Larc mentioned our heritage as JW’s recently. I used that same word in a response to a thread started by JT. Mrs. Gene Brandt, wife of the famous district overseer, spoke our her Witness heritage in her life story, published in the Watchtower. The 1967 WTBS black and white documentary “Heritage” portrayed Witness young people as enjoying a legacy of a good conscience, peace and fulfillment, while their non-Witness counterparts suffered STD’s, illegitimate pregnancies, guilt, etc.
This all got me to thinking about what MY JW heritage might be. John Lennon’s words came to me: “You must have learned SOMETHING in all those years.”
I did. Frugality.
Most of us with extensive, active JW backgrounds come closer to the lifestyle of the half-penny pinching Henry David Thoreau than to Mark Cuban. “Putting the Kingdom first” necessitates creative economic adjustment. In my two person household, I am know as “Mr. Cheap”. My gentle protest is that my paycheck is put back into circulation quicker than a New York bellhop can show you his palm. Although, I admit to visiting the Frugal Living discussion board, “Insulating with Dryer Lint” is not my concept of frugality.
Turning the clock back thirty-five years, my wife and I enjoyed a lifestyle, almost sublime, on very little coin. Martin Jensen, the subject of an earlier post, had just died. His masonite 40’s vintage trailer sported a large hole on each side where Hurricane Beulah had blown a tree limb through it. The Congregation Servant’s wife had confiscated the only thing of value in the trailer, a pressure cooker, and consensus was, that if we wanted the trailer, it was ours.
We went to work. We covered the fuselage with heavy cheese cloth and applied Sears-Roebuck asphalt-aluminum coating, several coats. From a distance, the old trailer resembled an Airstream. We tiled the floor with alternating green/almond tiles and applied green epoxy to the fridge and stove. OK, we had a home. The CO suggested a $5.00 per month contribution for electricity. OK.
My $33.00 a week income enabled us to eat out EVERY meal. Panchita’s on 14th Street offered a platter-size flour tortilla with refried beans for 15 cents. Coffee was a dime extra, including refills. We usually had change in our pockets after morning field service and the basement cafeteria at Mercy Hospital took mercy on us with their 30 cent vegetable plate. We stopped on the way at a panaderia (bakery) and my wife had stuffed a bollio (french bread) in her purse. 10 more cents. Usually, this was enough food, but on some nights, we crossed the border , eating dinner at Papagayo’s. Bistec con papas fritas was 8 pesos (64 cents), including a stack of corn tortillas, frijoles, a bowl full of key limes and salsa.
In the Rio Grande Valley, there are still Ropa Segundas, large second hand clothing stores. The clothing comes in box car loads from up north and is bought by the ton. It is unloaded in large bales, which are dumped on the floor. Mexican women sort through these bales by throwing each garment over their shoulder. As the pile in front diminishes, a larger, looser one grows behind them. These women can tell by looking if any garment will fit any member of their family. My wife has these skills and years ago picked up many stylish garments at the then going rate of 10 cents each.
I will halt this boring soliloquy here. As Barbra sings: “It was all so simple then.”
TMS