Ya know, it's odd how the "big" things just sometimes seem to bounce off your forehead, rather like seeing the trees instead of the forest. Well, fwiw, that was the state of mind (if you can call it that) I was in, after less than a year at Bethel.
I was reassigned to the night-shift janitorial crew. Among other things, one of my duties was as a night-watchman, which every night took me right up to Fred Franz's door, where I more often than not saw the lights burning; I almost dared to knock one night, but it was like 2 a.m., and I didn't want to interrupt the flow of the Holy Spirit into his brain (honestly, and I mean really honestly, that's what I was thinking at the time).
Then, of all the things that had happened, this one thing just slapped me in the face: Knorr announced that no Bethelite was to wear jeans on the public streets. Now, since I was a janitor, naturally, all I ever wore was jeans; and so I asked my manager: "What the heck am I supposed to do? When I need to cross over to the other buildings (this was before they had tunnels all over the place), am I supposed to change into a suit?" He said "Yes, that's exactly what you're supposed to do."
Now, you'd naturally think that, on the scale of all the things I'd experienced, this would be such a small matter that it wouldn't even register...but it was like the straw on the camel's back.
Remember that fellow I mentioned earlier, who is now a "Nethinim"? Well, at that time he was "just" in the Service Department, and so I approached him. Of course, he knew me, and my folks, and I figured that if I could trust anyone, I could trust him. The conversation lasted for maybe 10 minutes...and it was the same slant that was to haunt me for another 20+ years: "Trust in Jehovah, and He will make it all right."
I was shaking, literally shaking. I walked down the street to a pay-phone, and called my Dad. I pleaded with him to buy me a plane ticket to home. He didn't understand why I was so stressed: he never has.
But, he bought the ticket. The next day I, as required, submitted my letter of resignation to Knorr.
Knorr's response was simple, a very blunt paragraph: "Because you have not fulfilled your 4 years service at Bethel, you are hereby prohibited from being a pioneer, or being a servant, for a minimum period of 6 months." They dutifully notified the military authorities that I was no longer a full-time minister: no longer 4D, now I was 1A, and though the VietNam war was winding down, my lottery number was high on the list.
And so began the explanations to my parents, an appearance before the Draft Board, and yet another attempt to salvage what I had spent my life trying to be.