The 70’s passed by in a haze of bad fashions and flaccid Watchtower excess.
I tried hard to be ‘bright-boy’, thinking somehow that I was pleasing the inhabitants of Heaven by doing so, and was rapidly pushed up Jacob’s’ Corporate Ladder, somehow without ever having to put my foot on a rung. Regular Pioneer, MS, infant elder, Special Pioneer, Temporary CO, special Branch assignments, they dropped on me with a rapidity that took away my senses.
Perhaps it was the disarming manner of speaking only when I was spoken too that fooled my mentors into thinking me capable. My practiced silence, which is often mistaken for loyalty in higher WTS stations, may have been interpreted as a commendable requirement for the political cuckoo-land that makes up WTS middle management, but in reality it was just a reflection of my distrust of men who’s superlatives always end with the words ‘grand’, or ‘fine’, and women who could not handle their drink. I just could not see what all this had to do with being a Christian.
I had gradually metamorphosed from a good poet to a bad politician and was beginning to have to deal with the internal self-loathing that this transformation had bought to my own psyche. I drank scotch from the bottle, by the bottle, wandered in a lonely sort of desperation on grey wind-chilled beaches, stupidly charted one man climbs above mountain snow lines that would have killed any man who did not want to die, and built heavy fortifications around my battered heart. Cheered only by many beautiful and sincere souls that I met in scattered halls, the type Raymond Franz described as being Christians despite the WTS, to this day, i now I thank them from the depths of my heart, for unknowingly being there for me.
A meteoric rise in my Theocratic career had taken me from a lazy anonymity through the ranks, to a confused little sod and trainee CO with a bundle of very senior contacts as friends, but I never felt further from God than at any time in my life. I came to understand that the word ‘God’ had many transferable terms within the corridors of power and it became profoundly more clear each year, that Brooklyn’s agenda was to turn our wine into water.
When I sat beside Duncan who was now married to a fine looking girl, an elders daughter at that, and looking rather at ease with life, I was certain he had no idea what had taken place in my own life since our last meeting and the blend of chaos and fire that I was trying to control within myself.
Duncan, I presume, was also was unaware that I had developed deep concerns regarding some very basic doctrines of the WTS and had frequently let the London Branch know in writing ( Hi Boys! ) of them where I was viewed as a sort of eccentric mascot due to my secular talents. It was now the early 80’s, my many letters and research ( though Classical not Biblical Greek was one of my disciplines, I was no fool ) were producing so many ‘wait on Jehovah letters’ that it became clear to me that much more sinister agendas were being played out, but I digress and this is another boring subject for any boring day.
So Duncan and I, sat swigging in publand, netting memories of times past like weary butterflies. I gradually raised the subject of the ‘poles’ concerns about his waning ‘spirituality’. Duncan, in his customary honest and easy manner, confessed brazenly that he was no longer convinced we were living in the last days, in fact he was no longer convinced of very much that the WTS had to offer - so there! Joe Jackson was playing ‘Stepping Out’ on the background juke-box if I recall, which impressed me as rather apt at the time.
I was struck by the committed tenor of his conviction. Duncan, I need to inform you is a man with his own mind, but is thoroughly good-natured fellow and would scurry to the confessional head in hands if he ever raised his voice beyond a normal conversational level. I was secretly very pleased with his decision, but as is my wont, said little. My only advice was, ‘Well Duncan, if you are going, go out and do something with your life - don’t waste your time’. As it transpired he did not, and I am proud of his success in the business world. I reported back to the PO 'pole' that Duncan had a few problems but that he would get over them in time, and that 'pole' and 'poleland' should let him find his feet. Standard elder talk for leave him alone, he is fine.
Duncan went his way and I went mine and our backs disappeared from view for twenty years. We lost contact altogether and I had no idea even where he lived, or for that matter if he lived.
I am not terribly comfortable with on-line life, in fact I hate it, but found H20 a couple of weeks before the herd moved to JW.com. I began posting in April of last year. Of course I had no idea who 'Duncan' was until we touched each others lives again through a school alumni list that I investigated. Duncan must have been a little startled when I first contacted him, especially as he probably thought that I was still a JW. He probably thought I was trying to get 'service time' in by e mail due to my advanced age. lol. Whatever the case here we post.
So Duncan, my old friend, I raise my glass to you and yours and wish you all the best in what is left of your life. We have traveled far on our respective roads, but our hearts have never taken us too far from each other. Remember you may be a little younger than myself, but I will always be prettier. Lol.
HS