over friendly towards Americans and Arthur could not tell whether this crowd was, or would be, hostile or friendly. The crowd was in the room and on the stairs, blocking the only exit from the room; so he took his place facing the crowd and with his back to a large open window, so that in case of a hostile demonstration he could at least jump out the window and get to the nearby river.
The padre, talking Spanish, began to ask questions as to why Protestants taught certain things. Arthur and Felix, also talking Spanish, quoted the Bible in answer. Fortunately they had both Spanish and English Bibles. The padre tried to hold the argument to Tradition instead of the Bible, saying that they were quoting the Protestant Bible. Time after time Arthur told him it was the same in the Duay version, the Catholic Bible, and urged him to get his own Bible. He made no move to get a Bible, so Arthur finally told him he did not believe that he had a copy of the Catholic Bible. He then sent out a boy who came back with a pile of books over a foot high. The padre, rather triumphantly, said there was his Bible, but it was in Latin. Arthur said: “No importa”, “it does not matter, I studied Latin five years in College.” The reference then was somewhere in the New Testament. The padre was urged to find it himself in his own Bible. He couldn’t find it an Arthur, stepping over to help him, found him looking through the Book of Deuteronomy. He helped him find the reference and then compared the Spanish and the Latin, pointing out that they meant exactly the same thing. Then the padre went back to his emphasis on Tradition to prove his point. But, Arthur and Felix insisted on emphasizing what the Bible says. “No es verdad” said the padre (It is not true) “My Protestante Bible no es verdad?” “No.” “But exactly the same thing is in your Catholic Bible.” “No es verdad, tambien.” (It is not true, also.) The crowd evidently had followed the “discussion” closely for when the padre said his own Bible was not true, they broke into loud derisive laughter. Arthur thought it was a good time to get out, so he and Felix gathered up their Bibles and walked out through a very friendly crowd.
Some time later when the newly appointed American Archbishop Harty visited Baliuag, Arthur as the Postmaster, was invited to the reception to the Archbishop. He went and there met this same padre. They greeted each other and shook hands in a very friendly way.
Within a year he was preaching and teaching in the Tagalog language. Imperfectly, of course, but, at least so as to be understood. How eager the people were to have the “Pastor Americano” come to their town or village and hold Protestante services. From a town only eighteen miles away he had received several invitations. The road was impassable, so he went by carromata twelve miles to the railroad, then by rail about fifteen miles, then by small river steamboat about thirty miles, as far as the boat could go, then in a carromata on a pitch-dark night, a three hours’ ride, reaching the town about midnight. He spent the rest of the night with the American Postmaster, to whom he had written, as a fellow Postmaster. The next morning he inquired around for the Protestants and finally a house on the edge of the town found some of them with their Filipino preacher who had visited Arthur in his home and had invited him. When he walked into the house the preacher gave a yell, rushed at him, and threw his arms around him. The group had met the night before waiting for the “Pastor” and when he didn’t come they had been greatly depressed. Now they rejoiced and spread the news that the Pastor had come. That night a crowd fathered in a vacant lot, illuminated by torches, and were both astonished and delighted when the Pastor tried to preach to them, in Tagalog, their own language. A list of over eighty names was placed in his hands, and the new church was started.
This is typical of what happened in many places for him and other missionaries. In one instance when he was with W.H. Teeter, in his territory, one night a delegation came and wanted them to cross a mountain range to a town in a valley. They were told that a thousand people there wanted to become Protestants. That same night the two missionaries, looking out of the window of the house where they were being entertained, noticed a group of men gathered around a fire not far from the house; and they were there all night. Upon inquiry next morning, their host informed them that the men were there to protect them from “ladrones”, brigands. Thus, American missionaries received more invitations than they could accept; they were never molested, but, in this instance, a group of Filipinos protected them all through the night. In another instance a Filipino preacher brought Arthur a list of more than thirty names of Negritos, the diminutive Negroid aborigines whom the Spaniards never civilized or conquered, who wanted him to visit them, back in the mountains, and let them become members of the Protestant Church.
If the Methodists had had the missionaries to answer these calls, and to train native workers (men and women) five hundred thousand to a million members could have been enrolled in the first ten years. And similarly with other denominations. True they were nominal Catholics, but they, of their own accord, had left that Church and were as sheep without a shepherd.
Then they were appointed to Manila, Arthur in charge of five outlying congregations and also in charge of the Publishing House, which had been started by McCarl and carried on by McLaughlin, located in the suburbs of the city, while Minnie taught in the Deaconess Training School. He had never had a type in his hands and knew nothing of printing. When they left Manila, in 1914, the Publishing House had a large plant, an up-to-date book room, and its own building in the heart of the business district and was printing millions of pages annually in five languages.
He taught Church History in the Preachers Training School, using the Tagalog language. The outstanding authority in the Tagalog language was Spaniard, Constantino Lendoyro. Arthur was associated with him later in the preparation and publishing of a Tagalog-English Grammar and language book.
He was present at the cornerstone laying or dedication of practically every large Protestant church or institution in Manila – the Episcopal Cathedral; the Presbyterian Church for Filipinos, and the one for Americans; the Methodist Church for Filipinos, and the one for Americans; the Deaconess Training School; the Preachers’ Training School; the Mary Johnston Hospital; and the Hostels for men and for women. In most of these he had a part in planning and building the institutions. He saw the growth of the city Y.M.C.A. from nothing to its splendid plant of two large buildings for Filipinos and one for Americans; in fact, he secured an option on the eight acres of land right in the heart of the city where the Y.M.C.A. buildings now stand, and the transfer of the land from the owners to the Y.M.C.A. authorities was made in his office in the Publishing House.
Later, when John R. Mott, Sherwood Eddy and Fletcher S. Brockman came to start the campaign for a Y.M.C.A. building, the illustrated brochure about the project was printed by the Publishing House, under the immediate direction of Mr. Brockman. The Filipino printers, and the Publishing Agent worked overtime several nights. Dr. Mott, in his main address, said he had had printing done in most of the big cities of the world but in no place had the work been done better or in quicker time than by Mr. Chenoweth here in Manila, who was not at the dinner because he was still personally helping the printers in finishing the job.
*In 1907 they returned on their first furlough, with their son David, born in Manila on August 29, 1906. They journeyed west, via Singapore, the Indian Ocean, Red Sea, and the Atlantic. After a few days in New York they continued on the Moundsville, West Virginia, where he spoke in the Methodist Church telling the story of the Philippines. In the audience were his father and stepmother, and his brother and wife. After the service the father told the son that he was proud of him. Then on to Delaware, Ohio, where they made their home during the furlough year. [*On June 16, 1907, in Wesley Capital, London, David was baptized by the pastor Dinsdale T. Young.]
He took Post-Graduate studies in Ohio Wesleyan leading to the B.A. degree (he already had the B.L.) and the Master’s degree. Both degrees were received at Commencement, 1908. He wants to pay grateful tribute to Professors Duvall, Walker and McElroy for their wise, friendly helpfulness, in the post-graduate work. The troubled missionary desperately needed the inspiration he received from them. Professor Walker made him his first assistant which brought a close comradeship to be treasured through the years. (Dr. Walker never knew that more than once the weekly payment to his assistant was received just in time to replenish little David’s completely exhausted supply of malted milk.)
The furlough year brought some new acquaintances in College and Churches. He frequently was out in nearby towns giving talks and illustrated lectures on Church and Government work in the Philippines. It was a high privilege to know President Herbert Welch (now Bishop), and to begin a friendship which still continues. Another valued friendship was begun with Murray T. Titus, then a Senior. They had many confidential talks over Murray’s future life work, and Arthur is proud to think he had some part in helping him to decide to go to the Foreign Field. After several years teaching, Murray and his wife went to India, where after some thirty years as teacher, Pastor and District Superintendant, he is now closing a period of significant achievement as President of Lucknow Christian College.
On June 6, 1908, their daughter Ellen was born in Delaware. When she was less than three months old, the family began another journey westward back to Manila. Upon arrival he was again appointed Publishing Agent, and also Treasurer of the Mission. Both positions, with much other incidental work in Church and Community, were held for six years.
Again Ohio Wesleyan made them its missionary representatives for three years, and, at the end of that period, the University sent out, and in two years paid for, a two thousand dollar printing press. Thus, for a total of eight years the missionary giving of Ohio Wesleyan faculty and students, totally approximately $8,000, went toward the support of Arthur and his wife and their work.
When that printing press arrived in Manila, some hundreds of pieces in crates and boxes, a very complicated machine when put together, he consulted on expert American pressman, employed in the Government Printing Plant, about setting it up in running order. The expert wanted $100 for the job. He decided to undertake it himself and save the $100. So every day for a month, after attending to his duties in the office and book-room, he would change from white suit to greasy overalls, and, with his Filipino pressman, Juan, would work on the new press. When it was all put together and ready to run he told Juan to connect the electric switch and start the press. Juan said, “No, no. I am afraid.” Arthur said, “Very well, Juan, I wanted you to have the privilege of starting it, as you will work on it; but, I will start it and it will run all night.” He connected the switch and the press started off and ran as sweetly and smoothly as if it had been set up by the expert. He had saved $100 for mission work, and at the same time won the respect of Filipino workmen.
As the businessman of the Mission he had many pleasant associations in Manila with Government officials, businessmen and bankers. When Fred B. Smith and Raymond Robbins came to Manila for a series of meetings in the Men and Religion Movement, a committee composed largely of business men was set up to have charge of the finances and arrangements. He was the Assistant Treasurer. (The Treasurer was practically nominal, the Assistant did the work.) This brought close fellowship and continued friendship with these two noted leaders, Smith in religion and Robbins in politics and civic reform.
Once tragedy came very close to the family. In large sections of Manila, and in all of the province towns the houses are built with bamboo frames and sides and roofs thatched with the leaves of the Nipa Palm. Fires, in the dry season sometimes burn to the ground whole towns and in Manila, groups of hundreds of houses. The family was living in a house of wood with corrugated iron roof, among several other similar houses. But was surrounded by nipa-thatched houses in all directions, some even in front across the street. Arthur, in the Publishing House office, heard the fire alarm, went to the top of the building, and saw, in the direction of their home great clouds of smoke and flame. He telephoned for a livery rig and hurried as fast as the horse would go. As he got near, the home seemed to be right in the center of the burning area. The streets were roped off, and a policeman would not let him proceed directly toward the house. Knowing the side streets he left the rig and ran around a back way. He felt sure the house was burned. Houses all around it were burning, but the wooden walls and the iron roof saved it, though the paint was scorched and blistered. But what about Minnie and the two little children?
Marvin A. Rader, living nearer, had seen the fire, and, deciding at once the Chenoweth’s home was in danger, had rushed out as fast as his horse would go. When he reached the house, the houses across the street were in flames. He too was sure ours would go next. He rushed into the house and no one was there. He rushed on through and out the back door, and there in a vacant lot found Minnie crouched on the ground hugging the two little children and holding an umbrella over them to shield them from the sun. The Filipino book, Donato, and his family were also there crouching on the ground. The smoke and flames were in all directions with the wind blowing pieces of flaming thatch high over their heads. When Arthur located them the danger was past and Dr. Rader was bringing them back into the house.
In 1904 W.F. Oldham became Bishop in Charge of the Philippines, Malaysia, and South India, and remained for eight years. What a benediction to have Bishop and Mrs. Oldham as guests in the home for weeks at a time. Someone had said the Kipling’s story “William the Conqueror” in the book entitled The Day’s Work was the Oldham’s Love Story. One day Arthur asked, “Mrs. Oldham, who were the heroes in Kipling’s William the Conqueror?” Quickly (and proudly) she answered, “Why the Oldham’s were.” Other Bishops visited Manila from time to time. It was a privilege and an honor to interpret into the Tagalog language, sermons and addresses of Bishops Thoburn, Warne and Oldham. Thoburn and Warned were easy but Oldham very difficult. Thoburn could express deep and profound philosophical and spiritual truths in simple language, and short sentences. Warne always had an evangelistic message, also in language simple enough for children. Oldham, winsome and lovable, used illustrations, figures of speech, idioms and unique phrases, scintillating and brilliant in English, but very difficult to translate and interpret to a people of another language and another race. But, not even imperfect and halting interpretation could prevent the message of that great and kindly sold of one race form being understood by the eager spirits of another race.
Bishop and Mrs. Eveland came in 1912 and in four years were getting a strong grasp of the work, then while at home for the General Conference of 1916 he was accidentally killed.
Arthur has no intention of attempting to write a history of the Methodist Missionary Work in the Philippines, though someone ought to write it, following up Dr. Stuntz’s book, published 1904. But he does deem it a privilege and an honor to refer to others who were there during his two terms of service. And the mentioning of the men carries with it also the wives (always the equals of their husband), and also the early group of W.F.M.S. women. As the Publishing Agent and Mission Treasurer he had frequent personal and friendly contact with everyone.
From the beginning there were many men and women of outstanding qualities and abilities. From that small group the Church selected three Bishops: Homer C. Stuntz, George A. Miller and Edwin F. Lee.
J.L. McLAughlin, versatile and dynamic, after one term of service became American Bible Society Agent in the Philippines, and later the Agent in Chicago. In both positions he was responsible for the circulation of many millions of copies of the Bible. F.A. McCarl became International Y.M.C.A. Secretary for the Army and Navy, and thus had worldwide influence until he retired.
William A. Brown and wife came in 1902 as the first regularly appointed pastor of Central Church, (American). Later, the work among Filipinos in the provinces seemed so much more needy that they were appointed in charge of Pampanga Province. Several years were given to that field. But recurring illness, ever more often and more severe, finally forced their return to America. But their interest in, and love for the Pampangans continued through years of notable service in both North and South America. Arcadio de Ocera, Superintendant of Pampanga District, came as a delegate to the General Conference in 1940. He urgently invited the Browns to return to Pampanga Province for evangelistic work. The Browns went back at their own expense, and remained about a year. After thirty-eight years they had the joy of meeting splendid men and women, strong and lovely characters, whom they had helped and encouraged as children and young people. Only the Browns can adequately tell that story.
Then there were: the Raders, Farmers, Lyons, Teeters, Housley’s, Petersons, Huddlestons, Klinefelters, Rayners, Moes, Cottinghams, Snyders, Kochlers, Bowers among those whose service was more extended. To the pastorate of Central Church came the Harpers, Cobbs and Lees. There were others whose service was shorter, or who came later, just as fine and capable and devoted as the earlier ones. They should all be registered in Methodist history.
Of the early W.F.M.S. workers, some could remain only brief periods, Dr. Annie Norton took up private practice and lived in Manila for many years. Dr. Rebecca Parish and her associates founded the Mary Johnston Hospital. Every annual report gave almost unbelievable information about the services rendered by the hospital to women and children. The Misses Spaulding, Decker, Crabtree, Stixrud and Parkes started to Deaconess and Bible Training Schools, one in Manila and one in Lingayen, Pangasinan Province. There were others who came later. Their work: Medical; training schools; dormitories for High School and College girls and women; District, town and village visitation, and even preaching; should be written, and it would make another amazing story.
In 1937 E.E. Tuck, previously missionary in India, (then Associate Secretary in the New York Office) and wife were sent to be Mission Superintendent and Treasurer. They and the present missionary group, twenty-five in all, are there now, prisoners of the Japanese. It is supposed they are able to carry on some work. The Methodist Church, after forty years, is firmly established. It is carrying onin war times, and will be there when the war ends.
An entire volume, indeed many volumes could be written, and should be, telling about the eager response of the Filipino people to the opportunities opened to them by the American Government, for education, and for participation in their own Government. Their rapid advancement has had no parallel in all the history of colonization projects for dependant peoples. The same statement applies to the missionary work of the various Protestant denominations. And indeed also applied to a large extent to the Roman Catholic missionary work of the previous three centuries. Bishop Oldham, on his first visit, said that, due to Catholic Christianity, the Filipino people were a hundred years in advance of all other Malay groups.
In one generation Filipino little children starting in the Public Schools, established quickly in all parts of the Islands and even among the pagan tribes of the hills and among the Moros of the south, went on through the town or village upper-school, then through the Province High School, and many of them through the Trade Schools, the Normal Schools, the Law Schools, the Medical School, and finally through the University, developed marvelously in mind and character; and by many thousands became the leaders of their people. Is it any wonder that those who saw, and had a part, in this development, look back on it now with wonder, and indeed with a mixture of astonishment and awe? The possibilities of realization in every normal human being of any tribe or race, when the eternal spiritual, mental, and physical laws are permitted expression and fulfillment! Is it any wonder that Filipinos by the thousands fought, many of them to the death, alongside our own soldiers in defense of their homeland against the Japanese invaders?
In those early years of American occupancy of the Islands, Arthur and Minnie saw the beginnings of both government and church at work. They saw the early schools, were personally acquainted with many of the teachers, and know the difficulties they overcame in order to build the splendid department of education.
They are proud to have had a part in carrying American ideals and faith to the Filipino people. They helped to start the children and young people. Others carried it on until now one could refer by name to person after person, both men and women, and tell about their development and leadership among their people. The Filipinos have needed a Kipling to do for them what he did for India. George A. Miller approached it, but he did not remain long enough. Some day, some year, please God, some great writer will picture them adequately to the world.
While in the Philippines he was sent by his associates as their representative, once to the Central Conference of China and once to important Committee meetings in Lucknow, India. On the trip to China, Bishop Oldham and he traveled up the China coast in December 1911, while the Chinese Revolution was on. They stopped in Hong Kong, Swatow, and Amoy, and arrived in Foochow within a month after the Revolutionary Army had captured the city. On this trip he carried a letter from the Chinese leaders in Manila and delivered in person to General Sung, the new revolutionary governor at Foochow. On returning, he carried the General’s reply, enclosed in a long red envelope. This trip, with its visits to various cities, and ten days’ stop with the Wards in Foochow, as well as previous visits to Canton and other cities, gave him a splendid chance to study the Chinese and see the work of the missionaries. A great work and a group of great missionaries.
On the trip to India in company with Bishop and Mrs. Eveland, he visited Singapore, and traveled by rail up the Malay Peninsula four hundred miles to Penange, stopping at various mission stations on the way. Three days were spent in Rangoon, Burma. A month was spent in India, during which time, in addition to a week’s stop in Lucknow, he traveled from Calcutta to near the Himalayan Mountains, to Bombay, on to Madras and Tuticorin at the southern point of India. Twenty-five different cities were visited in the study of missions, native life, customs, and religions. Returning, three days were spent in Colombo, Ceylon; then back to Singapore; and, up through the southern islands of the Philippine Archipelago back to Manila.
On the way to India, Governor General W. Cameron Forbes was on the same ship, and they had many long conversations. Forbes, a millionaire, a descendant of Ralph Waldo Emerson, had given many years of unselfish service to the Philippines, at great cost to his health, and his wealth. After Woodrow Wilson’s election as President, Forbes retained his office as Governor General, not wishing to be considered as a political representative of either a Republican or a Democratic President, but as a representative of America. Eventually President Wilson cabled asking that Forbes make his resignation effective on October first, and informing him that he had appointed Francis Burton Harrison, (a typical Tammany politician of New York City) as Governor General. The cablegram closed with the request, or command? “Please engage servants for Mr. Harrison.” For years the government had provided a home for the Governor General and a full staff of servants. Forbes resigned at once and was then on his way back to America via India and Europe.
What a marvelously interesting country is India. Many books have been written describing the land, the people, the culture, the religious hoary with antiquity. He must mention only the gracious and friendly courtesy of the missionaries, and Indian Christians: - Dr. and Mrs. Homer E. Wark at Calcutta; J. Waskom Pickett and Bishop and Mrs. Warne at Lucklow; the Linzells and Bisbees at Baroda; The Wilsons at Delhi; the gracious hospitality of the Plomers at Agra; Murray T. Titus and wife at Bijnor; Jay Kingham and wife at Tuticorin; Jashwant R. Chitamber at Lucknow; (later the first Indian Methodist Bishop.) Lilavati Singh at Lucknow; Nora Waugh and the Jordans at Moradabad. Returning through Moradabad the train had a stop of twenty minutes. Mrs. Jordan sent a servant to the station with a delicious luncheon of hot tea, fruit, toast and jam. While at Lucknow he heard Dr. Chitamber preach in Hindustance. It was eloquence and moving, though not a word was understood. But a large group of Indian young men volunteered for work among the millions of the depressed castes of India. At Madras it was a rare privilege to meet Miss Grace Stephens and see something of her unique work for women and girls.
At Lucknow there began a friendship which has been treasured for thirty years. E. Stanley Jones, one of the most influential spiritual leaders the world has known, was then just beginning his remarkable work among high caste Hindus and Mohammedans in India. Since then, he has traveled and spoken in services in every land and nation. His books and sermons and services have exerted a wider influence than probably any other contemporary religious leader. Arthur is proud to classed as one of his close friends.
Other cherished friendships were formed with India missionaries which continued through direct contacts for twenty years in connection with designated gifts through the New York Office. Included are many Indian preachers and workers, whom it was a privilege to know and work with.
In February 1914, the family started home on their second furlough; sailing on the S.S. Prinz Ludwig – Norddeutscher Lloyd – again westward, via Singapore, the Indian Ocean and the Atlantic. Minnie had been under the doctor’s careful attention for two years. Nothing seriously wrong, just the sapping of strength and vitality, the usual effect of long residence in the tropics on most white women. Arthur so weary that he sometimes wondered whether he over would get back his former zest and vigor. The children were pale and anemic, with thin little legs and bodies. After leaving Singapore, going up the Straits of Malacca, Ellen had heat prostration, and at times seemed to hover between life and death. The heat was like a furnace, and not a breath of air. The ship doctor, a young German on for the trip, did nothing, so Arthur himself looked after her as best he could. At times she seemed in a coma. Once when she opened her eyes she whispered, “It’s not nice to be sick, is it Daddy?” Then David got a lighter touch of the same thing. Only when the ship got out from the lee of Sumatra into the cooler air of the Bay of Bongal did they recover slowly. Then, Ellen took whooping cough, from a family with several children in the next stateroom.
When they got to Naples they planned to go overland; to Rome, Milan, through the Alps, down the Rhine Valley to Holland, and across the Channel to England. The tickets were bought and plans all made, then Minnie became ill and had to go to bed, so, against her protests, the tickets were turned back and reservations made on the next steamer for England. She could be in bed on the steamer. They did take a trip to Pompeii, though she was so weak she could hardly walk. Then when the steamer put in at Algiers for the day, she insisted on going ashore; she just wanted to set foot on Africa. Climbing the steps from the wharf to the street she almost collapsed. The steamer stopped at Lisbon, then on to England. They had a week in London, and were able to see some of the points of interest; then to New York and on to Fostoria. Incidentally, that father who was sure he would never see her face again, was still alive and lived for quite a number of years thereafter. After several months under Dr. Norris’ observation he absolutely forbade her ever to return to the tropics.
Thus after fourteen years, with the return to the Mission field out of the question, Arthur began to wonder what would be open for him here. He and the family needed rest and recuperation first, but, after a few months some of his former vigor did come back. He was asked by the Corresponding Secretaries in New York to help with the Laymen’s Missionary Movement work in Indiana, first going to a trading conference at Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. He became Acting State Secretary for Indiana, and had several months of interesting and pleasant work setting up and conducting missionary meetings especially for men. There he first met Fred B. Fisher and W.E. Doughty, two of Methodists most earnest and effective spiritual leaders. It was a rare privilege to be closely associated with the, and to begin lasting friendships. He was considering a request to keep at this work permanently when he was summoned to New York in January 1915 for a Conference of missionaries, considering plans for the Cemetery of Methodist Missions.
While in New York, Treasurer Fowles and Secretary Taylor asked him to take J.E. Crowther’s work in the office while he was away on a trip to Africa. When Dr. Crowther returned he was used as a missionary speaker throughout the Church. So Arthur began service in the New York office of the Board of Foreign Missions which has lasted twenty-eight years. He was made Secretary of the Department of Designated Income and later was given additional position of Assistant Treasurer. To the new Designated Income Department there were turned over records of gifts totaling possibly $100,000 a year. A new system of records was developed. A policy was adopted of warm sympathetic correspondence with donors, connecting them with specific persons and projects on the field, and bringing to them regular and interesting recultivation, suggesting to donors further gifts for the continued support of their representatives or their work.
The effort always was made to avoid mechanical, stereotyped methods; to keep a personal vital connection between the donor, the New York office, and the mission field. During the Centenary these gifts for specific purposes increased until they totaled over a million dollars a year. Correspondence totaling many thousands of letters annually was conducted with pastors and donors all over the United States, and with missionaries, national workers and students all over the foreign field. That system of records, whereby information about any gift, who gave it, when, how much, where it went and how it was used, is still in operation, unchanged for twenty-five years.
At one time the personnel of the Department numbered twenty-two, all young women; except Ray L. Torrey, associate for fifteen years, formerly missionary in West China, deeply consecrated, clean and pure in thought and act. There is almost a compelling obligation to mention many of the capable hard-working women who typed the letters and made the record. Two are still with the present Designated Gift force: Caroline Messer (nee Werner) and Anna Windhorst. Lillian Romer for many years in charge of the very important Parish Abroad correspondence and records, is retired. Evelyn Viera (nee Laurenco) faithful and efficient personal secretary, Gladys Warren, gentle, patient, diligent, is secretary for Treasurer Sutherland. Agnes Grametbauer, faithful worker, always ambitious, trying to prepare herself for more important work and position; for fiteen years she has been personal secretary for Secretary Diffendorfer. Notwithstanding most exacting work and responsibilities, she found time to acquire a knowledge of Spanish, and for seven years took a complete college course, in nights classes, and was awarded the A.B. degree, Magna Cum Laude. Anne Anderson (nee Meier) is now in charge of the Service Department of the combined Boards, a position of heavy responsibility, where her versatile ability and dynamic energy are always needed. Mrs. Anderson, Mammie Murphy and Charlotte Kessel, have been of great help in preparing this manuscript.
When the Depression came all contributions for Church work and Missions decreased greatly each year, but the percentage of decrease of gifts for specific purposes was very much less than the percentage of Contributions for the general funds.
While attending the General Conference of 1916, in Saratoga Springs, he was summoned Moundsville, West Virginia, by the death of his father; twenty-eight years after that cold night when he started on that journey which eventually led to, and through College, to the Christian Ministry, to helping in the implanting of the ideals of both democracy and Protestant Christianity among an eager receptive people of another race. How a seemingly unimportant and trivial thing may change the course of a life and the influence of that life.
While World War I was on, in 1918, plans were made by the Church and Mission leaders to raise several millions of dollars for relief and reconstruction in Europe and North Africa after the war. Treasurer Fowles and Secretary North asked Arthur to go to Europe to be the Treasurer of these funds. He consented and plans were being made for him to go at once to Paris to set up a temporary office here, then eventually a more permanent office in Genoa, Italy, central to Europe and North Africa. Minnie was eager and willing for him to render this service, but it soon became evident that her health was too frail to leave her with the burden of the home and the children, so against her protest, and against his own strong desire but for her sake, he required that someone else be sent as Treasurer in Europe. Had he one here an entirely different chapter would have been added to their life.
After twenty years of service in the New York Office, he reached the retiring age in 1935. At his Conference in May he asked for retirement, and on June 1, turned over the office work to C. Rogers Woodruff, the new Secretary (now Associate Treasurer).
After the information went out in letters and in the notice in the Church papers that he was retiring, he received many beautiful letters from Church leaders and workers in all parts of the world expressing affection, appreciation of his work, sympathy and good wishes. E. Stanley Jones wrote from the Ashram at Sat Tal, India: “Yesterday at the lakeside meeting we remembered you in prayer.” These letters are very precious. Also he will remember with warm appreciation the luncheon arranged by Secretary Diffendorfer at the Prince George Hotel in New York in honor of Recording Secretary W.B. Tower, retiring at the same time, and himself as Assistant Treasurer.
Again the future seemed uncertain, but after a month’s rest he was asked to assist the Treasurer by helping take care of properties in the Metropolitan Area, which were beginning to come to the Board through the default in mortgages, due to the failure of large Mortgage Investment Companies as a result of the Depression. He has continued in this work for eight years, having direct oversight and management of thirty to forty properties valued at approximately #350,000, and assisting in the placing of Permanent Funds in new mortgage investments. This work has brought friendly association with New York bankers and business institutions; E.M. McBrier, nephew of F.W. Woolworth; George B. Hodgeman; Paul Sturtevant; Arthur B. Hatcher, Vice President of the Guaranty Trust Co; earnest devoted Christian gentlemen who give of their time and ability to the Board of Mission, a service that money could not buy.
It would require many words and even pages of this story to express adequately what he would like to say concerning his associates in the New York office, and his friendly contacts with Methodist leaders, Bishops, ministers, and laymen, from all parts of the United States, and indeed from all the world. The list would be too long. But he feels honored and privileged in mentioning some with whom he has almost daily association; some have passed away, and others are no longer in the office force: - Secretary Frank Mason North, missionary statesman with the soul of a poet. One of the treasured possessions is an autographed copy of his poems and hymns; W.F. Oldham again, one of the Secretaries and later Bishop for South America; S. Earle Taylor again, another of the Secretaries; George Heber Jones, scholarly missionary from Korea; Titus Lowe again, also one of the Secretaries and now Bishop; James M. Taylor, magnetic and forceful on platform and pulpit; Mrs. Ella G. Steele, in charge of the Service Department, always gracious and helpful to the new and amateur member of the staff; C.C. Miles, genial and courteous office manager; John R. Edwards, another one of the Secretaries, calm of spirit and lovable in personality, he should be called St. John; Frank Gamewell, hero of the defenses of Peking in the Boxer uprising; Ralph Ward, now Bishop in China, interned at Shanghai by the Japanese; Morris W. Ehnes, College mate, Treasurer for many years, now retired; Ralph E. Diffendorfer, College mate, for many years one of the Corresponding Secretaries, now Executive Secretary of the Foreign Division in the consolidated Board of Missions, another missionary statesman with a marvelous grasp of world-wide conditions and their significance; Treasurer George F. Sutherland, responsible for a multitude of details but always patient and unhurried; W.B. Tower; C.E. Devesty; W.W. Reid, who has given kindly and sympathetic suggestions concerning this story; Stanely High; Arthur Moss, and Mollie Tuthill, who later married; Harry Farmer, earnest and capable, formerly associate in the Philippines; Dr. J.G. Vaughan, who has done much to keep him in good health; Florence Leavitt, gracious lady at the reception desk; Thomas Donohugh; Frank Cartwright, fellow worker in the glass factory, with whose father and mother he was associated in temperance work in West Virginia many years ago. But the list grows, if given complete it would cover practically all the Board employees through more than twenty-five years, for he believes they were all his friends, and he knows he had, and has, an affectionate regard for them all.
Throughout the years there was also the opportunity of meeting and becoming acquainted with many other notable men, ministers and laymen, who were unselfishly devoting their time and ability to helping in the management of the world business of the Board of Foreign Missions; David G. Downey; Allan MacRossie (wise personal counselor); Dr. C.H. Welch. Welch, found of the Welch Grape Juice Company, genial and friendly, who almost every month, when he came to attend Board Committee meetings, would drop in for a quiet talk, then would casually speak of some specific work or missionary, and pull out his check book and write a check, usually in four figures; L.J. Hartman, former associate at Ohio Wesleyan, Editor of Zion’s Herald; James R. Joy, Editor of the New York Christian Advocate; John H. Race, Publishing Agent; William F. Gigelow, another former associate at Ohio Wesleyan, Editor of Good Housekeeping; Ezra S. Tipple, President of Drew Theological Seminary; and many others. What a privilege to know them and to count them as friends.
But best of all is the abiding satisfaction in being able though retired, to continue in helping the missionary work of the Methodist Church, to which he and his wife have over forty-two years of their life.
For twenty years they made their home in Nutley, New Jersey. For a few years had many opportunities to tell the story of the Philippines, illustrated with lanternslides, in churches near and far. But not being overly strong of body, the increasing amount of office work caused him gradually to discontinue the lecture work. He needed the Sunday rest of the body and mind, and Minnie needed his help with the growing children and in the home responsibilities. She never regained the strength and vitality lost in the tropics.
Then there came an opportunity which developed into one of the most blessed and satisfying experiences of his life. Mrs. Walter Ings, very capable teacher of the Every Woman’s Bible Class in Nutley Church, in addition to much other Church and Community work, became ill. He was asked to teach the class a few weeks until MRs. Ings could recover and come back. He consented, with the very definite understanding that it would be only for amonth or two. He felt physically unequal to the task of lesson preparation and teaching in addition to the heavy office work. The study and preparation of the lessons proved so inspiring and the response of the class so helpful and appreciative, and Mrs. Ings so insistent, that he continued as teacher for over nine years. From an attendance of about a dozen the class grew until enrollment was seventy to eighty and the Sunday attendance, regularly, was thirty to forty, one Sunday it reached fifty. The class a group, and as individuals, took part in all the church activities. They also supported a boy in Liberia. When Arthur and Minnie moved to Yonkers, N.Y., nearly eight years ago, a member of the class became the teacher and the class contuse in numbers, and in large influence in the Church. He proudly carries a watch presented by the class.
In Yonkers, also, he had the privilege, for five years of being the teacher of a Women’s Bible Class in Central Methodist Church, until pressure of other responsibilities made it e seem wise to discontinue. Minnie was a member of each of these classes and to both came precious and lasting friendships.
David and Ellen each went through High School. Each took a course in Art in Pratt Institute, Brooklyn; Ellen completing the course and receiving a diploma. Each became a commercial artist in New York; Ellen discontinuing the work after her marriage. She and her husband own a lovely home in Nutley, N.J. Ellen’s twelve-year-old daughter is at home, going to school, and her husband’s son is a student in Peekskill Military Academy. David has his own studio in New York City, and he and his wife and two-year-old son live in their own delightful home in Dumont, N.J.
Minnie always had a desire to do something in Art. While still in High School she took a few lessons in painting, from a teacher, there in her hometown. During the years of her own teaching, and then in the Philippines and while the children were growing, there was neither time nor strength for any additional tasks. But recently, despite her m ore than seventy years, she has been going frequently to a class in oil painting in New York City, and the three homes take pride in some samples of her artistic ability; small paintings but with much esthetic merit. She finds much pleasure and satisfaction in her painting and plans to continue as long as she is able.
In his travels Arthur has gone twice around the world, crossing the Pacific and Atlantic twice; the turbulent China Sea ten times; the Indian Ocean four times; the Red Sea twice; and the Mediterranean twice. He has visited Japan twice; China five times; ;India once; Singapore four times; Colombo three times; Aden twice; Egypt, Cairo, and the pyramids once; Naples and Genoa twice; Algiers, Gibraltar, and Lisbon once; and England twice. He has traveled widely in the United States.
His life has had some hardships, some loneliness, some sadness; (what life does not have these?) but it has been full of God’s blessing and care, and rich in world-wide service and experience, and fellowship with Church leaders, some of them great, and most of them saints. His heart is full of gratitude to God that he could accept, and use, and bless, very ordinary ability in the work of bringing in His Kingdom in all the world.
Both are now quietly waiting to start on another journey, again westward toward the setting sun. Each will take this journey alone. But, by and by, they will be together again and will expect to travel, hand in hand, through the streets of that Golden City in the Land of Pure Delight. There Arthur will see the face of that mother who has been a living memory for more than seventy years. There is some hope also that from other sacred lips may come the words “Well done.”
After a few months rest at home Arthur was asked to become a member of the staff of the Board of Foreign Missions in New York, where he served for thirty-one years. He is now retired.
A special thanks Ellen Dunham Mallette, Arthur's granddaughter to gave us this story and to Peter Chenoweth who transcribed this story. Last Revision Monday, April 11, 2011 Return to Start