Here is a chapter from my novel, I Wept by the Waters of Babylon.My book is in the final stages of editing, spellchecking and revisions.
AUGUST 1966 "Okay, let's get ready to start our session. This...Mathis Dante, when he arrives here in about fifteen minutes, is asking for a deferment...on religious grounds...he's a minister of the Jehovah's Witness denomination." Six of Fort Worth's leading citizens had responded to the invitation to membership on the local draft board. The group included the owner of the local taxi cab company, a Baptist minister, an attorney, a physician and a construction foreman and shift leader from the Post Office.
The meeting was being chaired by the Taxi owner, Mr. Charlie Needham. Needham was a mild-mannered, well-respected family man with a beloved sense of humor. He wore horn-rimmed glasses like a math teacher and his bald head looked polished and affable under the glare of the fluorescent lights. Needham was compassionate and methodical; the perfect set of character traits for this responsibility.
The group gathered as needed on a regular basis and had become familiar and comfortable with each other and the process. "I'd just like to ask that we all start out on the same page here. I've had a lot of experience in my church duties dealing with fallout from visits of Jehovah's Witnesses. Families in my congregation find them to be stubborn and prickly. They are like used car salesman when it comes down to trying to get a word in edgewise with them." Reverend Phil Oakes spoke with a velvet cadence as he did from the pulpit. He wasn't pushy or holier than thou. His manner was cordial and reserved. He listened and thought before he spoke and it had served him well in his 23 years of ministerial practice. He was six feet tall with a narrow frame that looked slightly unhealthy. He had played basketball in High School as the Center and high point man on the team. His parents were humorless, strict and glad to push him into the local Seminary. It gave them bragging rights in the neighborhood. "I've had a chat or two at my own front door with these folks," Morris Culpepper spoke up. His thick neck looked like it was about to burst his dress shirt buttons. He was the foreman of a local construction firm and wearing a suit and tie was the most uncomfortable thing you could ask him to do. But, he was following his wife's advice to become more active in the community and develop important connections which might prove advantageous in his business. He was here for an hour a week and that kept her happy. If Margaret was happy the whole world was at peace. Even in a time of war.
"These magazine salesmen are mostly pretty soft and pleasant; especially the men." He laughed at his own words and winked. Attorney, Mike Parks, joined in with him. The others smiled uncomfortably. "What is the agenda of Jehovah's Witnesses? What do we know specifically? Why aren't they allowing their young men to at least take alternate service in a hospital or library? That just doesn't make any sense to me." Parks, the attorney, volunteered for Draft Board review cases because it was much easier than taking court appointed cases which involved a considerable number of hours and commitment for no pay. He wasn't lazy so much as cunning in his choice of how he spent his time. "These people aren't political or even socially active. They don't seem to be interested in charity or education or even simple soup kitchens. What gives?" "I'll tell you what bothers me," Doctor Ken Jarvis, a general practitioner, shook his head.
"These JW's have a really backward understanding of blood transfusions. They are positively medieval when it comes to letting family members die rather than break Old Testament injunctions about blood." Dr. Jarvis' noble profile punctuated his pronouncement as he spoke. Like an axe hewing down timber his head bobbed decisively. He had naturally curly hair that he kept short. It made his overall appearance more boyish and less formal than his manner would belie. The doctor stayed busier than most people he knew. He was a mover and a shaker in everyday affairs. If he could join a club, a group or a committee he never hesitated to do so. He had divorced a year earlier and staying busy kept him out of trouble. "They let their family members die? That's terrible! What has that got to do with Jesus, God or the bible? That's what I'd like to know?" Cal Marley worked the second shift at the downtown branch of the Post Office. He had insomnia and arthritis and his eyes weren't as good as they had been just the year before. He was pushing sixty and couldn't do most of the things that he loved to do anymore. Volunteering for the Draft Board kept him out of the house and away from his wife's sister who had recently moved in. She was nothing but trouble and heartache. But, Cal couldn't say a word or the wrath of Mary Lou would end life on earth as he knew it. Better to stay busy and out of doors. Charlie Needham picked up a notebook and began extemporizing from something he had jotted the night before. "Listen to this. It might clear up your mind on some things." Needham squinted at his own handwriting and worked his mouth like a child does when drawing with a crayon. The others sat around a few folding tables that had been arranged in a board-meeting shaped U. Outside traffic was muffled. Construction was under way next door. The Texas Employment Commission was building expanding its facility and a jack hammer interrupted the morning's otherwise normal thrum of people, cars and commerce with a staccato rattle. "Jehovah's Witnesses submit only reluctantly to any authority outside of their headquarters in New York. They have a leadership at a place called Bethel Headquarters. The Board of Directors there create their policy. All the religious membership outside of Bethel must comply and obey at their local Kingdom Halls... or else." Needham stopped and sipped his red Thermos lid of coffee he had poured earlier. It was still hot. "Or else, what?" Reverend Oakes chimed in rhetorically. "Or else they get kicked out! They call it disfellowshipping. Once you get kicked out everybody shuns you. Nobody, not even your own family will have much to do with you! That is why they are scared to offend their hierarchy in Brooklyn!"
Cal Marley was slouched in his chair feeling a throb in his knee from climbing the stairs to the meeting room. He interrupted rubbing the ache. "That is creepy. Sounds like the Communists to me. Do what I say or else!"
Marley didn't hate anybody except his wife's sister. He was pretty sure she might be Communist. She was bossy enough to be a Red agent. Never listened to anybody; just barked orders! Needham looked around and up at the clock. Satisfied at the time he continued. "These young Jehovah's Witness boys are up against it in their local Kingdom Halls. Everybody; men, women, young and old have to put in ten hours of preaching each and every month or they are considered spiritually weak. But, the draft age boys are pushed to full-time preaching. That means going door to door selling magazines, I suspect. The ones who don't go full time are vulnerable. Those are the ones we pick off at the Draft Board as not qualifying for Ministerial classification; 4-D." He took another sip and noticed Doctor Jarvis frowning. "Something wrong, Doctor?" "I'm confused about how these people decide what is right and wrong. There was a case at the Peter Smith emergency ward a few months back. The parents of an eight year old girl were trying to get a judge to take the child away from them temporarily and order a transfusion so they wouldn't get in trouble for making the decision themselves. That's just bizarre." Doctor Jarvis glanced at his Rolex Oyster Perpetual and noted either his expensive watch or the clock on the wall were off by at least a minute. This was disturbing to an obsessive compulsive. He instinctively twiddled the stem on his watch and synchronized it with the wall clock. He smiled, once more at ease. Reverend Oakes made a disgusted face and put his fingers together in a matching tripod for studied emphasis. He practiced gestures and postures in front of the mirror regularly with photos of evangelist Billy Graham for a guide. "Legalism. That's what we call it in Seminary. Making a fetish out of rules in order to appear righteous. This always happens in an Authoritarian religious body. In Jesus' day it was the Pharisees who separated themselves off and nitpicked every little thing the apostles did with criticism and complaints." He was about to start in on a sermon segue he'd given last August when the door opened and a tall nineteen year old suddenly popped in without a knock. "Is this where my draft hearing is?" Mathis Dante had on his only suit. It was an iridescent fabric with peculiar tailoring. His grandmother had created double side vents because he saw a similar tailoring on James Bond. Handy with sewing, his grandmother happily complied with his requests. His shirts were darted to conform to his narrow physique and his necktie had a pearl tie tack right in the middle, like an albino cherry on a soda fountain sundae. The Draft Board group visibly straightened and began eyeballing Mathis; studying him intently; making mental notes and categorizing every detail; forming preliminary conclusions about who and what he was as a person and a citizen. For one thing, the physician noticed that the shoes were cheap, but, they were highly polished. His hair was groomed, but, not professionally trimmed. The young man had a shopworn elegance. The Postal clerk studied how he held his body stiffly and how tense his lips made him appear. This kid was nervous and making out he was not affected. He smiled, remembering his own first day at the Post Office as the only black man among all whites. He wasn't going to show any fear either that day. He began to sympathize a little. Wanting to please the Lord did not make you a coward. "Please sit down and make yourself comfortable, Mr. Dante. Mathis? Is that how you like to be called? Or, do you prefer Matt?" Charlie Needham glanced again at the wall clock and saw they were a minute early. Perhaps they could get this over in less than the hour permitted and give himself enough time to make a phone call to determine what problems had cropped up at the Yellow Cab with him gone for the morning. He was the man who put out fires and changed water into wine at the company. Every time he left for even a few hours the world came down and he'd have to set everything aright once more by simple measures and a few soft-spoken orders.
"Mathis is fine." The lanky young man sat in the center of the U shaped tables on the opposite side with his chair pushed out three feet away from the nearest board member. He could see all of them and they could see him. He felt like a tired swimmer in the jaws of a Great White. "We will now proceed with our hearing. It is nine a.m. We'll try to finish up here before ten if possible. We are all here to listen to your reasons for applying for deferment and your request for ministerial classification. Can you give us a brief statement covering that in your own words?" The board was staring collectively. Their eyes bore in with expectancy. It felt like a firing squad listening for the order to "fire!" Mathis cleared his throat again and again as he spoke. He was articulate. His vocabulary unusually broad and detailed, belied a way above average intelligence and sharpness of mind. He repeated to the Draft Board the essential points he had confided to the F.B.I. agents the month before. He scrutinized each of their faces as he spoke using all the highly developed skills he'd been absorbing at the local Kingdom Hall in their Theocratic Ministry School. He made excellent eye contact and employed persuasive gestures and modulated dynamic tone changes as he gave his summation. Morris Culpepper loosened the top button on his shirt and undid his tie just enough to prevent strangulation. Rubbing his neck he started scribbling with a yellow pencil on a legal pad provided for just such occasions. "Here is what I want to know. Do you have a regular job? Do you work for a living? Or, do you preach in a church like normal preachers do?" He angled his massive head toward Reverend Oakes. "I am a portrait artist; self-employed. I don't punch a clock anywhere. I live at home with my grandparents and mother. Jehovah's Witnesses are all considered ministers. We go from door to door in our ministry. Anytime we have the opportunity to tell about the Good News of Jehovah's Kingdom, like here today, we are ministering--I guess you could say." Mathis smiled wryly as Reverend Oakes pouted at his answer. "What we mean is this," Oakes tapped his fingers together in the spider-doing-push-ups hand gesture. "Are you a full-time minister so that you actually deserve deferment for full-time preaching activities or is this Watchtower magazine peddling more of a hobby?" Oakes had decided to be confrontational without being mean-spirited. Mathis eyes went up and to the left. This was a question he'd never been asked before. "Sir, the issue concerning ministerial deferment is one of principle and obedience rather than hours spent on activities." Attorney Parks was fidgeting in his uncomfortable folding chair. He pulled a Mount Blanc pen from his inside suit pocket and pointed it like the muzzle of a Derringer pistol toward the young man. "Correct me, please, if I state this improperly. My understanding is that you Jehovah's Witnesses can't perform alternate service, as provided by law, in a hospital or library for the benefit of the community because you are serving God Jehovah rather than Caesar. Is that correct, sir?" His manner had changed dramatically into a cross-examiner in a jury room. "When it comes to military service we serve God rather than Caesar; that's correct." "Yet, if a Judge orders you to perform the exact same community service which you had refused; you happily comply and take the job! How is that logically consistent with your beliefs?" Parks narrowed his dark brown eyes and forced himself not to blink as he awaited the answer. "To accept alternate service to military service is to substitute that alternate service for military service. It is a compromise of one's integrity and makes the person accepting it blood guilty just as though they had joined the military. This violates our Christian neutrality. However, if this same Christian minister is convicted under law he stands before the judge as a prisoner. A prisoner does not voluntarily give up freedom of choice, but, is compelled to perform the work." Attorney Parks raised his eyebrows and chortled. "Ridiculous reasoning! Caesar is Caesar in both instances. The military works for Caesar and the Judge works for Caesar; either way it is Caesar telling you what work to perform. You're splitting hairs because you don't have a defensible principle you're defending!" Reverend Oakes and Charlie Needham started speaking at the same time. Needham paused and let the Reverend take the lead. "Thank you, Charlie. I want to say this to you, young man; a Pharisee binds people with the burden of many rules, regulations, traditions and laws. Your so-called principle of neutrality is straight ahead Pharisee thinking!" Oakes took on the fervor of a the actor John Carradine in the film Grapes of Wrath. His craggy countenance waggled with melodramatic intensity as though mugging for an unseen camera. Needham jumped in at the pause in Reverend Oakes' sacred pronouncement. "Surely you see, Mathis, that this makes no logical sense! Jesus Christ was not a hair-splitter, as far as I ever remember reading. He spoke plainly and simply...." Oakes was perturbed at what he perceived to be Needham's interruption just as he was getting started on a solid harangue. "Pharisee logic is what it is, as I was saying.." Taking a shot Needham's way, Oakes now performed the chopping gesture series with each important word accompanied by a downward slice of the hand like a karate instructor breaking pine boards at exhibition. "The Government stands placed in its position by the authority of God and his son, Jesus! When you refuse to listen to that authority you violate God's arrangement of the Superior Authority of Caesar! None of this is voluntary service since it is required of citizens to support the policies which protect the country from its enemies!" Morris Culpepper wasn't following any of the fancy arguments. He lost the thread early on. When lawyers and pastors commenced to jabbering you could be sure it was time for a little fresh air. "Son, what if everybody believed the same way you did?" "There would be no wars; I can assure you of that. No wars; no Draft Board and we wouldn't be sitting here today." Dante relaxed suddenly, feeling he had finally scored a point. Yet, he was troubled by what had just been said by the attorney. Culpepper wasn't having in one-ups by this smart kid. "What I mean is...what if only Americans believed just as you do and the Communists knew that?" "Then, America would finally be the Christian nation it claims to be." Dante couldn't help himself. This is how his mind worked. He was a counter puncher. He could think quickly and cleverly without hesitation and it often took him where it was imprudent to venture. Charlie Needham's sense of propriety now violated; he addressed Mathis in a more serious way than at any time before. Common sense was needed. "Mathis, if somebody broke into your house and threatened your family's life; wouldn't you defend them with violence if it saved their lives?" "Sir, the Viet Namese people have not broken into my house. If anything, we've broken into theirs. The war is them defending their own families us against us as intruders and not the other way around." Dante had a sense he was swimming in a riptide now. Still, he found the words came to him easily. Glib banter was his specialty and allowing any of the people on the Draft Board to get the best of him was simply out of the question. Culpepper stiffened. He felt blood rush to his cheeks. This would not stand! "My father served in WWII because the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and he wasn't going to let Tojo or Hitler or Mussolini run this world. We'd all be under Hitler's thumb or going up in smoke in some Auschwitz if god-fearing Americans all believed the way you believe. You've got your head on backwards, son! How can think the way you think and not feel a deep sense of shame that others shed their blood to allow you to draw pictures in your Mommy's house all day or sell comic books with a Watchtower on them and call it Christianity?" Culpepper's eyes were fairly bugging out of his skull and he knew he was not comporting himself well. But, he was a passionate man when it came to patriotism. His daddy had instructed him what the costs of freedom were by rolling up his trouser leg and pointing to a bullet wound through his calf muscle. It looked like a sideways frown; all pink and naked. He had been sorely impressed! "Many Jehovah's Witnesses died in concentration camps because they would not take up arms for Hitler, sir. One thing you can be certain of. No Jehovah's Witness ever pointed a rifle at your father." It was the best answer Mathis could think of. He felt his stomach churning under the onslaught. He was always extremely uncomfortable around angry men. His own grandfather had a horrifying temper; even pointing a pistol at Mathis' mother once because she disagreed with him. Doctor Jarvis felt the heat of the argument was getting off point and the clock was running out as well. A change of subject might cool things down enough to wind things to a close. "Would you say that Jehovah's Witnesses cherish life and view it as a sacred gift from God?" Jarvis was laying a subtle trap.
"Jehovah is the giver of life. Jesus healed and brought people back from the dead. When Peter chopped off somebody's ear with a sword; it was Jesus who restored it. The purpose of His kingdom is the benefit of humans and he does not desire that any persons die." Jarvis leaned forward employing the wedge gesture as a knight about to unseat a rival in a joust. "If life is so precious to you; why do Jehovah's Witnesses let little children die rather than accept a blood transfusion? Is that more of the Pharisee coming out, perhaps? I know for a fact that parents will let their own child die unless a judge orders the transfusion. A similar craziness to your military refusal problem. You'd think preserving life would trump some crazy rule finesse by a judge!" Mathis cringed inwardly. This was the most difficult issue to explain to a layman. Especially with doctors who took a black and white view of life and death was it hard to argue. "Our hands are tied by what the bible says. Nobody wants their child to die under any circumstance. But, we must remain obedient to His word even if the choices are very hard." Culpepper's body jerked suddenly like he'd been stung by a wasp. This was too much for him. He had children and nothing would stand in the way of his saving their lives; no matter what any crazed bible thumper might argue. "Good God, man! Any religion that stands by and lets an innocent child die when they could be saved by a doctor is no religion I'd want to call Christian! Jesus couldn't possibly have said anything about letting children die just to make him happy. No way!" "What about wife beating and child molestation? How does your religion deal with those matters?" Cal Marley wrinkled his nose inquisitively and frowned expectantly. "As far as I know, we don't have any in our religion. But, if we did, the judicial committee would need at least a couple of eyewitnesses before they could take official action." Mathis was out of his depth on this. He couldn't understand what any of this questioning had to do with his own deferment. Needham had had enough for his own decision. The hearing was turning into a melee. It was up to him to bring order and organization and accomplish what they set out to do. Five minutes remained in the allotted hour. It was time to conclude matters straight away. "I think we've all heard enough to determine what we are dealing with here. Is there anything in conclusion you'd like to address specifically concerning your ministerial deferment, Mathis?" The tide had crashed on his head and Mathis struggled back to the surface as though dragging a heavy millstone with him. What could change their minds? How could they be made to see that his religion was not legalistic. He wasn't a Pharisee. He was just trying to do the right thing as he understood it. "Gentlemen, thank you for taking the time and trouble to hear me out. When I was a kid I wanted nothing better than to be a jet pilot in the Air Force. I played army and cowboy and owned a two gun holster. I was an ordinary, normal American kid. I can cry when the National Anthem plays or swell with pride when Old Glory is hoisted at Iwo Jima like any patriotic citizen. There is only one difference between any of you and myself. I see my service to God and my belief in Jesus from a different line of view. I've read the same bible you have read. I see one thing and you see another. That's why there isn't just one church. There are thousands." "Logically, they can't all be true and right and yet contradict each other. So, what we have is a stand off, really. We have the freedom to step on one side of the line or the other and make our best choice. We go with our heart and our gut and we stand where we stand. None of us knows until the very end, on the day of Judgement, if we picked the right side or not. Armageddon will tell the tale." 'I want a deferment to tell my side of things. I can't take up a rifle in good conscience and I can't work in a hospital for reasons I explained. So, I'm compelled by this choice and these reasons, for better or worse, to stick by my beliefs and my faith. I'll do what I believe is best and you'll follow your consciences the way you feel is best. Thank you." The group listened cautiously and uneasily as his words fell upon their ears. It sounded sincere. It was relaxed. He wasn't really arguing with them or even persuading them. If anything, the words were coming from somewhere deep inside of him. This wasn't a performance. Charlie Needham nodded as though putting a period at the end of a long sentence with his chin. "Thank you. I speak for all of us in expressing appreciation for your sincerely and good manners. We'll confer and give our decision directly to proper authorities. You'll get something in the mail eventually from the Selective Service concerning you status. That's about it."
Needham had just enough time to take the elevator downstairs to the telephone booth in the lobby and catch his assistant, Morris before running out for a bite to eat. Then, he'd return and they'd have a vote. It was already a certainty this Mathis Dante would not get a full ministerial deferment of 4 D. There was no way he was full time in his ministerial duties. He would, however, be given the I. O. status of conscientious objector. He'd have to continue his path as a semi-martyr with the Military. Doctor Jarvis sheathed his Mont Blanc, happy for the meeting to end. These hearings were tedious and only reinforced his own opinion that lunatic fringe religions did more harm to themselves than good mental health would allow. Attorney Parks felt self-assured all his comments had made points with his fellow board members. He'd get excellent commendations on his evaluation sheet by Needham, no doubt about that. Cal was weary as he trudged out of the meeting room toward the stairs. His doctor had admonished him to exercise his knees by climbing stairs whenever possible to strengthen his tendons and surrounding muscles. He hated it, but; a man had to do what he was told. Just like the Dante kid. You do what you must do no matter how it hurts. Reverend Oakes was expecting some pats on the back and a "Well done!" or two, but; nobody said anything to him. This felt odd. Clearly he'd put the kid in the right light and had exposed his false beliefs for the mish mash the really were. He consulted his Day-at-a-glance book and saw that he had a consultation with a young married couple next. He had performed their wedding a few months earlier and the trouble had already begun! He shook his head and sighed. A man of God's work wasn't an easy thing. Mathis, still clutch his green bible, quickly departed from the room and down the staircase to the lobby and out into the bright sunlight. The sound of construction and the bustle of street noises smashed into his ears like a battering ram. He took in a deep breath and tried to clear his head. This was not the best day of his life. First, the F.B.I. interrogation and now, this. When would it all end? He was almost certainly going to end up in prison no matter what he said. Exhaling slowly and fighting off a gnawing sense of panic, Mathis Dante set off walking the four miles from downtown Fort Worth to his house at 709 E. Baltimore. The walk would give him ample time to pray and review the morning's confrontations. He walked at a fast clip toward a row of storm clouds on the southern horizon. The wind was picking up in gusts and it wasn't too far fetched to expect a tornado might spring up. It was certainly that time of year.All questions and comments are very valuable to me at this stage.
Thanks!