Autobiography of Herbert W. Armstrong, Vol. 1
Introduction
From beginnings humble and small without parallel, to the magnitude of today’s
enterprises and worldwide impact is the story of growth
unbelievable! It is the incredible story of something never done before—never
done this way—a seemingly impossible achievement utterly unique in the
world!
By all the criteria of organizational and institutional experience, it simply
could never have happened.
Every phase of this globe-girdling Work has been something altogether
unique—a first—the blazing of a new
trail.
* Ambassador College is astonishingly unique
among institutions of higher learning.
* The Plain Truth magazine is utterly unique
in the publishing field.
* The World Tomorrow program, viewed and heard by millions worldwide on
both television and radio, is entirely unique in
broadcasting.
* And the Worldwide Church of God, behind these global enterprises, is
altogether unique on the earth—practicing, as it
does, the revealed ways of the living Creator God, and for the first time
in 181/2 centuries, thundering His all-important Message of the way to World
Peace over all continents of the earth.
This entire Work has belied all traditional experience. It has reversed
accepted procedures. Yet, I hasten to add, these have not been ways of
my devising!
But how did it all start?
And since this is the life story of a man, what led a man who had been unusually
successful in the world of mammon, with his energy and drive solely directed
toward self-gain and status in the business world, to come to reverse his entire
life goal and become dedicated to the things of God? Why would a man turn his
back on material rewards, and devote his life to giving
instead of getting?
How I came to receive the eye-opening shock of my life, and in due time to be
literally thrust into the very last calling and profession I would
ever have chosen, was an experience as unique as
everything done since.
Coming to the present, why do heads-of-state—kings, presidents, prime
ministers of many governments around the world invite personal meetings with a
private citizen of my status? Why do governments officially confer highest
honors on such a private alien?
I repeat, this reversing of trends, ways and procedures has not been that of my
devising. As I look back over the years, I can only shake my head in wonderment.
I have not done these things—no man could. I cannot take credit. Yet,
paradoxically, I have been privileged to have the leading part in these
activities.
This, truly, is one of the most incredible success stories of our time. There is
a very significant reason! For it is the story of what the living God can do—and
has done through a very average human instrument, called and chosen by Him—one
whose eyes He opened to astonishing truth about the real cause of the
troubles and evils heads of governments face, and the way to World
Peace—one He reduced to humble obedience, yielded in faith and dedicated to
God’s way! God promises to prosper His own Work. And HOW GREATLY He
has blessed and prospered it! Like the grain of mustard seed, it
grew!—and GREW!
Ask yourself: What company, business, enterprise or institution in this
world’s ways, ever experienced a steady growth
averaging nearly 30% every year for decades?
This activity did!
Most commercial businesses and enterprises do well to hold about even over the
years. But a growth averaging 30% every year, regularly and steadily, for
decades? It must be a record unmatched. It meant doubling in size and scope and
power every 22/3 years. It meant multiplying itself in size eight times
in every eight years, 64 times every 16 years, 4,096 times in 32 years!
Most, if not all major corporate institutions began with sizeable capital. But
this worldwide Work started giving—(reversing objectives and procedures)
with absolutely no financial capital!
These globe-girding enterprises included the founding and operation of a co-ed
college in the field of the liberal arts and humanities. I’m sure anyone
experienced in the administration of a private-owned college would say: “No one
could start to build such a college without money, endowment, government aid, or
grant from any foundation, making no appeal to the public for financial support,
and build such a college, of outstanding quality and beauty with the most modern
facilities, and in so doing gain an enviable financial status recognized by
major banks in New York, Philadelphia, Los Angeles, London and Geneva.
Impossible!”
But much more! In every way, Ambassador College is unique. In magnificence of
its campus—in the tone and character of its buildings and grounds—the physical
setting in which it has produced tone and character in young men and
women—Ambassador College is certainly unique in a world where education has
drifted into materialism. Ambassador has dared to recapture the
true values; to restore the most necessary
missing dimention in knowledge; to become a
cultural character-building institution, concerned with moral, spiritual
and ethical values as well as with the intellect. It started without money—with
four students and eight members of faculty and administration. There have been
no protest marches, no friction between students and faculty and administration,
no hippie-type students. Ambassador is indeed unique!
These enterprises include the World Tomorrow television and radio
broadcast, aired weekly in nearly every market throughout the English-speaking
world and in numerous other areas worldwide. There is no solicitation for
financial support. The programs are unique in
the broadcasting field, with worldwide impact on
millions!
There is The Plain Truth—a finest quality mass-circulation magazine in
full color in seven languages, with about eight million copies monthly. This,
alone, would rate as “big business” if it were a
commercial profit-making operation. But this enterprise was built, starting
without capital, without advertising revenue and without subscription price
income. It is indeed unique in the publishing
field.
Also there are other publications, including The Bible Correspondence Course
issued monthly, with scores of thousands of students enrolled; the Good News
magazine and a Youth magazine. There are scientific expeditions, in
association with the Leopold III Foundation for the Exploration and Conservation
of Nature. This Work, further, has been engaged in large-scale archaeological
projects in joint-participation with Hebrew University of Jerusalem and with the
Japanese government; with other institutions in Syria, as well as cultural and
humanitarian projects in Southeast Asia, the Kingdom of Jordan and in Africa.
Yes, truly, this has been “Mission Impossible”—accomplished!
And still being accomplished in ever-increasing magnitude! It has been and is,
as stated above, an example of what the living God can do, has done, and is
doing through human instrumentalities yielded to Him and obedient to
His ways!
I had been, over wide areas, conducting surveys on conditions and trends. I was
greatly concerned over learning that most people are not happy—the world is full
of evils. But why? My surveys revealed the
worsening conditions, but not the cause. Nor could it be found in
science, nor in education, nor in government, nor in religion.
In the autumn of 1926, my wife said she had discovered, in the Bible, a
God-ordained way of
life—a way contrary to accepted Christianity. It became controversial. I
was challenged into the most intensive study of my life.
I had been born and reared of upstanding and stable parents of a traditional
orthodox Christian denomination. I had never had any particular religious
interest, and by age 18 I dropped out of Sunday school and church attendance. I
assumed, as probably do most, that the denominations of traditional Christianity
had received their beliefs and doctrines from the Bible. I had always said, “I
simply can’t understand the Bible.” But now I set out to prove, by the Bible,
that “all these churches can’t be wrong!”
Soon I encountered the most astonishing shock of my life! I was shocked to
discover not only that traditional Christianity taught contrary to the
Bible—that the Christian religion, with more adherents than any religion, did
not, as I had supposed, get its teachings from the Bible, BUT that
the Bible contained teachings and revelations of facts not known or
taught by any religion.
It was amazing! I began to see plainly, in the Bible, that what I had been
taught from childhood was primarily the very opposite of what the Bible
teaches in plain language! At first I was confused. My head was swimming! My
foundations seemed to be crumbling beneath me.
Simultaneously I was making a renewed in-depth study of the theory of Evolution.
I was researching it and at the same time the Biblical claims of special
Creation.
Was there a God, after all? What could a man believe? It was, for a
while, a frustrating dilemma.
Gradually, as these months of 12- to 16-hour days of study progressed, the real
truth began to emerge. It didn’t come easily or quickly. It required effort,
zeal, determination, patience. And above all, a willingness to confess error
when proved, and to confess truth even against my own will.
I did find absolute proof that the
Creator, God Almighty, exists and rules the
universe. I found many proofs of the inspiration and authenticity of the Bible.
And I found the CAUSE of all this world’s ills, as well as the
solution that will be made—if even against the resistance and opposition of
humanity! I found the missing dimension in
knowledge—what man is, why man was
put on earth—the purpose for which we were made
alive. I found the way that was set in living
motion to cause and produce
peace, happiness, abundance! I found what
neither science, religion, nor education has revealed—what had been overlooked,
though available.
And IT ALL MADE SENSE!
I found the revealed answers—rational, obvious
answers—to humanity’s problems, troubles and evils. Answers not found in
science, education, government nor religion! And I found that the very
gospel—which means good NEWS—brought to
the world by Christ had for 181/2 centuries been rejected or ignored by that
world!
How all this came about is the story of an experience as unique as it was
heartrending and difficult to go through—for it became a battle against my own
self and my human—my very human nature. In the end, I lost that battle in
an unconditional surrender. And the incredible accomplishments in which I have
been privileged to have the leading part, have been the result.
Sometime ago, a leading American news magazine, reviewing the frightening state
of today’s world, commented to the effect that it would seem the only hope for
human survival now lies in the intervention of an unseen “Strong Hand from
Someplace.” What has been developed in such astonishing manner in this Work is
directly creditable to the direction, inspiration, and empowerment of that
“Strong Hand.”
It is a historic fact that many times the unseen One has prepared in advance
those to be used as His instruments for getting His purpose accomplished. In my
personal case, looking back in retrospect, I have felt that the advance
preparation, even from childhood, was a thrilling succession of unusual and
intriguing experiences.
Thousands have requested that I write the details of those experiences.
Too often, it seems to me, leaders in science, in government, or other fields of
activity hastily ask only, “How soon can we?” instead of “Should we?” I
did ask myself, should the story of my life be written and published? For
some time, I felt it should not. I felt it was my responsibility to get on with
getting the job done, not to talk or write about myself.
But when listeners, viewers and readers ask to know what’s back of this Work—how
it started, what led to it, how it has been done—I came to realize they
have a right to know.
As a young man I read Benjamin Franklin’s Autobiography three times—over
a period of a few years. It had a considerable impact and influence on my life.
I owe much to having read it. The reading of life experiences of many other men,
whether biography or autobiography, have been of great value and inspiration.
There was the autobiography of Bernard Baruch, biographies of George Washington,
Abraham Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt and many others.
Then there was the Apostle Paul, a man of God, who told his life experiences,
recorded in the Bible. The first four books of the New Testament consist,
primarily, of those portions of the life-story of Jesus helpful to the reader.
The Old Testament is replete with biographical sketches of the life experiences
of many men—Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Joshua, Samuel, David, Elijah,
many others.
I came to realize that the recording of one’s life experiences can be inspiring
and helpful to others—provided there has been something of real value in those
experiences. The influence exerted on me by personal association with numerous
leaders among men, in business, industry, education, government, and by reading
of such lives, played their part in carrying me through an eventful life, filled
with interesting, exciting and unusual experiences. They have helped solve
problems, meet difficulties, sorrows, sufferings. They have contributed also to
successes, and the joy of participating in great accomplishments.
And now, looking back on a long life well filled with action, effort, travel,
important personal meetings with the so-called great and the near-great, many
world leaders, kings, presidents, prime ministers, educators, industrialists,
heads of great banks, scientists—a life replete with exciting events and unusual
experiences, I feel that the recording of all this might impart some measure of
inspiration and help to the reader.
For one thing, I had felt, years ago, that the story of these experiences might
be helpful and of value to my two sons. Benjamin Franklin addressed his
Autobiography to his son. But there never seemed to be time to write it,
just for them.
But after so many radio listeners and Plain Truth subscribers requested
the background facts, it seemed that I owed it to them, and I decided to write
it in serial form, an installment each month, in The Plain Truth.
Consequently, the Autobiography began appearing with the September, 1957, issue.
It is my sincere hope and desire that the reader will be helped to a richer,
fuller, more abundant life by this Autobiography.
Chapter 1
“Boyhood”
Even from earliest memory, life always has seemed unusual, eventful, exciting.
I was born July 31, 1892, of respected and upright parents who were of solid
Quaker stock. My ancestors had emigrated from England to Pennsylvania with
William Penn, a hundred years before the United States became a nation. My
ancestry, through a paternal great-grandmother, traces back to Edward I, King of
England.
I first saw the light of day in a red brick two-apartment flat on the northwest
corner of East 14th and Grand Avenue, in Des Moines, Iowa. Of course I remember
absolutely nothing of the day of my birth—even as you remember nothing of the
day you were born. But my mother always remembered it, especially since I was
her firstborn, as my father was a firstborn son before me.
A friend in Des Moines, some years ago, jestingly remarked that I “became famous
too late”—the flat in which I was born long since had been replaced by a
business property.
The earliest events that linger in memory occurred when I was three years of
age. Our family then was living on West Harrison Street in Des Moines, near
14th. We lived in a modest cottage, and my father’s parents lived in a two-story
house next door. I remember scampering through the rear side door of their house
to sample the delicious apple pies my grandmother made.
Also there is still memory of my maternal great-grandfather Elon Hole, then
between 92 and 94, often taking me up in his arms—and the tragedy that occurred
when he fell down the stairs, and died from the fall. Then there was an uncle,
Jesse Hole, in my memory—also in his nineties.
I started kindergarten at age 5. I can still hear in my mind the mournful clang
of the school bell, one block south.
Swearing Off Chewing
It was at this advanced age of 5 that I swore off chewing tobacco. A ditch was
being dug in front of our house. Of course ditches were still being dug with
shovels, by hand in 1897. This was quite exciting for a five-year-old. I spent
most of my time out in the front yard watching. Ditch diggers in those days
universally chewed tobacco. At least these particular diggers did.
“What’s that there?” I asked, as one of them whipped a plug of tobacco out of
his hip pocket, and bit off a corner.
“This is something good,” he answered. “Here, sonny, bite off a chaw.”
I accepted his generosity. I can remember distinctly struggling to bite off “a
chaw.” That plug was really tough. But finally I got it bitten off. It didn’t
taste good, and seemed to have a rather sharp bite. But I chewed it, as I saw
him chew his, and when I felt I had it well chewed, I swallowed it.
And very soon thereafter—a minute or less—I swore off chewing tobacco for
life!!! I say to you truthfully, I have never
chewed since!
This was very shortly after the days of the old horse-drawn street cars. The new
electric trolley cars had just come in—the little dinkeys. I remember them well.
The conductor on our line was Charley, and the motorman was old Bill. The most
fascinating thing in the world was to park myself up at the front of the long
side seat, on my knees, so I could look through the glass and watch old Bill run
that car. I decided then what I was going to be when I grew up. I was going to
be a street car motorman. But something in later years seems to have sidetracked
that youthful ambition.
I do remember, though, that my father had a different idea of what I would be
when I grew up. I was constantly pestering him with questions. I always seemed
to want to know “why?” or “how?”
I wanted to understand. At age 5 I can remember
my father saying: “That youngin is always asking so many questions he’s sure to
be a Philadelphia lawyer, when he grows up.”
That obsession for understanding was to have great influence on founding The
Plain Truth magazine and Ambassador College in later years.
Those Important First Years
When I was 6 the family moved to Marshalltown, Iowa, where my father entered the
flour milling business.
I remember the events of those days at age 6 much better than I do those of age
56. The mind is much more receptive, and the memory far more retentive, in the
earlier years.
Believe it or not, every baby learns and retains more the very first year of
life than any year thereafter. Each year we learn and retain a little less than
the year before. Few, however, realize this fact. For each succeeding year, the
total fund of knowledge increases. Knowledge accumulation is additive,
that of each year is added to the fund of previous years. Writing up these early
experiences brings this forcibly to mind. Occurrences are coming back to me in
my mind now, as I write, that I have not thought of consciously for years.
Old Century Out—New Century In
After a year or so the family moved back to Des Moines. It was while we lived
there that my brother Russell was born, Jan. 26, 1900, when I was 71/2.
Another milestone event that lingers vividly in memory was the turn of the
century. (Actually, the true turn of the century was Jan. 1, 1901.) That
particular New Year’s Eve was a once-in-a-lifetime event. Then and there I
formed an aversion to church “Watch-nights” on New Year’s Eve.
I couldn’t see any fun, at 71/2 years, in having to sit quietly in church from
about 8 o’clock until midnight, unable to get up and play or run around, just
quietly “watching” the old century out and the new century in. We were only
watching the passing of a humanly calculated point of time, anyway. I only knew
that it was a droll and dismal evening for me. I went to sleep once or twice,
only to be awakened.
This new-century watch-night event occurred 26 days before my brother Russell
was born. When my little baby brother was a few months old we moved to Union,
Iowa, probably spring of 1900, where my father went into partnership in a
hardware store.
The “Pigeon Milk” Hunt
One day I wandered into the town job-printing shop. I must have been on one of
my usual information-seeking forays, asking so many questions that ways and
means had to be thought up for ridding the printers of the nuisance.
“Say, sonny, I wonder if you’d run an errand for us,” asked the printer. “Run
over to the grocery and ask them for a half pint of pigeon milk.”
“What’s it for?” I asked. “Why do you want it?” I always had to understand “wht?”
and “how?”
“To grease the presses with,” explained the printer.
“How’ll I pay for it?”
“Tell ‘em to charge it,” was the answer.
At the grocery store the grocer explained:
“Sorry, bub, we’re just out of pigeon milk. They carry that now at the jewelry
store.”
From the jewelry store I was sent to the furniture store, then to the drug
store, and after almost every store in town I went to my father’s hardware
store. Dad explained that I had been chasing all over town on a fool’s errand.
Anyway, I added to my store of knowledge the fact that pigeon milk is not to be
found in stores. And I didn’t think it was a more foolish errand than the one a
rookie sailor was sent on when his ship was anchored at Pearl Harbor. Older
sailors sent him to a dour Commandant on shore to get the key to the flag
pole—and he got thrown in the brig.
While at Union I sold the Saturday Evening Post every week. I remember
the special canvas bag with the magazine name on the side very well.
Our barn in Union was badly infested with rats. I determined to do something
about it. I obtained a large cage rat trap at the hardware store, and almost
every morning I had a number of rats in the trap.
I remember a birthday party my mother had for me on my 9th birthday, July 31,
1901, probably because a picture taken at the party has remained in the family
box of old pictures.
Back to Des Moines we moved again in 1901, in early fall, after a year and a
half in Union, this time near East 13th and Walker. I was now in the 4th grade.
We lived a short distance from a Seventh-Day Adventist Sanitarium, with a bakery
shop near the front entrance. I remember being sent often to this bakery for
special “health” bread—probably whole wheat. The thing that most impressed me,
however, was the impression on my boyish mind that these Adventists must be some
kind of odd religious people, because they “kept Saturday for their Sunday.”
Even at that age, anything different from common custom and general social
acceptance automatically seemed strange—and if strange, then of course it seemed
wrong. Why do people assume that the rank-and-file of
people can’t be wrong?
It seems most of us, unless we do stop to think a bit, are like Mrs. O’Rafferty,
watching her son march with the soldiers down Broadway, just returned to New
York after World War I.
“I was that proud of Dinny,” she said, “for, d’ye know, they were all
out-of-step but him.”
Well, perhaps it was Dinny who was properly in step—who knows? The
point is, we blindly assume that the majority of people
can’t be wrong. But I was to learn, in later years, that people as a whole can
be wrong—so terribly wrong that people are now bringing the
end of their wrongly built civilization crashing
down on their own heads.
Only, most people are still unaware of it!
When I was eleven, 1903, the automobile was in its earliest infancy—mostly built
like the horse-drawn carriages, hard solid rubber tires, steered by a stick or
handle rather than a wheel. We often called them horseless carriages. My father
was always jolly, and he loved a joke. It was while we were living in this house
that he called out to us:
“Hurry! Come quick! Here goes a horseless carriage!”
Seeing one of these early automobiles was a rare sight. We came running to the
front window. A carriage was going by. It was a horseless carriage all
right. It was drawn, not by horses, but a pair of mules. My father’s strong bass
voice boomed forth in hearty laughter.
Wrestling became a favorite sport in those days. These were the days of Frank
Gotch, Farmer Burns, Zbysco, and others, when wrestling was a real sport and not
a fakery show. “Clayt” Schoonover’s older brothers had set up a real wrestling
mat, and they taught us all the main holds.
I think I loved ice skating perhaps more than any other sport, however. I had
learned to take wide, sweeping strokes in a style so that my body would sway way
over, from one side to the other, using the force of gravity to help propel
forward. There was a rhythm and sort of sensation to it that was thrilling.
At that time, 1902-3, many of the streets in the city were as yet unpaved. The
sidewalks were wood slats nailed down on two-by-four runners, with narrow cracks
between slats. I remember this, because of an incident. One day someone dropped
a dime—a ten-cent piece—and it fell onto the sidewalk and disappeared through
one of the narrow cracks. Neighbors must have spent two or three man-hour days
tearing up the sidewalks hunting that lost dime. I learned then that people will
expend far greater effort to prevent losing something than they will to
gain something. Later I used this bit of psychology with good effect in
advertising copy.
When a Boy Is Eleven
I have often said that the happiest year in any human life is that of a
boy at age eleven. At that age a boy experiences
something, I believe, which a girl never knows. He has no sense of
responsibility to weight him down. He has no burdens but to
have fun. Of course boys that age will do
foolish things, sometimes dangerous things. How any boy lives to adulthood I
will never know—unless there is a guardian angel watching over and protecting
each boy.
Another condition of the time illustrates how recently this world has become
really modernized. The street lights in our neighborhood were gas lights.
Electricity had not yet reached that stage of modernization in 1902-3. A man
came by on horseback every evening about dusk, with a lighted wick on the end of
a stick, with which he reached up and lit each light. Then, about sun-up next
morning he had to ride by again turning the lights off.
During these days I did a great deal of bicycle riding, developing big calf
muscles on both legs. By this time my father had invented the air-circulating
jacket idea around a furnace, and had gone into the furnace manufacturing
business, with a small factory on East 1st or 2nd Street. I worked summer
vacations in the factory.
Our transportation, 1903-4, was horse and buggy—and my bicycle. Going to the
factory in the morning, we had to use the whip on the horse occasionally to keep
him trotting. But returning home in the evening, it was necessary to hold tight
rein on him. He needed no urging to trot. He seemed to know his oats were
waiting for him in our barn.
Early Religious Training
I think it is time, now, to explain what boyhood religious training was mine.
Both my father and mother were of solid Quaker stock.
From earliest memory I was kept regularly in the Sunday school and church
services of the First Friends Church in Des Moines.
From earliest boyhood I was in a boys’ class in Sunday school, and we all sort
of grew up together. I can’t remember when I first knew those boys. I guess we
were all taken there as babies together.
Anyway it was interesting, some twenty-five years ago, to learn what had become
of most of them—for I had drifted away from church about age 18, and had gotten
completely out of touch. One of them had become Dean of Student Personnel at San
Francisco State College, with a Ph.D. from Yale. I contacted him, and he gave me
considerable and valuable assistance and counsel in founding Ambassador College
in 1947.
Another, who had been perhaps my principal boyhood chum through those early
years, was a retired retail furniture merchant, who had enlarged and
successfully maintained the retail establishment founded by his father. Another
was a successful dentist. The son of the Pastor of my boyhood days had died
apparently early in life. Another had become director of a large relief agency
in the Middle East. On the whole, the boys of that class had grown to become
successful men.
The Awakening—Spark of Ambition Ignited
During the years between 12 and 16, besides school, I had many Saturday and
vacation jobs. I carried a paper route, was errand boy for a grocery store,
special delivery boy for a dry goods store, spent one summer vacation as
draftsman for a furnace company, and there were other odd jobs.
But at age 16, during summer vacation, I obtained my first job away from home.
The job was waiting on tables in the dining room of a semi-resort hotel in
Altoona, the next town east of Des Moines. There was an electric line—an
interurban street car—that ran out through Altoona and on east to the little
town of Colfax. This Altoona hotel served food of a standard that attracted many
guests from Des Moines.
The owner was a single man of perhaps 45. He complimented my work highly. Soon
he began to tell me that he could see qualities in me that were destined to
carry me to large success in life. He constantly expressed great confidence in
me, and what I would be able to accomplish, if I were willing to put forth the
effort.
The effect it had on me reminds me of an experience my wife has related which
happened when she was a little girl. She was in her father’s general store. A
man came in, placed his hand on her head, and said:
“You’re a pretty little girl, aren’t you?”
“I’ll thank you,” spoke up her mother indignantly, “not to tell my daughters
they are pretty! That’s not good for them.”
Promptly little Loma ran to a mirror and looked into it. She made a discovery.
She said to herself approvingly: “Well I am pretty amn’t I?”
I had never realized before that I possessed any abilities. Actually I had never
been a leader among boys. Most of the time I had played with boys older than I
who automatically took the lead. But now, for the first time, I began to believe
in myself. This hotel owner aroused ambition—created within me the
desire to climb the ladder of success—to become
an important somebody. This, of course, was
vanity. But it also was ambition for accomplishment—for self-improvement.
And he also stimulated the will to put forth
whatever effort it would require to achieve this success. He made me realize I
would have to study, acquire knowledge and know-how, be industrious and exercise
self-denial. Actually this flowered into grossly overrated
self-confidence and conceit. But it impelled me
to driving effort.
Life’s Turning Point
It is impossible to estimate the importance of this sudden arousal of
ambition—this injection of an intense desire for success—this igniting of the
spark of determined energy to achieve worthy accomplishment.
This was the turning point of my life.
Suddenly life became a whole new “ball-game.” There had awakened within a
totally new outlook on the future.
This, I believe, is the vital ingredient that has been missing in most human
lives. Most continue through life as I was prior to this arousal of ambition. As
I have stated, up to this point I played with boys older than I. It seemed
natural for them to assume leadership. I simply “went along.” The idea of
looking forward to achieving success, or an accomplishment of any note never
intruded itself into my mind. Nor does it, probably, in the average mind. And it
was like an intrusion, for my mind was uninterruptedly occupied only with the
interests, pleasures and enjoyments of the moment.
Suddenly all this was changed! Drastically changed! What a tragedy the
vast majority of human minds cannot be given this hope—this
desire—this ambitious expectation—this confidence—in
their future! The general attitude of hopelessness for the future has spawned
the modern mod rebellions—the hippie movement—the campus protests, riots and
violence.
Of course, as yet, at age 16, there had formulated no definite
goal to work toward, further than the general
ambition to succeed. Of what that success was to
consist had to crystalize later.
Also, so far, it was pure vanity. But it was a
positive vanity, and that might be vastly preferable to a negative, purposeless
humility. It was the first start toward later accomplishment.
Some few years later, I was considerably inspired by one of Orison Swett
Marden’s “inspirations” books, titled, “He Can
Who Thinks He Can.” What a pity that there seems to be a famine of such books
today.
Returning to Des Moines I continued as a student at North High School. I began
to spend extra hours outside of high school at the city library, mostly in the
Philosophy, Biography, and Business Administration sections. I began to study
Plato, Socrates, Aristotle and Epictetus. It was at this time that I first read
Benjamin Franklin’s Autobiography.
My first date with a girl took place at about this time—a date to escort a
next-door neighbor girl in my class in high school to some school function. At
that stage I was pretty much in awe of girls, and felt awkward in their
presence. It has always been a puzzle to me that so many boys around that age
are afraid of girls, ill at ease before them, and yet girls seem not to be shy
or bashful in any way in the company of boys. For the next 8 years I continued
to date this girl on and off, (not what today is termed “going steady,”
however), but never did I put my arm around her, kiss her, or as they would say
today, “neck with her.” (It was called “loving up” in those days.)
North High had a total enrollment of only 400 then. In high school I went out
for football, and for track, and played a small amount of basketball in the gym.
In football I played end or halfback. I weighed only 135 in those days, and was
too light to make the team, but I suited up with the team in all of its home
games, usually played in the Drake University Stadium. In track I went out for
the mile run in my Sophomore year only, but never was entered in the state meet.
The best time I ever made was 5 minutes flat, on the Drake track, where the
annual Drake Relays, nationally famous, are still run. Today the world’s best
milers run the mile under 4 minutes!
I was an average student in school. But in final exams I always got grades of
95% to 98%.
But as yet there had been set no definite goal
in life. At the tender age of 16 the idea of fixing a definite objective—of
finding the true purpose of life—occurs to few
teenagers. Ambition had been aroused. I was burning with desire to go
somewhere in life—to become a success. But exactly where, or precisely
what constituted the “success,” had not as
yet crystalized.
Chapter 2
“Learning Important Lessons”
At age 18 I found a book in the public library, titled, “Choosing a Vocation.”
It took the reader through a searching self-analysis, and a survey of vocations,
occupations and professions, to place the candidate where he best fit.
A thorough study of this self-analysis and survey indicated that I would
probably be most successful in the profession of journalism and advertising. And
this, to me, was one of the truly exciting, thrilling professions.
It so happened that my uncle in Des Moines, Frank Armstrong, my father’s younger
brother, was the most prominent advertising man in the state. He had led the
movement of establishing Ad-Clubs in other cities over the state, and he was the
first president of the state association.
I went to my uncle for counsel and advice. From that time, since I had chosen
his field, he practically steered my life for the next eleven years, and I owe
much to him. To me he seemed like a sort of second Benjamin Franklin, and on the
whole I felt he had unusual insight, understanding, and sound judgment.
The place to begin in the advertising profession, he advised, was the want-ad
department of a daily newspaper. This was the freshman class of the advertising
school of hard knocks.
It was late December, 1910. Now the big question came: should I stay in school,
and take courses in advertising and journalism in college or university?
“Well, Herbert,” he counselled, “that depends on you and how much ambition and
drive you have. It happens that no college or university in the country has yet
offered a course in this profession that is worth a plug nickel.
“Now I know,” he continued, “that nearly everybody has the delusion that an
education is something you get at school—and higher education at the university.
It’s like going to a hardware store or department store to purchase a lawn
mower. People seem to have the idea that an education is something they have all
wrapped up at the university, ready to hand it over to you when you buy it by
paying the tuition. But it has always seemed to me that traipsing across the
door-sill of a college classroom, or sitting in an arm-chair, is not putting an
education into your mind. Education comes from study—from books—from
lectures—from contacts—from travel—from thinking about what you see and hear and
read—and from experience.
“The reason we have to maintain schools and universities is simply that most
people are too lazy—most lack the ambition and persistence, the drive—to procure
an education outside of schools and colleges. Most people must have someone do
their thinking and planning for them, assign lessons and homework, and force
students to study and learn by a system of rewards and punishments in the form
of grades, and finally, a sheepskin with a degree.
“Now if you have the initiative, and the will to drive yourself to study,
without these prods of rewards and penalties, you can acquire just as complete
an education outside the classrooms as in. You can gain a much more thorough and
practical knowledge of the profession you have chosen outside than in. And so
far as general education is concerned, you can acquire that, if you have the
gumption and the will. I can help you choose the proper textbooks to study in
general educational areas, as well as in advertising and journalism, and
psychology—which, by the way, you’ll have to understand and use. Actually,
Herbert,” he continued, “a majority of corporate heads, presidents and board
chairmen of New York and Chicago Banks are primarily self-educated beyond high
school education. The doctors, dentists, scientists and technologists, of
course, went on through university.”
At that time a small percent of high school graduates went on to matriculate in
college or university. Today that condition has reversed, and as high as 90% of
high school graduates enter the mad scramble to gain entrance into the
institutions of higher learning. Also, in 1910, a much smaller percent went on
to graduate even from high school.
I went home and thought it over thoroughly. Ambition is not only the
desire, but the determination and the will
to achieve the desired goal. For two years ambition had burned fiercely
within me. I wanted both success and to become a well-educated person. I knew I
wanted these goals intensively enough to drive myself to any needed
extent to succeed.
I told my uncle my decision. He assigned me to one year’s experience in want
ads, and advised that I get a job in the want-ad department of the Des Moines
Daily Capital, then published by Lafe Young, senior United States Senator
from Iowa.
Applying Laws of Success
I didn’t know, as yet, what later I came to learn were the seven laws—or seven
steps toward success—but I was starting out with the first four of them.
Well, almost! The first law is to choose the
right goal. I had chosen my life’s goal. I thought then I had chosen carefully,
intelligently, wisely, and the right goal. I had put myself through a thorough
self-analysis, and survey of professions and occupations. I had not unthinkingly
stumbled onto whatever job, field, or occupation that was nearest me.
Most people, I have observed, are victims of circumstance. They have given no
intelligent thought to choosing where they live, what they do, or planning for
the future. They have no specific aim or goal in life. They are headed toward no
definite purpose. They are where they are by
circumstance.
I was to learn later that the right goal was one
I knew nothing, as yet, about. But I had chosen the field that was to
provide the precise needed training for the right
goal, when my eyes became opened to it. I was getting the precise needed
training, education and experience.
The second law of success is education—the
specific specialized education and training needed for success in the chosen
goal, in addition to the general balanced education one needs to develop
the whole person.
With the determination and drive to study, and by applying myself to the task,
the course of study and training had been laid.
And next comes good healyh, to which I gave much
thought and diligence. And fourth was the drive to push oneself into getting
these things done. My ambition was so strong—the desire to succeed so
intense—that I was imbued with almost excessive drive. And on this first
assignment I became a hustler.
The fifth requisite is resourcefulness—the ability to think a problem or
obstacle through—to find a better way—to find
the solution to problems—to
think about what one is doing
while he is doing it.
And my very first experience on the new job was to demonstrate that.
I did not ask The Capital if they needed any help. That was too
negative—might have resulted in being turned down. I went straight to the
manager of the want-ad department, told him I was entering the advertising
profession, and had decided to join his staff because it offered the best
opportunity to learn, and to advance. I got the
job. The starting salary was $6 per week.
I had no conception, then, that the advertising profession was not, after all,
to be my final life profession—or that this experience was merely the
preliminary training needed for the ultimate bigger job later in life.
In those days I had developed a very excessive case of self-confidence. I was
snappy, confident, self-assured—yet sincere, and in the intent of heart,
honest.
On this want-ad job I soon became known as a “hustler.” On the street I
hurried—walked rapidly. I was a dynamo of energy. Off nights I studied. Books
were procured on advertising, on psychology, merchandising, business management,
and English. All the leading trade journals were subscribed to and diligently
read—primarily “Printers Ink,” and “Advertising & Selling,” the
two leading trade journals of the profession.
My uncle directed the training in learning an effective style in writing.
Constantly I studied the writing style of Claude Hopkins, president and chief
copywriter for the Lord & Thomas Advertising agency. This man reputedly drew a
salary of $50,000 a year (big money in those days) writing the advertising copy
for Quaker Oats, Pepsodent, Palmolive, Goodyear tires, Blue Jay Corn Plasters,
Ovaltine, and others. His rapid style, unique, yet plain, simple and
easy-to-read, built multimillion dollar businesses for those firms.
Also my uncle started me reading Elbert Hubbard, with his two magazines, “The
Philistine” and “The Fra”—primarily for ideas, writing style,
vocabulary. Later I was to become personally acquainted with Elbert Hubbard.
The “Goat Work”
The first day in want ads I was started out, bright and early, on a job they
called “the Goat Work,” tutored by a young man now ready to graduate from that
job.
This job in the newspaper business might be compared to “boot camp” in the
Marines. It is a most undesirable, tough, breaking-in job. I soon learned what
it was.
We each armed ourselves with a copy of the previous night’s paper, a want-ad
blank, and a pencil. Then we started out afoot. We headed up the hill on West
Fourth and Fifth—the rooming house district.
“I’ll stop in at a couple of rooming houses,” said my predecessor-instructor,
“just to show you how to do it; then I’ll go back to the office, and you’re on
your own.”
Stepping boldly up to the first rooming house door, he rang the bell. The
landlady opened the door, instantly recognizing the folded newspaper in his side
pocket and the want-ad blank in his hand.
“NO!” she snapped decisively, before he could say a word, “I don’t want
to run any want ads.”
“But lady,” my instructor put a foot in the door being slammed in his
face, “you know Mrs. Jones down in the next block, don’t you?”
“Never heard of her!” Of course not. Neither had the boy with me.
“Well, Mrs. Jones put her ad in the Capital, and at least a dozen men
came trying to rent the room. The reason you didn’t get results is that you put
your ad in the wrong paper.”
But by this time the madam had managed to dislodge his foot and slam the door.
This same procedure was repeated at the next house.
“Well—” said my want-ad buddy, happily, “that shows you how to do it. Hope you
sell a lot of ads. So long—see you at the office.”
Finding a More Effective Way
But it didn’t seem that he had demonstrated how to do it—but rather, how
not to do it.
I waited until he was out of sight. I hid both the newspaper and the want-ad
blank in my inner pocket, covered with my overcoat. Then I walked briskly up to
the next rooming-house door.
“I hope you haven’t rented your room yet,” I smiled as the landlady opened the
door. “May I see it?”
“Why, certainly,” she smiled back, opening wide the door.
I trailed her to the second-floor room. No doors were going to be slammed in my
face.
“Why,” I smiled, “this is a delightful room, isn’t it?” The landlady beamed
expectantly. I whipped out the want-ad blank and began rapidly writing.
“Here!” she exclaimed suspiciously, “what are you doing with that want-ad
blank?”
But she could not slam the front door in my face now—nor did she appear big
enough to attempt throwing me out bodily.
“Now look,” I said calmly. “This is a lovely room. Do you know why your want ads
have not rented it for you? The want-ad solicitors have told you it was because
you put it in the wrong paper. You know that’s bosh as well as I. The reason you
didn’t rent your room is that you are not a professional advertising writer!”
By this time I had the want ad written—at least two or three times longer (and
costlier) than the average.
“Listen,” I continued, “imagine you are a young man reading all the
room-for-rent ads, looking for a room that is going to be your home. Now
think how all those other ads are written—then listen to this, and think!—which
room would you go to see, and rent?”
I read the ad, which certainly made the room sound very desirable. In fact, its
glowing terms probably flattered her. She just couldn’t resist seeing
that flowery description of her room in print in the paper.
“Why, I’d certainly want to rent that room, instead of those ordinarily
described in the want ads,” she replied. “That does make it sound good.”
She bought the ad—as large as three ordinary ads.
And the ad did rent her room!
That was the first advertisement I ever wrote that was printed. But I had
already been diligently studying textbooks on advertising writing.
Since 1958 we have been large purchasers of double-page and full-page
advertising space in several of the world’s leading mass-circulation magazines,
including, in the United States, Life, Look, TV Guide, and around the
world, double pages in many editions of Reader’s Digest, half pages in
London Sunday Times, full pages, full color, Sunday Times
magazine; Hörzu in Germany, other leading magazines in Australia, South
Africa, The Philippines, and others.
The twenty years experience in the advertising and journalism profession,
starting with this first want ad, was the preparation that supplied the know-how
for effective use of this type media, reaching a readership in excess of 150
million worldwide. Results were more than gratifying. Two such double pages in
English in Reader’s Digest brought 20,000 new subscribers in India for
The Plain Truth.
After an energetic morning I was back at the want-ad office about 1 p.m., the
deadline for getting ads to the composing room. I had a handful of want ads.
“Much-a-Welcome “
Soon I thought of a faster, more pleasant way to sell more room-for-rent
ads, in less time.
The rival papers were The Register & Leader, and The Daily News.
The News didn’t count as a want-ad medium, but the “R&L” as we then
called it was the city’s big want-ad medium. Today The Des Moines Register
is recognized by many as one of the nation’s ten great newspapers. In 1924 I was
offered the job of advertising manager of The Register, and refused
it—but that’s getting ahead of the story.
The “R & L” printed perhaps three or four times more room-for-rent ads than
The Capital. Rooming-house landladies had become smart. In order to prevent
newspaper solicitors annoying them on the telephone, or prospective roomers
turning them down on the phone before actually seeing the rooms, they usually
gave the street address only, in their ads.
I knew that the “information” office of the telephone company indexed according
to street addresses, as well as by name, but the information operators were not
supposed to give out names or numbers for a given street address.
So I called the information office, and first engaged the operator in a jocular
conversation. After a while I persuaded her, this once, to give me the name of
the rooming-house landlady at a certain street address.
“Well much a-welcome” I said jokingly.
“Oh, you’re entirely welcome,” she said.
“No!” I came back, “I’m not welcome—I said you’re much-a-welcome.”
She was a little confused at this 18-year-old kidding.
“Well, what am I supposed to say, then?”
“Why, you’re supposed to answer, ‘you’re entirely
obliged!’”
She had a good laugh. That joke sounds about as “corny” as Iowa’s tall corn,
now—but it certainly got me results with that information operator.
Next morning I called “information,” and said, “This is Much-a-welcome again!”
It brought a friendly laugh. I was, in my self-confident assurance, a reasonably
glib talker. Somehow I managed to talk this information operator into giving me
the names and telephone numbers of every room-for-rent want ad in the morning
paper that we had not carried the evening before.
Always I ended by saying “Much-a-welcome,” and she would laughingly reply, “Oh,
you’re entirely obliged.” Silly, perhaps—but it got me the names and telephone
numbers I wanted. Quite a telephonic friendship was struck up with this
information operator. Often I wondered how old she was—what she looked like. I
never knew. It did not seem appropriate to suggest a face-to-face meeting. But
this daily morning procedure continued as long as I was on Rooming House ads.
Getting Ads by Phone
Once I had the names and telephone numbers, they were called by phone.
“Good morning. Is this Mrs. Smith?” I would start off, cheerily.
While I was only a boy of 18, I had inherited a strong bass-baritone voice from
my father, even lower-pitched then than now, and sounded quite mature on the
telephone. I discovered, even then, that I was possibly more effective audibly
than visually. Indeed, this was the first prelude training for radio
broadcasting that was to follow, beginning 24 years later.
“I wonder,” I would continue the telephone conversation, “if you would describe
your room to me.” While getting the description, prompted by repeated questions
from me, I was rapidly writing a very descriptive want ad. Then I explained that
she had not described it well enough in the morning-paper ad to cause anyone to
really want to walk out to see it, and told her that I was an expert ad-writer,
and quickly read the ad that would tell enough about the room to cause
prospective roomers to want to see it. I explained that the reason she had not
been getting results was the fact her ad was written so inexpertly.
A large majority of these hastily written telephone ads were sold. The rooms
were usually rented—unless they failed to live up to the description after
prospective roomers called to see them.
Soon we were carrying more room-for-rent ads than the “R&L.” Whenever one of our
rooming-house customers had a vacant room, they automatically called for me on
the telephone, and soon rented the room again.
One of the seven laws of success, I repeat, is resourcefulness. Also an
important point I have always stressed to students in Ambassador College is to
think—and constantly to think about what
you are doing while you are doing it! This experience in thinking of a
more effective way of selling room-for-rent want ads might offer a helpful
example to some of my readers.
My First Display Ads
It was not long until I was promoted out of the room-for-rent columns and into
the Real Estate section.
But first came a challenging test—the toughest of all. The want-ad manager, a
young man (older than I) named Charles Tobin, had an ambition. He hoped to
increase his salary to a point that would enable him to wear a fresh-laundered
shirt every day. Immediately, that became one of my ambitions, too. The
assignment he gave me was to sell a special section on the want-ad page, of
single-column display ads to the second-hand furniture dealers.
These stores were all owned by a type of men who did not believe in advertising,
and valued every penny as if it were a million dollars. To me, this was an
unpleasant task, because so many of these stores were dirty and dusty and musty,
cluttered and ill-arranged—an unpleasant atmosphere to enter.
Here, again, however, ads were sold by writing the ads, and making
attractive-appearing layouts. These were the very first display ads I ever had
printed. I remember staying up until midnight studying a book on advertising and
selling psychology. It took the combination of all the selling psychology,
attractive advertising layouts and copy, and persuasive personality I could
muster to accomplish that assignment. But it was accomplished—a total of about a
third of a page or more, as nearly as I can now remember.
During this “special number” crusade, I encountered a somewhat handicapped
Jewish boy of about my age, the son of one of these “used furniture” merchants.
The store owner was delighted to learn that I had some influence over his
backward boy. It seemed like a responsibility that had come to me, to encourage
him to go back to school, to study hard, and to begin to believe that he could
be a success some day, and to start working, and fighting, even against
sluggish impulses of self, to make something of himself. For some months I
continued occasionally to drop in at this store to give this lad another “pep
talk.” It seemed to be doing good. I hope the progress continued, but after
about a year we lost contact.
The $2 per Week Lesson
But after “putting over” this special number, I was given a Real Estate beat,
and the salary raised to $8 per week.
I was put on a regular “beat,” calling daily on a certain number of Real Estate
brokers to pick up their ads. Here again, I started writing ads for them.
Results were increased. More and more the dealers on my route began using large
ads in the Capital, using less space in the “R & L.”
It was on this job that I became known as a “hustler.” I walked at a pace that
was almost a run. It was drive, drive, drive!!
all morning long—until the 1 p.m. deadline. Then the afternoons were spent in
the office preparing form solicitations, to which were attached clipped want ads
from the other local papers, or even those of other cities, which were mailed
out. Thus I learned to sell want ads by mail. This knowledge landed an important
job, later.
It was not long until Ivan Coolidge, then want-ad manager over at the “R & L,”
asked me to drop over and see him. He offered me $10 a week if I’d leave The
Capital and join the Register staff. Later on, Ivan established an
advertising agency of his own in Des Moines, which, I believe, gained some
prominence—but he was unfortunately cut off somewhere in mid-life by premature
death.
I told Ivan I wanted to consult my uncle before giving him my decision.
“So,” chuckled my Uncle Frank, with the wisdom of a Ben Franklin, “the
opposition is beginning to feel the pressure, eh? Want to hire you away
from the Capital—willing to pay $10 a week to stop the competition, are
they? Well, now listen, Herbert, a little encouragement once in a while is very
helpful. It shows you are making good. You can get some inspiration out of it to
provide incentive to keep driving yourself on. But I’ve noticed that there has
been a tendency in some branches of our family to keep shifting around all the
time from one thing to another—never staying with one thing long enough to make
a success of it. There’s a good deal to the old adage, after all, that a rolling
stone gathers no moss. One of the great success lessons you need to learn is
persistence—to stay with a thing.
“Now suppose you quit the Capital and go over to the Register. You
wouldn’t learn any more about the advertising profession over there than
you’re learning where you are. The only advantage is the $2 per week. You’d
probably blow that in, and ten years from now you wouldn’t remember having had
it. I think the time has come for you to pay the $2 a week to learn the
important lesson of staying with a thing. Every week, when you draw your
$8 at the Capital, remember you are paying the extra $2 you might be
getting at the Register as the price of that lesson, and I think you’ll
remember it.”
I had started out to spend one year in want ads at the Capital.
The temptation had come to weaken and get off that schedule.
I took my uncle’s advice and stayed on the schedule.
Learning Rules of Success
Thus, at the early age of 18, some of the seven important rules of success were
being learned.
The first success rule—I emphasize by repeating it—is fixing the right
goal. Avoid fitting the “square peg in the round
hole.” I was yet to learn the real purpose of
life, and the one true supreme goal. Actually I
had set out on a wrong goal—that of becoming someone “important,” achieving
business success and status for the purpose of making money. But at least I had
made the self-analysis and the survey of vocations to find where I should fit
within the realm of business, the field of this goal.
At least, ambition had been kindled.
And, though little realized at the time, all this experience was building the
necessary foundation for the worldwide activities of later life.
The second success rule is education—fitting
oneself for the achievement of the goal. I was getting, not mere
impractical and theoretical classroom book education, but the combined
education of book study at night and practical experience in the daytime. And
even here, the self-education being received was precisely that required to
properly prepare me for this present worldwide Work of God, without which this
Work today could not have become a success.
The third rule of success is good, vigorous health.
Food plays a major part in this, and I was not to learn of the importance of
food and diet until I was 38 years old. But I had learned the importance
of sufficient exercise, deep breathing, daily bathing and elimination, and
sufficient sleep.
The fourth rule, drive, putting a constant prod on oneself, seems
to have come naturally as a result of the ambition that had been generated at
sixteen. There was always the sense that I had to hurry! I was learning
to plunge into a task with dynamic energy.
The fifth, resourcefulness, or thinking about the problem at hand,
was unconsciously being developed by experience. For example, the experience of
the “goat work” job, and then in finding a way to get in room-for-rent
ads faster by telephone, was an example of learning this rule by experience—thinking
through and applying initiative, to a better way of solving a problem.
Most people do such a job just as they are shown, without ever applying thought
or resourcefulness to the activity.
And now, the sixth rule, perseverance, never quitting when it appears to
everyone else one has failed, was being learned at the very low price of $2 per
weekly lesson. In 1947, and again in 1948, Ambassador College appeared
hopelessly to have failed. It seemed everyone else knew we had come to
the “end of our rope.” It has happened many times. But that $2 per week lesson
learned at 18 turned a seeming hopeless failure into a worldwide ever-expanding
success.
The seventh and most important rule I was not to learn until much later.
The First Sidestep From the Goal
But now came a big mistake in judgment.
Humans do not learn well from experience, nor all at once. The lesson of the
forbidden fruit has not been learned by humanity in 6000 years. My $2 a week
lesson was not really learned until later.
As the scheduled year of training in daily newspaper want ads drew to a close, a
flattering offer came. And this time I failed to seek out the advice of my Uncle
Frank who had wisely steered my business career thus far.
On The Daily Capital staff was a book critic, Emile Stapp, who edited a
Book Review department. Her desk was on the second floor adjacent to the want ad
and display advertising section. She had, apparently, observed my work, noted I
was energetic and produced results. She was a sister-in-law of W. O. Finkbine,
one of two millionaire brothers who owned and operated the Green Bay Lumber
Company, with lumberyards scattered all over Iowa; the Finkbine Lumber Company,
a large lumber manufacturing company in Wiggins, Mississippi; and operating a
17,000-acre wheat ranch in Canada.
Miss Stapp lived with her sister, Mrs. W. O. Finkbine, “out on the Avenue,” as
we called it—meaning the millionaire residence street of Des Moines, West Grand
Avenue. I doubt very much that all the residents of that fabled street were
millionaires, but at least so it seemed to those of us who were of ordinary
means in Des Moines.
One day, near the end of my year at The Capital, Miss Stapp told me she
had spoken to Mr. Finkbine, and I was being offered the job of Timekeeper and
Paymaster at the big lumber mill in southern Mississippi. I was first to work a
short period in the company’s commissary store, managed by her brother, whose
name was Hal Stapp.
The job sounded flattering. The prospect of travel to far-off southern
Mississippi had alluring appeal. I succumbed to it, going off on a tangent from
the planned advertising career.
The First Meeting With a Millionaire
Before leaving, I was to go to the office of Mr. W. O. Finkbine for a short talk
of instruction. I shall never forget my visit to the headquarters’ offices of
this lumber firm. I met also Mr. E. C. Finkbine, President of the corporation.
W. O. was Vice President.
It was my first experience meeting millionaires. It made an intensive
impression. I was awed. There seemed to be something in the appearance and
personalities of these men that simply radiated
power. It was instantly apparent that they were men of higher caliber
than men I had known—men of greater ability. There was an expression of
intensity which seemed to radiate an aura of positive confident power
about them, and affected one who came within proximity of it. I could see that
they were men who had studied, used their minds continually, dynamically, and
positively.
Of course I was over-impressed, due to the plastic susceptibilities and
inexperience of youth. A very few years later I began meeting so many
millionaires that they began appearing quite ordinary, after all—just
human!
I was taken into the private office of W. O. Finkbine. He wanted to give me a
little general advice before sending a young man so far away from home. I have
never forgotten what he said.
“We are going to send you down with the manager of our Canadian interests,” he
said. This man’s name I do not remember now. It was early January, and he was
going down to Wiggins for a vacation, and to inspect the company’s operations
there, during the off-season in Canada. I had never been farther from Des Moines
than Omaha and Sioux City. It was a thrill to
look forward to the trip, first to seeing Chicago, then the deep South.
“First, I want to give you some advice about travelling,” said Mr. Finkbine.
“Most people look upon it as an extravagance to ride in the Pullman cars on
trains. They are wrong. As you’re starting on your first long trip from home, I
want to impress on you the importance of always travelling in a Pullman car,
except when you do not have the money to do so.
“First of all, especially at your age, we humans are influenced by everyone we
come in contact with. On the Pullmans you will come in contact with a more
successful class of people. This will have more influence than you can realize,
now, on your future success in life. Then, in the Pullmans it is not only
cleaner, but safer.
“Now,” he continued, “whenever you stop at a hotel, the same principle applies.
Always stop at the leading hotel in any city. If you want to economize,
get the minimum-priced room, but always go to the best hotel. You are
among more successful people, which will influence your own success. The best
hotels are either fireproof or more nearly so—always safer—worth the little
difference, if any, in cost as insurance against accident or fire. You are a
young man, just getting started in life. Try to throw yourself into the company
of as many successful men as possible. Study them. Try to learn
why they are successful. This will help you
learn how to build a success for yourself.”
I did not disdain his advice. There have been many times in my life when I did
not have enough money to travel on Pullman cars, or stay in the best hotels.
Under such circumstances, I have travelled as I could afford—and I have
travelled a great deal since that eventful day in early January, 1912—in fact a
goodly portion of my life has been spent in travelling, as you will see as this
autobiography progresses.
Since we moved to Pasadena, I have learned that these Finkbine brothers later
retired from business, and moved to Pasadena. Very often, these days, I drive
past the home where W. O. Finkbine lived in retirement, and died. One lesson in
life he apparently never learned. When a man decides he already has achieved
success, and retires—quits—he never lives long. I expect to stay in harness as
long as I live.
Introduction to the South
As I look back now, after a travel-filled life, on this first real trip away
from home, it seems strange that I could have been so absolutely inexperienced
in travel. But I suppose one must be initiated, and learn, and this was my
introduction to a life of travel.
We boarded a Pullman car in Des Moines one night—my first experience riding in
one. I think I was too excited to sleep much, wanting to see as much of the
scenery as possible—especially my first glimpse of the great Mississippi River
as we crossed it between Davenport and Rock Island.
There was a cold blizzard on our arrival in Chicago next morning. The ground was
covered with snow. We went over to see Michigan Avenue. I was thrilled. We went
through “Peacock Alley,” a very long and narrow lobby, nationally famous, in the
Congress Hotel, and walked through the tunnel under the street connecting it
with the Auditorium Hotel. I think we visited the Stock Yards, taking the first
ride in my experience on an “L” (Elevated train).
Near mid-day we boarded the famous all-Pullman “Panama Limited” on the Illinois
Central Railroad at 12th Street Station. Going into the diner for lunch and
again for dinner was an exciting experience—I had never seen the inside of a
dining car before. It was a new experience to learn about tipping waiters,
redcaps, porters, bellboys—but my companion was an experienced traveller, and
this initiation into the “ropes” of travelling was under good tutelage. I
learned fast. Night came all too soon, and this time I slept soundly in my
berth.
The next morning the train arrived in Jackson, Mississippi, where we changed for
a local train on the “G. & S. I.” Line.
This was the strangest experience of my life up to this time. We had left
Chicago in below zero temperature and a blizzard. I had gone to sleep that night
somewhere near Cairo, Illinois. And now, this morning, after a brief sleep, here
it was—summer!
I had never seen southern Negroes before, and in those days, January, 1912, they
were quite different from the colored people I had known up north. (Readers will
understand that in those days blacks were called “Negroes” and “colored
people.”)
Here in Jackson, Mississippi, it seemed that there were more black people than
white on the streets, and they were utterly different from any people I
had seen in the north—and, for that matter, than southern blacks today. Today
the blacks of the South are comparatively well educated, on the average, but
then very few had been privileged to receive much, if any, education. I was
especially attracted to the dresses of the black women—bright and loud colors—such
as a bright yellow or orange, clashing with a loud purple.
Arriving in Wiggins, I found a room in town, over a mile walk from the
commissary store and the lumber mill, just outside of town, and was quickly
introduced to my job in the store. Saturday night was the big night at the
store. The mill employees were paid Saturday evening, and thronged the store. I
was broken in immediately as “soda-fountain jerker.”
One of the first men I met was a Negro I shall never forget—whose name was Hub
Evans. One of the men in the store brought him around to me.
“Hub,” he said, “tell Mr. Armstrong how many children you have.”
“Thutty-six, suh,” replied old Hub, promptly and proudly—”hope t’ make it foty
‘fo Ah die!”
I was not merely amused—but intensely interested. “Tell me, Hub,” I responded,
“how many wives have you had?”
“Only three, suh!” Hub was a proud man.
The New Job
After not more than a few weeks, I was transferred over to the mill office as
timekeeper and paymaster. Later I learned that only a short time before, this
job had been shared by three men, and all of them men of ability—one of
whom was now the leading real estate dealer in Wiggins, another was now the
company’s bookkeeper, and the third the assistant manager of the company.
The company was logging timber off a big tract east of Wiggins. It had its own
railroad, by which the logs were brought into the mill. About 350 Negro men were
employed, beside various department managers and top-ranking skilled employees,
all white.
As mentioned above, Negroes of 62 years ago had received little or no education.
There was not a man of this entire force who could write his own name. All
statements were signed with an “x”—”His mark.” This was a legal signature.
I learned at once that the black employees had to be paid three times a
day—morning, noon, and night. They had never been trained in the handling of
money. Had they been paid only once a week, they and their families would have
starved before next payday, for they were nearly always “broke” before Monday
morning.
But the company paid them in cash only on Saturday night. At all other
times, they were paid in trade-checks on the commissary store—good only in
trade. What a contrast from the condition of today. This was in 1912. Only some
45-48 years from slavery. The terrible years after the war had done little
toward giving our black people the economic, educational and social advantages
the nation owed them.
But, even though we do not yet have the Civil Rights problem fully solved, the
black people certainly have come a long way! These problems require
time, patience, understanding, and replacing prejudice with a love of
fellowman. I am here recording only true factual history, which should help us
understand today’s problems.
A Fish Out of Water
I was to learn that I was a square peg in a round hole. I had fixed a life
goal in the advertising profession, where
self-analysis had shown I fit. The glamor of getting to travel to far-off
southern Mississippi, combined with the flattery of being offered such a job as
a result of my record during that year in want ads, had momentarily blinded me
to my previously fixed purpose. Of course, travel is an important phase
of education—so this six-month sidetracking was not altogether wasted time.
I have mentioned that this job combined the work previously done by three
capable men, now risen to more important jobs. But it was not the kind of work
into which I fit. It was, as we say, out of my line. I was a fish out of water.
A square peg in a round hole.
In order to keep up with the job, due to inadaptability and resultant slowness,
it became necessary to work nights. I established a system. I worked alternately
one night until ten, the next until midnight, rising at 5:30 every morning. Time
had to be taken out to walk the one or two miles from my room to the mill, and
also to walk over to the boarding house where I took meals. I kept awake on the
job nights by smoking a pipe—my first habitual smoking. In just six months this
overwork and loss of sleep exacted its toll, and I was sent to the hospital with
a very severe case of typhoid fever.
Escape From Death
But during this six months in Wiggins there were a few social events. One was a
pre-World War I encounter with a German, in which I narrowly escaped being shot
to death.
I took meals at a boarding house out near the mill. The daughter of the landlady
was an attractive southern brunette near my age. I had a few dates with her—but,
I think, quite unlike most dating today. There was no “necking” as today’s
youngsters call it. Indeed I had never yet kissed or had my arms around a girl.
It just wasn’t done, then, on the universal scale of these postwar years. Two
world wars have brought greater social and moral changes than most people
realize—and mostly bad.
That girl’s name was Matti-Lee Hornsby. The few dates I had were on Sundays, and
consisted of walking and of conversation.
That kind of date would seem pretty “dull” to most 19-year-olds today, I
suppose. I wonder if it isn’t because they have lost the art of interesting
conversation. I have always found that a scintillating conversation can be far
more interesting than a prefabricated daydream in a movie or before a TV set—far
more stimulating, enjoyable, and beneficial than the lust-inciting pastime
called “necking.”
But more of the dating experiences later. I had not had a great many dates up to
this time. One thing, however, sticks to my memory—whenever Matti-Lee became a
little provoked with me, her dark eyes flashed and she snapped out the epithet:
“yankee!” It was of course, half in fun—but I
found that epithet was supposed to be insulting. I had never heard it before.
One acquaintance I made there was a young German. He must have been about 21 at
the time. His father was a lumberman in Germany, and had sent the son to America
to study American lumber methods. He was spending some few weeks at the Finkbine
mill in Wiggins.
This German, whose name I do not remember, bragged at length on the superiority
of German products, methods and systems. One day, in his room at the boarding
house, he was demonstrating to me the superiority of his German-made revolver
over a Colt or other American make.
In play, he pointed the revolver straight at me.
“Don’t point that at me!” I said, dodging.
“Oh, it isn’t loaded,” he laughed. “Look, if you’re afraid, I’ll point it away
from you and show you.”
He pointed the revolver a couple of feet to one side of me, and pulled the
trigger.
It was a very superior weapon, all right. It drilled a hole completely through
the wall of his room, and let a little round ray of sunlight shine through from
outdoors!
My German friend turned white, and trembled in confusion.
“Why,” he stammered in frightened embarrassment, “I was sure it wasn’t
loaded.”
It is the gun “that isn’t loaded” that has killed many people. And before I
leave this little digression, may I respectfully suggest to all who read
this that you teach—yes, really teach your
children never, under any circumstances, to point even a playgun
at any person. The life you save may be your own!
In the Hospital
My stay in southern Mississippi was brought to a sudden and rude halt. By
summer, weakened by overwork and loss of sleep in the desperate struggle to make
good on a job I didn’t belong in, a tiny typhoid germ, according to medical
theories, found fertile soil. I became delirious. The mill officials, on
doctor’s orders, had me taken to the Southern Mississippi Infirmary at
Hattiesburg. I entered there with the most severe case in the hospital’s
history. I was unconscious for two or three days.
But just to be able to stay in bed, after that six months’ grind with all too
little sleep seemed so good that somehow I “snapped out of it” quicker,
apparently, than any previous typhoid patient at that hospital, and recovery was
rapid.
One thing I want to mention here, for the benefit of a very large portion of my
readers. It isn’t often considered “nice” to talk about it, but constipation is
called by some medical men “the mother of all diseases.” A large percentage of
people are plagued with it. For some two years I had been. Cathartics give only
temporary relief. There isn’t a cure in a carload.
In the hospital I was forced to fast. Daily they gave me castor oil.
ugh! I have never taken it since, but I can
taste the nasty stuff yet! They fed me only lemon juice, and occasionally
buttermilk.
When I left the hospital the constipation was cured. Fasting, on raw fresh
fruits (no bananas), will cure it, if you will keep it up long enough. I did not
undervaluate the blessing of being rid of this thing. I appreciated it enough
to be sure that I kept regular. I have never permitted that condition to return.
That fact alone is responsible for a large part of whatever dynamic
energy I have been able to give to our great Work—and for long life. One of the
7 basic rules of success is good health! I hope
this is enough said. You can’t overestimate its importance.
In the hospital I was the favorite patient of practically all the nurses. Most
of them were just a few years older than I—but not so much that we did not enjoy
a great deal of conversation while I was convalescing. My room became a sort of
social rendezvous for the nurses. Often there would be five or six of them in
there at a time. I really enjoyed this rest in the hospital—the release
from that frightening responsibility of trying so desperately to keep up with a
job in which I did not belong, getting ample rest and sleep at last.
But I have always believed in the admonition: “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to
do, do it with thy might,” even though I
didn’t know it was in the Bible (Eccl. 9:10) until much later. I gave that job
all I had. Now, in later life, there is some satisfaction in looking back on
that.
The doctors told me I would have to return back north to protect my health.
Thus, by forces outside my control, I was jerked out of this misfit detour job,
and I thought I had learned, now, the lesson for which I
sacrificed $2 a week the year before.
Arriving back in Des Moines, Iowa, mid-summer, 1912, I went this time to seek my
uncle’s advice. Now began my real advertising career. I think the story
picks up in interest at this point.
Chapter 3
“Learning to Write Effective Advertisements”
This detour was my first experience in real travel. But on this job I was a
total misfit.
I had now learned my lesson—least temporarily. Now I was going to get back on
the main track—the advertising field.
Stopping off in Chicago between trains en route to Des Moines, I went up to the
Mahan Advertising Agency headquarters, and succeeded in getting a job. But since
it was still more than two weeks before I could become active again, I went on
out to Des Moines to spend the time at home.
Hiring Myself a Job
Naturally I went almost immediately to my uncle Frank’s office.
“Well, Herbert,” he said approvingly, “I’m glad you’ve got that bookkeeping
fling out of your system, and are ready to get back in the advertising field
where you belong.”
I told him about the job with the Mahan Agency in Chicago.
“No, Herbert,” he said, seriously, “you’re not ready for agency experience yet.
Mahan is one of the major agencies, and it would be years before you’d even work
up to being noticed by any of the top men, who are the only ones over there that
could teach you anything. They wouldn’t know you existed.
“Besides,” he continued, “although faraway pastures may look greener, often the
best opportunity is right where you are. Now it so happens that on a national
magazine, right here in Des Moines, are two men that I regard as the two best
advertising and merchandising men in the country. These fellows really know
advertising psychology. They know people, and how to deal with them. They
know merchandising and business principles. They specialize in finding
which business methods, selling methods, and advertising principles are
successful, and which are not.
“They are two men over at The Merchants Trade Journal. It’s a trade
journal in the retail field—read by owners and managers of retail stores—but
they circulate among every line of merchandising, and it’s the biggest
trade journal in the country, with a very large national circulation.
“One of these men is R. H. Miles, who is advertising manager, and the other is
Arthur I. Boreman, manager of their Service Department, which is a sort of
trade-paper advertising agency.”
“Why,” I interrupted, “I know Mr. Miles. He’s a neighbor of ours.”
“Well,” continued my uncle, “go hire yourself a job. Don’t let them turn you
down. Over there you’ll be in daily personal contact with these two men. You’ll
learn more there than anyplace I know. Don’t forget, you’re still going
to school—you still have a lot to learn.”
I walked briskly over to The Merchants Trade Journal offices, gained
admittance to the advertising manager’s office.
“Why, hello, Herbert,” greeted Mr. Miles, surprised to see me in his office.
“Mr. Miles, I have decided that I’m going to join your organization, here in
your advertising department. The doctors have told me I can’t start work for two
more weeks. I will report for work the first Monday in next month!” This came
out real snappy—very positively.
“You—you—what!” It caught Mr. Miles’ breath.
I repeated my affirmative statement.
“Well!!—so you’ve just hired yourself a job—is that it?”
“Exactly!” came the positive reply.
“Well, now—just back up a minute!” Mr. Miles began to recover. “You can’t come
barging in here and hire yourself a job, just because you’re a neighbor of mine.
We haven’t any openings!”
“Oh, that’s all right! You’ve got two whole weeks to create an opening,”
I came back promptly, in full self-assurance.
“Now, look!” Mr. Miles was beginning to get a little impatient at this youthful
aggressiveness. “It seems you don’t understand plain English. I said,
we don’t need any help!”
Now it was my turn to become a little nettled.
“Mr. Miles,” I came back, more positively than ever, “I’m surprised at you.
Isn’t this a national magazine? Isn’t this an
institution of national importance?”
“Yes, of course,” he responded.
“Well then, do you mean to tell me that an organization of national scope and
influence is not interested in finding a way to create an opening for an
ambitious, energetic young man like me? Do you realize that you probably don’t
get a chance once in several years to add to your staff a man of my caliber, my
talents, and ambition and will to work! Why, you can’t afford to pass up
this opportunity. I’ll grow with your organization. Of course you
can create an opening! As I said, I’ll report for work the first Monday in next
month.”
“Well, I haven’t the slightest idea what we’d have you do,” Mr. Miles was
beginning to weaken a little.
I became more confident than ever.
“Oh, poppycock, Mr. Miles,” I snapped, disgusted. “Hand me a copy of that lousy
sheet of yours!” This was commonly used advertising terminology.
On the back cover I saw two or three small ads, want-ad style, advertising
stores for sale.
“Do you call these want ads?” I inquired.
“Oh, we don’t have a want-ad section. We only solicit display ads. Occasionally
a merchant decides to quit and sell out, and sends in a small want ad to sell
his business.”
“Well, I happen to know that hundreds of small merchants are going broke all the
time, over the whole country. Now, supposing you had a full page, or even two
pages of these store-for-sale ads every month. The rate for these small ads is a
lot higher than the display rate by the page. One page of want ads would bring
in as much advertising revenue as three or four pages of display ads, wouldn’t
it?”
“Well, yes,” admitted Miles, rather reluctantly, “but we have no way of selling
ads of that sort.”
I was real cocky and confident by now. “I can put one or two full pages of want
ads of businesses for sale in every issue of The Journal. One thing I’ve
learned is how to bring in want ads by mail. So, if I have to create my own
opening, I’ll report for work the first Monday morning in next month.”
“Well,” came a last objection, “we can’t pay you a very high salary. We couldn’t
pay you over $10 a week.”
“Who said anything about salary?” I rejoined. “I still live at home with the
folks. I’m not coming up here for the salary I make now, but for what I
can learn, and the salary I will make, later. I’m hired at
$10 per week,” rising and extending my hand. “All I ask is that you agree to
raise my salary as fast as I earn it. See you in two weeks.”
My First Display Ad
All this was along about July or August, 1912. I do not remember now, after more
than 60 years, whether I was actually put to work on building a page or two of
want ads by direct mail solicitation; but it seems, in the dim distance of
memory, that I did bring in a page or more of want ads the first two or three
issues.
In any event, I was not long on want-ad work. I was assigned to the Service
Department, directly under A. I. Boreman. For some little time I was given
routine office work, with a certain amount of correspondence to answer. For this
work, I was given a stenographer and a dictaphone. During this period it was my
job to break in a number of different stenographers. As soon as a new girl
became experienced enough to be efficient, she was taken away from me, and a new
green girl fresh out of business college assigned to me.
It was not long until I was given opportunity to start writing and designing
display ads. As mentioned above, this Service Department was a sort of
trade-journal advertising agency. We handled the trade-paper division of the
advertising budget of manufacturers who sold through retailers. As a rule the
larger advertising agencies were glad to relinquish the trade-paper portion of
any client’s advertising. They were primarily interested in consumer media.
I shall never forget the first ad Mr. Boreman assigned to me to write and lay
out. I have mentioned before that I had been studying every book on advertising
writing I could acquire. I was studying books on psychology, and on advertising
psychology. I had diligently read the trade journals in the advertising field—Printers
Ink and Advertising & Selling. I had studied diagrams of design and
layout of ads. But as yet I had received almost no experience in actually
writing the copy and designing the layout of an ad.
I do not remember at all the nature of the commodity or service or the name of
the manufacturer whose ad I was to write.
But I shall never forget Mr. Boreman’s left-handed compliment when I laid
the “dummy” and typed copy before him.
“Mm-hmm—well, Herbert, that’s a pretty good ad,” he drawled, slowly, examining
it critically.
“Now, that headline, of course, will have to be changed,” he continued. “You’ve
used too many words. There’s nothing in that headline that will catch the eye.
The average reader will be scanning past it to something else. You have only the
fleeting fraction of a second to stop the eye. There’s nothing in your
headline to arouse instant interest and create immediate suspense—nothing
to make the reader say, ‘Well, I never thought of that! I want to read
that!’ or, to say ‘Now I’ve always wondered about that!’—so he’ll want to read
on.
“The headline is not displayed correctly on your layout. Not enough white space
around the headline to create contrast between a bold, black, short headline and
white space around it. Never be afraid of wasting white space around your
headlines. Never waste white space around the text matter.
“Now next,” continued Mr. Boreman, “your major subhead above the text matter is
all wrong. You must grab attention—stop the eye—in the main headline—but
you must go on to arouse interest and create suspense in the subhead, if you are
to win a reading for your copy. This subhead is in the wrong place in your
layout, the wrong size and kind of type.
“Now, coming to the main text matter—that opening sentence won’t do, Herbert. It
should have been indicated on the layout to be in larger type than the balance
of the text matter, and the first word should have started out with a large
initial letter. Unless this opening sentence follows up the headings by
cementing interest, and arousing more curiosity or suspense, no one is going to
read past it. No, this first sentence will have to be rewritten, just like the
headlines.
“Now, these smaller subheads through the text matter don’t add anything. They
must create interest, make the reader want to read what’s under them. And they,
too, are in the wrong kind of type. And this text matter will all have to be
rewritten. It doesn’t hold the interest, if you had created
interest in the first place. It doesn’t arouse desire for this thing
you’re selling. It doesn’t make the reader—if he ever reads this ad—want
to buy this product.
“And then, finally, there’s no emotional ending to arouse the reader to
action—if you had first stopped his eye and
gained his attention, aroused interest, created suspense, made him actually
read through your ad, made him want what you
advertise. The signature isn’t right, either—and the border around the ad will
have to be eliminated.
“But, outside of that, Herbert,” he said encouragingly, “that’s a pretty good
ad!”
No, I shall never forget that experience!
That kind of encouragement was pretty hard to take—but I learned more
about how to write an ad in that one analysis of this first ad, than many
copywriters and layout men in big agencies have ever learned, or ever will
learn! This one experience was well worth all
the time I spent on the staff of the Merchants Trade Journal—and I was to
be with them three years.
I went to work with a will, writing that ad all over. Practice makes
perfect. It was probably two or three years later before I was able to write ads
that actually stopped roving eyes, grabbed instantaneous interest,
created suspense, held the reader’s interest throughout, convinced the
reader, and then moved him to action. It took time. But I was on the way.
Not long after returning from the South, and starting with The Merchants
Trade Journal, my father went out to Idaho, where he bought a small ranch
near Weiser. The household goods were packed and stored, ready to be moved after
he became located.
My mother, two younger brothers and sister, went to the home of one of my
mother’s sisters, on a farm some 25 or 30 miles south of Des Moines, for a
visit. After my father was located in Idaho, they followed and joined him there.
Learning Effective Ad-Writing
For something like a year and a half I was kept in the Service Department of
The Journal. There I received a most intensive and practical basic
training in the true psychological principles of writing and designing
advertisements.
It has always seemed to me that the advertising profession generally has “missed
the boat.” It’s the same in many professions.
The ad-men have progressed into a system of intricate display designs,
complicated art work, and overly rhetorical text matter which, after all,
doesn’t really say much or do much to the readers—if any.
Take a look through the advertising pages of a magazine or newspaper today. It’s
a confused, jumbled hodgepodge of fancy art work, and small bits of text,
artistically blocked off—usually in such a manner that no one reads it! Nothing
stands out to catch, and stop, the fleeting eye trying to get to the next
news or article headline. Nothing snatches attention away from all
surrounding matter. There’s nothing to arouse instantaneous interest at
the very point where the eye is drawn for that fraction of a second
glance—nothing to hold that interest until it creates suspense sufficient
to induce a reading of the text matter.
The ads I was trained to write, during those formative years between ages 20 and
23, always got results. Often they were more plain and simple in
appearance than the more fancy, artistic, highly illustrated ads around them.
But they stopped roving eyes—drew attention from surrounding
matter—aroused and held interest—convinced readers, and moved them
to act! (This early training was destined to serve a great purpose!)
Today all that early training and the years of subsequent experience are being
put into the production of full-page ads which are selling, not a
commercial product or service for profit, but God’s truth, without price or
profit.
Overhauling and Simplifying a Vocabulary
For some two years, prior to joining the Merchants Trade Journal staff, I
had been striving diligently to acquire a large vocabulary. Ever since I had
read Elbert Hubbard’s boast of possessing the largest vocabulary of any man
since Shakespeare, it had been a challenge! I was determined to acquire a
greater! To be able to pour out a torrent of big words incomprehensible to any
but the highly educated had appealed to intellectual vanity.
But—at age 20—Mr. Boreman changed all that.
“When you write advertising,” he explained, “the purpose is not to impress the
readers with your superior vocabulary. Your purpose is to sell goods,
services, or ideas! The purpose of words is to convey thoughts, facts,
ideas—a message! When 98% of the people do not understand your words, they do
not receive your message. They only become confused and turn to something
interesting. In advertising we must reach the 98%—not the 2%.
“Use only plain, simple words. Use words that readers of no more than a third or
fourth grade education can understand. Try to
achieve good literary quality with a large vocabulary of common, simple
words, and by the manner in which you weave those words into the sentence
structure.”
Immediately my vocabulary underwent an over-hauling. Deliberately I began
dropping out of my speaking and writing vocabulary all the big words not in
common usage. Every person has three vocabularies: smallest of all, his speaking
vocabulary, consisting of the fund of words with which he is able to speak
readily; next larger, his writing vocabulary; and largest, his reading
or listening vocabulary. Everyone can understand many words which he
may read, or hear spoken by others, which he could not readily use himself in
conversation.
My effort, then, became that of developing ability to use the largest variety of
words readily comprehensible by most people when heard or read.
But effective writing is far more than memorizing a store of words. It is the
manner in which those words are put together in sentence structure that
determines effectiveness. So I began to study a style in writing. Immediately I
set out to develop a distinct and effective style. It had to be fast-moving,
vigorous, yet simple, interesting, making the message plain and
understandable.
All this advertising instruction was the most valuable possible training for the
real mission in life to which I was later to be called—our worldwide enterprises
of today. It was a training such as one could never receive in any university.
It was the most practical training.
Some speakers and writers seem to think they impress their audiences or readers
by their ability to use big words beyond the comprehension of the audience.
Others succumb to the temptation to become too “scholarly,” speaking over
the minds of their hearers—but never plainly into their minds. The
same rules that attract attention, arouse interest, create suspense, win
conviction and stir emotions to action in advertising accomplish the same
results in public speaking.
Another most important principle—I was taught to avoid the
academic “outline” form of presentation. This is the manner in which nearly all
students are taught in colleges to organize their writing or speaking. This is
the one, two, three, a), b), c) form of outline. It is orderly and precise, but
dull, dry, uninteresting to the readers.
But in writing advertising, I learned always to tell a story—to make it
interesting—and to tell it in story form. That is, first, put a
question in the minds of readers they really want answered—or make a
statement that is so unusual it either raises a question in the readers’ minds,
or challenges them to demand an explanation and want to read on to get it. It
must arouse instant interest. It must create suspense! Like a
mystery play, it must not tell the reader the answer at the beginning. It must
develop, rapidly, lucidly, increasing the interest, toward the final solution or
answer. It must hold the interest until the
story is told.
The advertising headline should, when possible, make people say either: “I’ve
always wondered about that!” or, “I never thought of that—say, that’s
interesting—I want to know the answer!!”
I learned in those early days to put a story flow into the text of an
advertisement, holding the interest of readers to learn the answer. An ad of
this nature may contain hundreds, or even thousands of words—and
people will be glued to it until they have read it all.
I remember an incident that happened many years later.
This was in 1925, when I had established an advertising service of my own in
Portland, Oregon. One of my clients was a laundry in Vancouver, Washington. I
had a number of other clients in Vancouver—a retail clothing store, a jewelry
store, a large drug store, and others. One of the banks had installed a new
Safety Deposit Department, with new vaults and safety deposit boxes. The
president of the bank called me in.
“Mr. Armstrong,” he began, “we have noticed the attractive and compelling ads
you have prepared for clients here in Vancouver, and we would like to retain
your services to prepare a short campaign to announce the opening of our new
department.
“Now,” he continued, apologetically, “we think your ads are fine—they certainly
stand out—they’re interesting—but we have just one criticism. We think those ads
you write for the laundry are too long—too many words. People won’t read so many
words in an ad.”
“Well now, Mr. Jones,” I replied, “in the first place, your advertising requires
entirely different advertising treatment, because you have a totally different
advertising problem. The laundry is up against adverse public opinion, and
suspicion in regard to supposed harmful laundry methods. Their problem requires
what we call ‘educational advertising.’ It must
educate women to the true facts—it must change public opinion. This
requires more words—totally different advertising treatment.
“But, as to whether people ever read so many words, I wonder if you remember an
ad of a month ago, captioned, ‘Is Mother Worth
Saving?’”
“Why, yes!” he replied quickly. “Yes, I do remember that ad, very well. That was
unusually interesting.”
“How much of it did you read?”
“Oh, I read all of it,” he responded. “It aroused my curiosity, and I
couldn’t stop till I found the answer.”
“Well, Mr. Jones, how many other ads do you remember reading in that same
edition of the newspaper?”
“Why—why—” he stammered, “I—I don’t remember reading any others.”
“Exactly!” I had won my point. “That ad was the longest, wordiest ad in that
newspaper—and yet it’s the only one you remember reading, and you read it
clear through! Moreover, it is the longest ad I ever wrote!”
“Yes,” he protested, “but that ad was interesting!”
“That’s just the point,” I concluded. “If what you write is sufficiently
interesting—if it has created suspense, and holds the interest or
even increases it as the reader is led along through it—people will read it all
the way through, no matter how long.
“It is not a matter of how long an ad is, or
how many words, it is altogether a matter of whether you have been able to
catch readers’ attention, arouse their interest, and
hold that interest. How many words are there in a complete novel? Yet the
book stores sell such thick books by the millions—and people read them clear
through!”
That is the principle I was taught under Mr. Boreman and Mr. Miles, between ages
20 and 23.
Applying All These Principles Now
The principles that make for effective advertising copy, which I began
learning during those three years, apply also in broadcasting, and in magazine
writing, as well as in straight advertising copy.
Let me add here that, in advertising, there are different types of merchandising
problems. The ads I wrote for the laundry required educational advertising. They
had to re-educate the public in regard to laundry methods. They had to
remove prejudices, create confidence, change habits.
But perhaps most advertising is in the field called convenience goods.
This includes such products as tooth-paste, shaving cream or soaps, cigarettes,
where popularizing a brand name is the objective. This depends more on
repetition than on lengthy educational copy. Such ads have few words.
I have been amused by the problems confronting the writers of cigarette ads.
With the restrictions imposed by laws, there is not much an ad-writer can say
about a cigarette, anyway. I have marvelled at the hundreds of millions of
dollars spent saying nothing that means anything
about cigarettes. The “kick the habit” commercials (1971) by the cancer society,
however, seem really to have had a message.
I was to learn, later in life, that far more people will listen to a solid
half-hour all-speech radio program applying these principles, than will listen
to a one-minute dry talk or commercial that
arouses no interest. For many years, the World Tomorrow program has
enjoyed highest ratings of listener-interest on most stations we use—and
second highest on most others. That is in comparison to all programs in most
markets around the world where we are heard. The various editors of the Plain
Truth magazine and our other publications have received training in these
same principles in Ambassador College. And that is one reason why The Plain
Truth is so avidly read, and its circulation continues growing so
phenomenally, while other leading mass-circulation magazines are in deep
financial difficulties, and several have gone out of publication. Plain Truth
and Good News articles and the Correspondence Course lessons are
interesting—they say
something, and say it in a manner extremely easy to read!
But, to return to the story.
Mr. Miles had, perhaps, the snappiest, fastest-moving style of copy-writing I
have ever read. I thought it was too fast—too many short, terse
sentences. Long sentences tend to slow down the reader. Short sentences
tend to speed him up. But when writing consists of nothing but a succession of
overly short, terse, staccato sentences, it becomes monotonous and unnatural. I
strove for a style that gave change of pace! A proper balance between
quick, short sentences, and occasional longer ones.
To hold a mass reading, writing should be reasonably crisp and lucid, not “dry”
or slow. But a monotony of very short, terse sentences seemed to me to lack
sincerity, and writing should, above all, be sincere!
In any event, this early training resulted in literally thousands of letters
during recent years from radio listeners and readers of The Plain Truth,
saying that the facts are being made more plain,
more clear and understandable than they ever heard them before! Today that early
training serves and helps millions of people all
over the world!
But there is another principle in advertising even more important than any of
these. That is to be honest—to stick to the
truth!
I attended many Ad-Club luncheons, and even the national Ad-Club conventions,
during the many years I spent in the advertising field. From the start I was
much impressed by the Associated Advertising Club’s slogan: “TRUTH in
Advertising.”
But do you really know how much truth there is
in most commercial advertising today? If you knew how little, you’d be
shocked.
I spent twenty years in the advertising field. I got to know advertising men.
The average advertising man, preparing to write advertising copy, searches for
what ideas or statements he might make about his
product will cause the public to buy. It never
seems to occur to most advertising men to check up and see whether the
statements or claims are true! If a certain claim or statement about the product
will sell it, the ad man grabs it and makes that claim in his copy with
enthusiasm.
You will see, later in this autobiography, that when I became a publishers’
representative in Chicago, I built a business on
honesty that produced confidence. The advertising agencies, the banks,
and the manufacturers with whom I did business came to know that I knew my
field—I had the facts they needed—and that I was accurate and
truthful, and they could
rely on whatever I told them.
Another principle I was taught is this:
“A customer is more profitable than a single
sale.” Win the confidence of a customer through honesty and integrity, and
many repeat sales will come your way without selling expense.
One other ingredient is absolutely necessary, along with telling the
truth. And that is
sincerity!
I Was Never Insincere
I was never insincere. True, I had swung from a sense of inferiority, to one of
supreme self-confidence.
But I was entirely sincere. Usually a bragging, conceited young lad who
is cocky, is also an insincere flippant smart aleck. I was not. It seems I was,
by nature, deeply sincere and in earnest, and although excessively
self-confident, even snappy and cocky in manner, there was always with it a
sense of earnestness and dignity. At least I thought I was right, and in
my heart meant to be. Human nature wants to be good—but seldom
does it want to do good. That natural desire in one to wish to consider
himself good, I suppose, led to an attitude of sincerity.
Later, God had to take the self-confidence, conceit, and cockiness out of me. He
replaced it with a different kind of confidence—an unbounded
faith in God. I have far more
assurance for the future today than I had
then—many times over. But today it is based on what God is going to
do—not what I am able to do.
All these are the principles I was taught under Mr. Boreman and Mr. Miles during
the three years with The Merchants Trade Journal. I owe them much.
In the Service Department of The Merchants Trade Journal I was sent on
occasional trips to places like Waterloo and Cedar Rapids, Iowa, Albert Lea,
Minnesota, and others, selling ads I had prepared to manufacturers.
I remember vividly, at this point, a trip of this kind to Waterloo. I think it
was a refrigerator account. I worked carefully on the advertising copy and
layout in the hotel, then went over to see the manufacturer. This, I believe,
was the first magazine display ad I ever sold.
What a thrill it was! As I walked from the factory back to the hotel, I
was floating on air! Ah, sweet success! It was
elation! Thrills ran all through me!
Playing With a Million Dollars
The Journal regarded a Waterloo department store merchant as one of the
best merchandisers in the nation. His name was Paul Davis. There were two
department stores in Waterloo—the James Black Company, and the Paul Davis store.
The Black store was the older-established and larger, but the Davis company was
catching up.
Then Paul Davis had a fire. His store was totally destroyed. The next time I was
in Waterloo, after his misfortune, I found the Paul Davis store in temporary
quarters in a two-story building in the middle of a block. It was only a
fraction the size of the department store occupying a prominent corner that had
burned down. At that time, Mr. Davis said he was planning to build a new
building, larger than the Black Company store.
But on my next visit, some six months later, there was no sign of any new
building activity.
“What happened to that big new quarter-block multiple-story building you were
going to erect?” I asked.
“Oh, that!” Mr. Davis laughed. By this time he called himself my “second Daddy.”
“Well, I’m not going to build it for a while yet. I’m having a lot of fun. I
have one cool million dollars, cash, in the
bank. It’s the insurance money. It was no time at all until every manufacturer
in New York knew we had that million dollars cash. Every time a manufacturer
gets overloaded with some stock, or needs to raise some quick money, he comes or
sends a representative out here to Waterloo. I am able to buy chunks of
merchandise in this manner, by sharp trading, at far less than any competitors.
Then I put on a big sale. I take a small profit,
cut the price way down, and the public simply streams into our little two-floor
store here. We have low overhead. We have a small inventory, compared to what we
carried in the bigger store. We sell fast, turn our stock more times a year.
And the secret of success is not the total volume of sales, but
turnover—the number of times you turn your stock
a year—the number of times you make a profit on the same capital!
“I find that money attracts money! That’s a principle of life. Don’t ever
forget it! Truly, ‘to him that hath shall be
given, and to him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath!’ I
can do things with a million dollars cash I never dreamed could be done. It’s
a lot of fun. I’m enjoying it! No, I’m not going to put that million into a
new store building right away. I’m going to keep it in the bank, and working
for me a little while longer!”
I never did forget the lessons this successful merchant, Paul Davis, taught me.
Soon after this, I became “the Idea Man” of The Merchants Trade Journal.
I was sent on long trips, either to the Atlantic Coast or to the Gulf of Mexico
and back, interviewing merchants, businessmen and Chamber of Commerce
secretaries, looking for ideas and material for
articles in the magazine.
On one of these trips, a challenge from an angry merchant resulted in what I
believe was the pioneer experience in all these surveys and samplings of
public opinion. So far as I know, I was the originator of such polls.
Chapter 4
“"Idea Man" for a National Magazine”
My wife was reflecting on what might have happened to us. “What if we had
never met,” she mused. “What if we had never been brought through the failure of
our own plans? We probably never would have found the way to abundant living—the
joys of right living! Think how drab and dull and empty our lives might
have been! How grateful we ought to be!”
WHY This Is Written
Yes, our lives have been eventful, exciting, filled with action, effort, unusual
experiences, travel. There have been problems, reverses, chastenings,
persecutions, sufferings, but there has been success, accomplishments, happiness
and joy! We have been kept busy. We have
really lived!
So, let me repeat, this autobiography is being written in the hope that these
unusual life experiences may bring inspiration, encouragement, and benefit to
many.
I have been greatly influenced by the tremendous impress on my life that
resulted from a triple reading of Benjamin Franklin’s autobiography. After
reading that, I sought to learn by the experiences of other successful men.
And so it is in the hope that this story of my own life may be a means of
bringing to many, in inspirational and interesting manner, the very same useable
help that other biographies brought to me, that this is written.
Learning Magazine Makeup
For one six months’ period, during the first two years on The Journal, I
was given the job of “making up the magazine.” That is, of taking all of the
galley proofs of articles, proofs of all the ads, and pasting them in a dummy
magazine the way each issue was to be designed.
During this six months I was given a desk out at the Successful Farming
plant in their composing room.
I learned, as the publishers of The Journal knew, that a
smaller-circulation magazine can have their publication printed each month in
the plant of a larger magazine, or some large-operation printing establishment,
at less cost than operating their own printing plant. The reason is obvious. The
presses turn only one or two days a month on a single smaller publication. To
keep all the machinery idle, besides printers, most of the month is to tie up
capital that is not working. It doesn’t pay.
This lesson was of very practical benefit in our present activities. For years
The Plain Truth has been printed by large commercial printing plants in
the United States and abroad.
Beginning about 1945 or 1946 we did operate our own small printing shop—first
with one Davidson duplicator press, then with two, and later with three larger,
but still comparatively small Miehle presses. They did our minor printing
only—booklets, letterheads and such things.
All these earlier experiences were precisely what was needed to build, later,
the worldwide activities of today.
Coddling a Temper
One rather dramatic incident occurred at the Successful Farming printing
plant. It contains a lesson worth, I think, the telling.
The foreman of the printing plant at Successful Farming was an old
experienced printer named Ed Condon. It seemed to me that printers were, in
those days at least, more profane than any class of men. Perhaps it was because,
in the days of hand-setting all type, a printer often would “pie” the type—that
is, it would slip out of his hand and fall in a jumbled mass, whereupon every
single letter of type would have to be sorted out, put back into the case and
then set all over again. It was a severe test on patience. Mr. Condon not only
could “cuss”—he also had a temper!
The only thing wrong with Mr. Condon’s temper was that he made no attempt to
control it. He was proud of it. He pampered it. He bragged about it.
One day he “flew off the handle” at me for some reason I no longer remember. He
raved, swore, shouted, called names. I left the composing room, returned to the
Journal offices. Mr. Boreman either went out or called him on the
telephone. He received the same treatment—only more violently. He then went into
the office of our publisher and editor, Mr. W. J. Pilkington. Mr. Pilkington
called Mr. Charles E. Lynde, then general manager of Successful Farming.
He asked Mr. Pilkington if he would have Mr. Boreman and me come to his office.
When we arrived, Mr. Condon was called into Mr. Lynde’s office.
“Ed,” said Mr. Lynde sternly, “we cannot have our good customers insulted. You
may either apologize to Mr. Boreman and Mr. Armstrong, and also give me, and
them, your word of honor that this burst of temper will never be repeated, or
you are fired on the spot.”
Ed Condon humbly apologized.
“May I say a word to Ed?” asked Mr. Boreman.
“Ed, you’re a very competent printer, and a fine and likeable fellow—except when
you let loose a burst of temper. I’d like to give you a little advice as a
friend—for we like you. I’ve noticed that you have bragged about that
temper of yours. You’ve been proud of your ability to lose your head. You’ve
nursed it along as if it were your baby you love. You’ve never tried to control
it. Now a temper is a mighty good thing—as long as it is under perfect
control and directed by the mind in good judgment. When you learn to
control it, then that’s something to be proud of!. You’ve just been
proud of it in the wrong state of action, Ed—that’s all that’s wrong.”
Mr. Condon took the advice—he had to, standing in front of his top boss.
He said he’d never thought of it that way, and thanked Mr. Boreman.
Perhaps some of our readers never thought of it that way. Mr. Boreman’s advice
was very sound! Never let tempers get out of control!
Becoming “the Idea Man”
After about one and a half to two years of training in advertising copy writing
and layout, selling advertising space, office work in dictating and
letter-answering, and composing room makeup with The Merchants Trade Journal,
I was put on a new and unique activity.
I have never heard of anything like it. I became The Journal’s “Idea Man.”
This was the most unusual training and experience of all. I was now transferred
into the Editorial Department, under Ben R. Vardeman, Associate Editor. Also, on
this job, I was kept partially under supervision of Mr. Boreman.
Mr. Vardeman was a tall, dignified man who was author of a book on the
principles of retail salesmanship, and a Chautauqua lecturer. Also, I believe,
he had written a correspondence course on retail salesmanship. He wrote most of
the articles that composed the reading content of The Journal.
The editorial and reading columns of The Journal were devoted mainly to
ideas that had been successfully used by retail
merchants in increasing sales, speeding up turnover, reducing costs, principles
and methods of business management, training of personnel, improving public
relations. Also they put emphasis on community betterment and chamber of
commerce activity.
This reading material was not written out of theoretical imagination. The
Journal maintained an “Idea Man” who travelled all over the country,
visiting stores in all lines, discussing problems and methods with merchants,
checking on community and social conditions. The actual experiences of
successful merchants, as sought out and reported by the “Idea Man” were written
up by the editors into article form in the magazine.
I was equipped with a Hotel Credit Letter and a large postcard-size folding
camera. The Credit Letter authorized me to cash checks, or write out and draw
drafts on The Merchants Trade Journal, up to a total of $100 per week,
ample in those days to cover travelling expenses. A book of instruction in
photography was given me. I had to learn to take pictures of a quality worth
publishing.
Expense Account Troubles
I was allowed a reasonably liberal expense account, but no extravagances or
luxuries. The Journal expected their men to stop at leading hotels, but I
always took a minimum-price single room if available. Breakfasts were nearly
always taken at the lunch counter, lunches at the coffee shop or lunch counter,
but the evening meal quite often in the hotel’s main dining room.
I had not been out long before I put down on my expense account: “Ice Cream
Soda—” and “Movie—”—or whatever the prices of those items were in those days.
Mr. Vardeman was meticulously careful of details. He frowned on these expense
items, and was about to disallow them, when Mr. Boreman came to my rescue. He
urged Mr. Vardeman to let it go, this time, saying that he, Mr. Boreman, would
write me proper instructions about these expense items.
“Next time, Herbert,” Mr. Boreman’s letter advised,” put any little items like
that down included under ‘Miscellaneous.’ “ So after that the occasional ice
cream sodas and movies were bulked together into one item, called
“Miscellaneous.”
This is an incident that I had forgotten. But just at this juncture (written
February 1968), in order to refresh my memory on one or two other incidents as I
had come to the writing of this stage of my experiences with the Journal,
I called Mr. Boreman by long distance telephone. This expense account incident
was one of two that he remembered vividly after all these years. He seemed to
enjoy immensely reminding me of the incident.
This incident reminds me of an experience Benjamin Franklin related in his
autobiography. During the Revolutionary War all people were required to
contribute for the purchase of gunpowder. The Quakers of Pennsylvania found it
contrary to their doctrine and conscience to do this. Yet they wanted to be
loyal. So they solved their dilemma by contributing money for “corn, oats, and
other grain.” The “other grain,” Franklin explained with a chuckle, was
gunpowder!
The other incident which Mr. Boreman recalled to my memory was the time I
“discovered” a most remarkable and practical invention being used in a grocery
store. It was only a few days after I had started on my first trip. I was still
pretty “green” on this job of recognizing good ideas used by merchants.
It was a vegetable rack, with water dripping down slowly over the vegetables.
Now this was not only ingenious, I thought, but a most practical idea. It
attracted attention, and kept the vegetables fresh. So I carefully took several
camera shots of it, as I remembered it. But as Mr. Boreman remembered it, I
hired a photographer to come and photograph it for me. Enthusiastically I sent
in a glowing report of my new discovery.
There was, apparently, quite a reaction in The Journal office when this
report, with pictures, reached them. It seems that their laughter almost shook
the building down. Groceries had been using this type of vegetable rack for many
years—but never having been in the grocery business, and being new and
inexperienced in my “Idea” job, they somehow had escaped my attention. I thought
I had made a wonderful new discovery. This demonstrated again that most of us
learn, not by observation, but by cruel experience.
Ending Sluggishness
The first “Idea Man” tour took me to New York state and back. This trip started
in November, 1913.
I must have visited a number of towns across Iowa and Illinois, but the first
that comes back to mind, now, is traveling across southern Michigan. I remember
staying overnight at the Post Tavern in Battle Creek. My mother had been an
ardent Postum drinker, but I had never liked it. Here at the Post company’s own
hotel, however, I was induced to order their specialty, iced Postum with whipped
cream. The way they prepared it, it was so delicious I have never forgotten it.
It seems to me that Mr. C.W. Post was still alive, and that I saw him either in
the hotel lobby or in the dining room.
I remember stopping off at Ann Arbor, home of the University of Michigan.
Probably I went south from there, making stops at Toledo, Fostoria, Upper
Sandusky, Bucyrus, Mansfield, Wooster, Massillon, Canton, Alliance, and
Youngstown in Ohio.
Next, I entered Pennsylvania, with Franklin as the first stop. By this time I
was feeling so sluggish, I hunted up an osteopath in Franklin. I had
occasionally taken osteopath treatments, not as a medicine for any sickness, but
more to take the place of an athletic “workout” at times when I was not getting
sufficient exercise. At this time I thought a treatment might make me more alert
and help the sluggish feeling I was having to fight.
“Well now,” said the osteopath, “I’ll be glad to give you a treatment and take
your money for it if you insist, but I can tell you something without any charge
that will do you a lot more good. Quit eating so many eggs!”
“Why,” I exclaimed in surprise, “how did you know I’ve been eating a lot
of eggs?”
“By your color, and condition of your liver,” he said.
He explained that I had a somewhat torpid liver that would not readily
assimilate an excess of eggs, corn, or peanuts. Some people seem to be able to
eat eggs every morning for breakfast without harm. I found, from this
osteopath’s advice and subsequent experience, that my liver is apparently
different. I can eat eggs occasionally without harm—but I must avoid eating them
regularly. I have found that lemon juice seems to be the antidote. Accordingly,
ever since that experience in Franklin, Pennsylvania, I have eaten sparingly of
eggs, and taken generously of lemon juice. If I may seem to have some fair
degree of energy, vitality, and physical stamina, it is largely due to being
careful about diet, among other things.
I mention this because some of our readers may be suffering from the same inert
sluggishness, feeling dopey, and drowsy a good deal of the time, caused by the
same kind of liver. If so, try eliminating the eggs, corn and peanuts for a
while, and start drinking lemon juice every morning before breakfast (without
sugar).
The Niagara River Lesson
Next I went north, stopping at Oil City and Titusville in Pennsylvania, and on
to Buffalo. I spent December 25th, 1913, at Niagara Falls. I shall never forget
that first visit to Niagara Falls. There had been a silver thaw, then a
refreeze. All the trees glistened in the bright sun like millions of brilliantly
sparkling diamonds, especially over on Goat Island.
This visit to Niagara Falls allowed me to leave the United States for the first
time in my life—walking across International Bridge into Niagara Falls, Canada.
There was an experience on Goat Island I shall never forget. I had walked up the
island, away from the falls, some little distance. The Niagara River is very
swift at that point. Out in the river I noticed one huge rock. It seemed like a
great, insurmountable barrier standing in the way of the swift on-rushing waters
from above-stream. To me it was like the insurmountable barriers that frequently
confront us—that threaten to stop us in our progress. So many people get
discouraged and quit.
But not those waters!
The waters of that river swirled around the great rock, struck it head-on
and splashed over it. One way or another the waters got past it, and
hurried on to their destination—the falls, and then down the swift rapids of the
river on into Lake Ontario. The waters didn’t lie down. They didn’t become
discouraged. They didn’t quit. They found a way around the impassable
barrier, and on to their destination.
I decided that if inanimate, mindless elements could surmount and find a way
past obstacles, so could I. This experience has often come back to mind when the
going has gotten tough, or when I was tempted to become discouraged and quit.
While at Niagara Falls I went through the Shredded Wheat plant. They had many
visitors, who were taken through the plant on guided tours. At the end of the
tour the guests are served shredded wheat the way the factory serves it. Always
before it had tasted like straw, or a miniature bale of hay to me, but the way
they served it—with sliced bananas and rich cream, and with a wonderful cup of
coffee—it was simply delicious.
Visiting Elbert Hubbard
Having a Sunday layover in Buffalo I was able to indulge a personal adventure
and pleasure. On two or three occasions I had met Elbert Hubbard, world-famous
writer, author, publisher, and lecturer. Hubbard edited and published two
national magazines with a literary flair—The Philistine, and The FRA.
He himself managed to write most of the contents.
Elbert Hubbard was no shrinking violet. He readily admitted to possessing the
largest vocabulary of any man since Shakespeare. In his own ranking of American
authors from the days of Washington, Franklin and Jefferson, he “modestly” rated
himself number one. When the dictionary contained no word to fit his need, he
coined a word that did. He wore semi-long hair, a great broad-brimmed hat, and
an artist’s bow tie. He hobnobbed with the great and the near-great, wrote them
up in flattering rhetoric—for a price befitting his superlatives.
He wrote A Message to Garcia, which, next to the Bible, sold more copies
than anything ever written in that day.
For a few years now, I had been reading Elbert Hubbard regularly. I read his
“stuff,” on my Uncle Frank Armstrong’s advice, for style, for flair, for
vocabulary, and for ideas in philosophy—though my uncle had cautioned me against
absorbing without question his philosophies and ideas of religion. Hubbard was
an agnostic. He seemed to possess a deal of wisdom about men and methods and
things—but he was utterly devoid of spiritual knowledge.
And now my opportunity came to visit this noted sage at his famous Roycroft Inn
and Shops, in East Aurora, New York, a short distance south of Buffalo.
The morning was spent at the Inn, browsing around among books and booklets and
copies of The FRA and The Philistine. After lunch at the Inn,
Elbert Hubbard came in. He remembered me, from former meetings in Chicago and
Des Moines on his lecture tours.
He led the way out on the wide veranda, and started throwing the medicine ball
around. As I remember, there were four of us—Hubbard, his daughter Miriam, not
far from my age, and another guest. Once I caught Hubbard napping, and socked
him on the side of the head with the big medicine ball—and daughter Miriam soon
returned the compliment, jolting me with a lalapalooza. It was fun.
Next, Fra Elbertus, as he liked to style himself, piloted me and the other guest
on a tour of the Roycroft shops, where artistic and quality printing was done.
Along the way, he picked up a deluxe leather-bound copy of A Message to
Garcia, inscribed my name in it with his autograph, and presented it to me;
and a little later, inscribed in the same manner, he gave me a copy of his
American Bible.
When my mother heard that Elbert Hubbard had published a new Bible of his own,
she was gravely shocked—until I explained. Hubbard’s own explanation was that
the word “bible” simply means “book.” It comes from the Greek biblia, and
by itself has no sacred meaning, merely designating any book. Of course
Hubbard’s American Bible was intended as an agnostic’s answer to The
Holy Bible, which he regarded merely as the literary and religious writings
of the Hebrews.
Since the Bible is composed of a collection of various Books written by various
men, combined into one large Book, Hubbard had assembled together a selection of
writings of outstanding Americans, including Washington, Jefferson, Franklin,
Emerson and Lincoln—and, of course—Hubbard! A faint insight into Hubbard’s
rating of the value and importance of the writings of these Americans may be
gleaned from the fact that slightly more than half of the whole book was filled
with the writings of all other American writers combined, while the
writings of Hubbard alone filled almost half of the entire book!
Somewhere, through the years since 1933, these two books personally autographed
and presented by Elbert Hubbard have become lost.
Happiness Out of WORK?
Returning to the Inn, Hubbard called out: “Everybody down the basement!”
Here I was put to work, beside Mr. Hubbard, wrapping large scrubbed Idaho
potatoes in tissue paper, for packing in “Goodie Boxes.” The Roycrofters at that
time were advertising in their publications as deluxe gifts these “Goodie Boxes”
which were attractive wooden boxes filled with choice vegetables, fruits, nuts,
and other “goodies.”
As Mr. Hubbard and I chatted away, he began suddenly to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” I queried.
“I was just wondering what you really think of me,” he mused. “You visit me as
my guest. I charge you full price for your lunch. I try to induce you to stay
overnight as a paying guest in my hotel. And at the same time I put you to work
without wages.”
“Well, who,” I asked, “was that self-admitted great philosopher who said: ‘Get
your happiness out of your work!’?”
That pleased him. It was his own quotation, oft repeated in his magazines.
I continued, “I was trying to decide what I really think of you once, and I
asked a Unitarian minister who reads your stuff whether he knew what your
religion is. He said he wasn’t sure whether you have any, but if you do, he was
quite sure it originated in your pocket book.”
“Ho! Ho!” roared the Fra gleefully, and then he quickly replied, “Well, anyway,
I get away with it, don’t I?”
After perhaps an hour of this “getting happiness out of our work” we adjourned
to the music salon of the Inn on the ground floor. Sunday evening concerts were
frequently held in this room, which contained three Steinway grand pianos. By
this time, mid-afternoon or later, several other guests had arrived. Hubbard
ascertained that three of us played the piano. We compared notes and found only
one tune all three could play from memory, the waltz “The Pink Lady.”
So, with Elbert Hubbard leading like a maestro with great gusto and sweeping arm
motions, the three pianos rang out while those assembled sang or waltzed.
As we broke up, Hubbard again urged me to stay overnight, but I had to be on the
job early Monday morning, so caught the late afternoon train back to Buffalo.
Sent to Interview Henry Ford
From Buffalo I continued on east to Rochester, Syracuse, Rome, Utica. I may have
stopped off at a number of towns and small cities through Ohio, Indiana and
Illinois on the return trip. I do not now remember whether I did this, or
returned on a through train to Chicago, and then directly to Des Moines.
I had been scheduled to continue on to Troy and Albany, New York state, but on
January 5, 1914 a sensational news story broke in Detroit. The Ford Motor
Company raised basic wage rates from $2.40 per 9-hour day to $5 per 8-hour day.
It was banner-headline front-page news nationwide.
On that day I reached Utica, New York, and the Journal editors telegraphed me to
go immediately to Detroit and interview Henry Ford. They wanted a story on this
labor bombshell based on personal interview by a Journal representative.
The $5-a-Day Plan
Arriving in Detroit, I registered at the Hotel Statler—no, on second thought I
believe this was before the Statler was built and I stopped at the Hotel Tuller—and
took a cab out to the Ford Motor plant, located at that time in Highland Park.
There was a many-storied office building in the front—I believe fronting on
Woodward Avenue, with the large factory buildings to the rear.
Stepping up to the receptionist desk, I stated my mission and asked for an
interview with Henry Ford.
“Mr. Ford,” replied the receptionist, “is not a difficult man to see, and if you
wish I can arrange an interview for you, but if it is information about the new
wage plan you want, I can tell you that Mr. Ford himself really is not as
familiar with all the details of it as Mr. John R. Lee, head of the Sociological
Department. You see, this whole new plan was originated by Mr. Lee, through his
department. He presented the plan to Mr. Ford and the Board. They looked into it
and approved it, but that’s all. They simply turned it over to Mr. Lee to
administer through his department. He’s the man who has all the facts about it.”
I was there to get the facts, not to glorify my vanity by being able to say I
had gained a personal interview with a man as famous as Henry Ford. I said that
I would prefer to talk to Mr. Lee.
I remember well my opening statement and his reply.
“Mr. Lee,” I began, “you are now paying the highest wages in the automobile
industry—or perhaps in any industry. I’d like to get all the facts about
it.”
“No, Mr. Armstrong,” he replied, “we do not pay the highest wages, but on
the contrary we pay the lowest wages in the industry!”
“But,” I stammered, “don’t you now pay a standard minimum scale of $5 per day,
and don’t the other factories pay only about $3.50 per day?”
“Quite true,” smiled Mr. Lee, “but still, we are paying the lowest wages
in the automobile industry. You see, we don’t measure the actual wage by
dollars paid, but by the amount of production we receive per dollar paid. Our
sales volume is by far the largest in the industry. This has made it possible
for us to install an assembly-line system of production. The Ford cars start at
one end of this production-line. As they proceed along this line, each worker
adds his own part. At the end of the line each car is a finished product. In
this manner we are able to set the pace of production. As each car unit goes
past each man, he is required to complete his part in the assembly of the car
within the time-limit before it has moved past him. You see, we actually set the
pace at which each man must work. There can be no stalling, no loafing on the
job, no slowing down. We gear the production speed of each man to a high level
of work per hour.
“We pay some 43% more dollars per workman per day, but we get 100% more
production out of each man—and pay only 43% more money to get it. So you see, we
actually pay the lowest wages in our industry for what we
get from the labor of our men.”
“Well if this plan pays the Ford company so well, why don’t the other motor
companies adopt the plan?” I asked.
“They can’t,” said Mr. Lee, “on their present volume of production. But of
course if and when they get their sales volume up to a level that will make
possible the assembly-line system, they will naturally come to it.”
“How about labor unions?” I asked.
“Oh, we have nothing to do with them. Our men are free to join the union if they
wish, but there’s no point in their paying out labor union dues when they
already receive 43% above union scale. We don’t recognize the unions in any way,
nor will we negotiate with them. As long as we pay so high above union scale, we
are simply not concerned with them.”
I learned that Mr. Lee’s department actually checked into the very homes of
employees, and regulated their living standards, thus keeping their men at peak
efficiency for turning out extra-volume production.
“But,” I pursued, “don’t your employees object to this interference and
regulation of even their private home life—and also to being forced to keep up
such a stiff pace of work?”
“The whole answer to that is economic. Of course they have to work harder, and
submit to certain of our regulations even in their private family lives—but
enough men are willing to submit to these conditions in return for
receiving almost half-again more pay than they could obtain elsewhere.”
There, as I remember it after 60 years, is the story of the $5-a-day wage plan
that was such a sensation in its day.
But its day came, and has gone. Other automobile factories did expand
into the assembly-line production system, and then the Ford company found itself
on a level with other companies so far as the labor situation was concerned.
Ford fought off union recognition and negotiation for many years, but finally
was forced to bow to it.
Mr. Lee insisted on driving me, himself personally, back downtown to my hotel.
The cars of the company officials were parked in a wide breeze-way between the
office building and factory. He took me into the factory for a glimpse of it. As
we returned back to the breeze-way, we saw Henry Ford himself about to step into
a car some twenty feet away. Mr. Lee asked me to excuse him for a moment, saying
he had something he wanted to speak to Mr. Ford about. So I did see Henry Ford
but did not meet him or speak to him.
How Christ Is Creator
Much later, after my mind became opened to Biblical understanding, this
experience came back to mind forcibly as an illustration of how the Bible
represents that God Almighty is the One Supreme Creator, and yet everything that
exists was created by Jesus Christ (John 1:3; Col. 1:16).
In Ephesians 3:9 it is stated that God created
all things by Jesus Christ. Henry Ford was, while he lived, the
manufacturer or maker of the Ford cars. But when I visited the Ford
factory, I saw Mr. Ford standing there in a well-pressed business suit. It was his
employees who were doing the actual work of making the automobiles.
They did it for him—at his command. And they did it with tools, machines,
and electric power!
In like manner, God is Supreme Creator. But He delegated the actual work
of the creating to the One who became Jesus Christ—to the “Logos,” or the One
who was the Word—the Spokesman. But He, Christ,
utilized the power of the Holy Spirit. In
Genesis 1:2, we read that the Spirit of God
moved or was brooding upon the face of the waters. He, Christ—the
Word—spake, and it was done! (Ps. 33:9.)
Write Your Autobiography as You Go!
At this point I am constrained to offer the reader some advice on how to write
an autobiography. Don’t wait until you are 65 to write it. Start writing it at
age 3 or 5, and turn it out on the installment plan—as you go. Write it while
the events are fresh on your mind. Of course you’ll find this method has its
drawbacks, too. You won’t know at the time which events will stand out in later
life as important or interesting, and probably you’ll write down about fifty
times as much as you’ll finally use.
But I find that trying to write the whole thing in retrospect later in life is
rather frustrating, too. A lot of things begin to seem all jumbled up. I was
sure, when I started writing about these “Idea Man” trips, that the very first
one took me west as far as Grand Island, Nebraska, south through Kansas,
Oklahoma, and Texas, east through Louisiana and Mississippi, then north through
Alabama, Tennessee and Kentucky. I started to write it that way, but found it
wouldn’t work out. Then it came back to mind from somewhere in those mysterious
recesses of memory how the first trip was the one into New York State and back.
So that portion had to be rewritten.
Even now, it seems I must have started on this “Idea Man” work earlier than I
had remembered, and that the period spent on the magazine “makeup” at the
Successful Farming composing room was spent somewhere in between these
editorial trips. In any event every effort is being made toward accuracy, and
this account, as you are reading it, is approximately accurate.
One reason why I am mentioning the names of most of the towns and cities visited
on these trips is that The Plain Truth has readers in all these places,
and I have felt it might add a certain interest to those particular readers to
know I had visited their towns. I think that in most of them I could still name
the hotels where I stayed.
Becoming an “Early Bird “
The second Idea Tour began a few days after returning to Des Moines, early
January, 1914. It took me to Atlanta, Georgia, up the Atlantic Coast to
Virginia, and back across from there. I do remember some events from this tour,
and a few may be worth recording.
On this trip I travelled some days down the Mississippi River on a large river
steamer.
I went first to Davenport, Iowa, making stops in search of ideas at Iowa City
and other towns along the way, and travelling by riverboat to Muscatine, Ft.
Madison, and Keokuk, Iowa, where the boat was lowered through the locks of the
big dam; then terminating the riverboat mode of transportation at Quincy,
Illinois. This riverboat travel was quite intriguing at the time.
The itinerary next took me across Illinois to Springfield, Decatur, and Mattoon,
and to Terre Haute, Indiana; then south to Vincennes, and Evansville, then
Henderson and Hopkinsville, Kentucky. At Hopkinsville, I remember, I was
assigned to the “Bridal Suite” of the hotel, of which the hotel employees seemed
effusively proud. It was a large room, rather old-fashioned, but dolled up in a
manner the staff thought quite distinguished. There were stops at Clarksville
and Nashville, Tennessee, and then a night I well remember at the Patton Hotel
in Chattanooga.
At this time I was sleeping so well nights that I was having a fight with
willpower to awaken and get up mornings. Everything I had read about the lives
of great and successful men on the subject indicated that all such men are early
risers.
There’s the old saying: “The early bird gets the worm.” Not that I desired
worms, but I did want to be a success. A successful man must discipline himself.
I had determined to establish the habit of being an early riser. I could not
always depend on hotel clerks getting me up by a call in the mornings,
especially in smaller town hotels, so I had purchased a Baby Ben alarm clock
which I carried with me.
But I found myself drowsily turning off the alarm, turning over, and going back
to sleep. I was becoming determined. At the Hotel Patton, before retiring for
the night, I called for a bellboy.
“You going to be on duty at 6 in the morning?” I asked.
“Yassuh, Ah’ll be heah,” he assured me.
“Well then, do you see this half-dollar on the dresser?”
His eyes glistened. The usual tip in those days was a dime. A half-dollar was a
very extra special big tip.
“You pound on my door at 6 a.m. until I get up and let you in. Then you stay
here until you see I am dressed, and that half-dollar is yours.”
You may be sure I didn’t roll over and go back to sleep at 6 a.m. next morning.
This system worked so well I kept it up until the “early-bird” habit was
established. This was one more example of having to put a prod on myself,
to drive the self to do what ought to be done, instead of giving
in to inclination or impulse.
Silk Gloves
This trip was started in early January, immediately after the New York State
trip. In Iowa we had worn gloves in the winter, kid gloves for dress. In Atlanta
it was too warm for kid gloves. I’m not at all sure, now, that any gloves were
needed. We never think of wearing gloves in Southern California, and it is not
noticeably colder in Atlanta. Probably the main incentive was to “look sharp,”
rather than cold hands, but I bought taupe-colored silk gloves with three
stripes of black braid trim on the back. If vanity is the main ingredient of
human nature, I had my share of human nature. I suppose a peacock feels about
like I did.
In Atlanta I stopped at the narrow but very tall Wynecoff Hotel—the hotel made
nationally famous by a terrible fire several years ago. I remember I went there
because it was “fireproof.”
Starting back north, stops were made in search of merchandising ideas at
Gainesville, Ga., and then Greenville, South Carolina. Near Greenville was a
famous rustic-fenced ranch. A Sunday was spent there, and with other travelling
men the day was spent going out to this unusual ranch. I still have a picture or
two taken at the place.
Then on to Spartanburg, Charlotte, and Greensboro, North Carolina, and
Lynchburg, Virginia, from which point I turned back west, stopping at Roanoke,
then Bluefield, West Virginia, and on to Ironton and Portsmouth, Ohio. Next
stops were made at Chillicothe, Columbus, Springfield, Piqua, Dayton, in Ohio.
You Can’t TASTE Smoke
Next, another Sunday layover was spent in Richmond, Indiana. On the mezzanine
floor of the hotel a Sunday afternoon argument ensued between five or six
travelling men.
One of the men made the ridiculous and outlandish statement that no one can
taste smoke. The other fellows laughed at him.
“You’re crazy,” exclaimed one. “Why, all the cigar and cigarette manufacturers
advertise that their brand tastes better!
“Sure,” answered the “crazy” fellow, “But it isn’t true. You only smell
the smoke of tobacco—you can’t taste it!”
He offered to prove it. We went to the cigar counter and bought about three sets
of cigars, two of each exactly alike, then returned to the mezzanine. The first
doubter was asked to put the two identical cigars in his mouth, one at a time,
lighting only one of them. Then he was blindfolded, and one of the other fellows
held his nose so he could not smell. The lighted cigar was then put in his
mouth.
“Now tell us which cigar I put in your mouth—the lighted one or the one not
lighted. Go ahead, puff on it. Tell us which cigar you are puffing on.” This was
the challenge of the “crazy loon.”
The guinea pig gave two or three big puffs.
“Aw,” he exclaimed, “this is silly. Why should I puff on this cigar? It
isn’t lit. There’s no smoke coming out of this.”
The blindfold was jerked off his eyes, and he was amazed to find himself puffing
out smoke like a smoke stack!
The experiment was tried on two or three others, with cigarettes as well as
cigars. All of us were convinced that you can’t taste
smoke—but then, you probably will say we were all crazy!
Nevertheless, from that time it has been difficult for me to believe any
manufacturer’s brand of cigarettes “taste better,” for the simple reason I
became convinced they don’t taste at all—they SMELL! I mean that,
literally!!
After visiting Muncie, Anderson, Indianapolis, and Lafayette in Indiana, I went
on to Chicago and back to Des Moines.
Chapter 5
“Pioneering in Public Opinion Polls”
Apparently the “Idea Man” trip from Des Moines to Atlanta and return ended along
in April, 1914. It was then that the assignment as makeup man for The
Merchants Trade Journal came, related in the beginning of the preceding
chapter. This assignment, with a desk in the composing room of the Successful
Farming plant, interspersed with writing advertising copy for clients of
The Journal’s Service Department, lasted six or seven months.
Becoming a Typist in Two Weeks
It was about the beginning of November, 1914, that I was assigned to the next,
and last, “Idea Man” trip. This time I was to proceed west as far as Grand
Island, Nebraska, then zig-zag south to Houston, Texas, then east to Birmingham,
Alabama, then north to Detroit, and back to Des Moines.
Earlier that year the first portable typewriter had been put on the market. It
was only some six months after the first little folding Corona had come out that
Mr. Boreman presented me with one.
“Herbert,” he said, “here is one of the new portable typewriters. We want all
the idea material sent in typed hereafter.”
“But,” I protested, “I’ve never learned how to use a typewriter. It would take
me a week to peck out one single day’s reports on that thing.”
“Well that’s your problem,” grinned Mr. Boreman. “The way to get things
accomplished is to put a prod on yourself. Most of us never get around to
doing a thing until necessity drives us. So I guess necessity forces you to
learn how to type—and quick! For we are requiring that all your notes,
data, and reports be typed on that baby Corona, and we require that all reports
arrive here on time!”
What an assignment!
But the prod was on! Hurriedly I procured an instruction book on typing.
But I saw at once that I did not have sufficient time to learn to type with all
eight fingers and two thumbs as instructed in the book. I threw the book away,
and began to teach myself my own way, using the first two fingers of each hand,
and occasionally a thumb on the space bar.
I proceeded west through Atlantic and Council Bluffs, Iowa; through Omaha,
Fremont, Columbus and Grand Island, Nebraska.
At Columbus, in the Evans Hotel, I ran across a man who bore a startling
resemblance to Elbert Hubbard. He even wore his hair semi-long, with an artist’s
bow tie and wide-brimmed hat. He seemed very pleased when I told him he was
Hubbard’s double, and that I knew the famed “Sage of East Aurora,” and had
visited at Roycroft Inn. I forget his name, but it seems he was a state senator.
The quest for interesting and practical ideas used successfully by merchants was
unusually productive, on this tour. The material for live and useful articles in
The Journal was accumulating much faster than I could get them typed by
the “hunt and peck” system. I worked late nights hunting for letters on the
keyboard and pecking at them. I put the typewriter on my lap in train seats and
pecked away furiously while traveling to the next town. But my notes were piling
up on me.
From Grand Island, I cut south and east through Hastings, St. Joseph, and
arrived in Kansas City Saturday night. By now my plight was desperate. I knew my
week’s reports had to be in the Journal office by Monday. I went to the
old Baltimore Hotel, then Kansas City’s leading hotel, but long since torn down,
and hunted keys and pecked away on that little Corona all night long, going out
two or three times through the night to an all-night restaurant for coffee—and
kept up the ordeal until Sunday afternoon, getting my week’s reports finally
into the post office.
Starting out early Monday morning the tour continued through Lawrence, Topeka,
Hutchinson, Wichita, and Arkansas City in Kansas; then through Oklahoma,
stopping at Blackwell and then Enid. An uncle, my mother’s elder brother, was
ticket agent out at Goltry, Oklahoma some twenty miles west of Enid, and I was
able to take an evening train to Goltry and catch an early morning train back,
so it was possible to spend the night visiting relatives I had not seen in
years.
Indians!
Next was El Reno. And there, for the first time in my life, I saw real Indians.
In the dime stores and the department stores, stout Indian squaws, when tired,
would just squat down on the floor in the center of an aisle and remain there
until rested. Other shoppers were obliged to squeeze by, if possible, or go
around another aisle. Out on the main street, I saw a flash of bright red streak
by, leaving a cloud of dust.
“What in the world was that?” I asked in astonishment.
“Oh,” replied a local man, “that’s a young Indian just returned from Carlisle
University. He recently inherited a sum of money from the government, and spent
it all for the most expensive bright red racing automobile he could find. Since
returning from college, he has reverted back to a semi-savage state, and drives
his car recklessly wide open down the main street.”
Again on a Saturday night I arrived, this time, in Oklahoma City, with a
notebook full of ideas piled up on me. Once again there was the all-night ordeal
at the folding portable typewriter. But by this time my four fingers seemed to
begin finding the right keys almost automatically, and from that time on I was
able to keep up with the typed reports. Before this three months’ tour was
ended, I was pecking away on the typewriter at a speed more rapid than most
stenographers.
And, come to think of it, I am this very minute, still rapping out these lines
with these same four fingers. Only today, I am privileged to click the words off
on a large electric typewriter.
However, the present worldwide enterprise, in its present phase, was actually
begun, back in 1927, by clicking off articles on one of those early model
folding Coronas. It could not have had a more humble beginning. But we shall
come to that phase of the story in due time.
Leaving Oklahoma City early Monday, Chickasha came next—another Indian
reservation town—then Ardmore. Next were Gainesville, Ft. Worth and Dallas,
Texas. Thanksgiving Day was spent at the Adolphus Hotel in Dallas.
The Adolphus in Dallas in those days carried the architectural appearance of
being a slightly smaller sister of Chicago’s Blackstone—though additions have
made it several times larger today. In those days the most exclusive hotel in
America, with the possible exception of the Waldorf-Astoria in New York, was the
Hotel Blackstone in Chicago. It was commonly reported that guests were not
admitted into the main dining room of the Blackstone in the evening, unless they
were in full evening dress; and that the noted diva Mary Garden, coming in after
an evening performance at the Blackstone theatre, was refused admittance because
she was not in formal attire.
Also, in those days, The Adolphus maintained, as nearly as possible in a city
not much over 100,000 population, as Dallas then was, the atmosphere of The
Blackstone.
The main dining room was plush and ornate, serviced with a maître d’hôtel
and two or three head waiters, besides waiters and bus boys. Most everybody was
home for Thanksgiving dinner, and the hotel dining room was almost empty. The
maître d’hôtel ushered me to a table and spent the entire time of the meal
chatting with me.
“I’m a long way from home on Thanksgiving,” I said, “and on a reasonably
generous expense account. I wish you would order my dinner for me. This is once
I’m not going to keep down the cost. Go ahead. Shoot the works. Order the finest
dinner you can serve.”
He did, and I have never forgotten that Thanksgiving dinner a thousand miles
away from home. In these days of jet aircraft, that would not seem far, but it
did then.
A Strange New “Coke”
Sunday was spent at Waxahachie. Directly across from the hotel was the largest
drugstore in any town of 5,000 in America. (Waxahachie is listed at more than
12,000 population in the 1965 Atlas. But it was around 5,000 in 1914.)
Waxahachie also had the largest cotton ginning center in America, as I recall.
But this drugstore interested me.
Sunday afternoon I walked over to the drug store soda fountain, and ordered a
“coke.” After the attendant squirted into the glass the coca cola syrup, and
then the soda water, he took the mixing spoon and dipped the edge of it into a
saucer containing a few drops of some liquid which looked like milk, shook it
off the spoon, then stirred the spoon into the coca cola.
“What kind of strange new ‘coke’ do you call that?” I asked. “What was that you
dipped the spoon into and then shook off?”
“Milk,” answered the attendant.
“Why,” I inquired, “what’s the idea? You shook the milk all off the spoon. You
didn’t mix enough into the ‘coke’ to even notice it. What’s that supposed to
do?”
I was really puzzled.
“Well,” grinned the soda fountain attendant, “that’s the only way I can serve it
to you, according to law.”
I was more puzzled now than ever.
“You see,” he explained, “it’s against the law to serve coca cola on Sundays—but
it’s perfectly legal for us to serve food. Milk is food. That tiny
portion of a drop of milk I stirred into it made it food.”
I had heard of a lot of ridiculous Sunday “blue laws,” but that one really took
the prize. However, Texas or the municipality of Waxahachie must have gotten
“fed up” with it and abolished that law long since.
I Saw General Funston
I continued in the search of interesting and usable ideas in retail stores and
checking community and general social conditions in Waco, Temple, Austin,
Houston, and Galveston, Texas. It was quite an event to catch my first glimpse
of an ocean at Galveston, on the Gulf of Mexico. I went in swimming on the
beach, so I could say I had been in the ocean.
Also I was quite impressed with the Hotel Galvez. General Funston, at that time
General Pershing’s boss, was there, and I rode up the hotel elevator with him.
He was short, not tall, but wore a short goatee beard, and carried himself with
very dignified military bearing. However, the dignified military bearing was a
little lacking that night, as he was being helped from the bar up the elevator
to his suite.
From Galveston I proceeded on through Beaumont, and Lake Charles, Louisiana.
The Crucial Letter
At Lake Charles, I received a letter from Mr. Boreman. It was very critical. By
this time he had taken over a large part, or all, of the editorial duties from
Mr. Vardemann. Mr. Boreman’s letter threw me into consternation.
He was not pleased with my work. I was going to have to step on it—get on my
toes—produce more and better material.
I was really frightened. I saw visions of being fired. That was a disgrace I
felt I could never take. But Mr. Boreman had not directed me to take the next
train home. Apparently I was to be allowed to wind up this trip, at least.
Nevertheless, from that time on, I brooded over the thought of “having a can
tied to me” upon return to Des Moines. The vision built up in my mind. I did
really “step on it,” from that moment. I hustled harder than ever before. I
feared being suddenly called in and fired.
Actually, I learned afterward—too late—that Mr. Boreman had not the slightest
intention of discharging me. I had apparently gotten into a temporary slump, and
he wrote me a rather sharp letter in an effort to help me snap out of it. But
all through the remainder of this trip the fear of being fired built up in my
mind.
Nevertheless I kept on working with increased zeal.
From Lake Charles I continued on through Lafayette and Baton Rouge to New
Orleans, Louisiana. I remember picking up quite a story of how an aggressive dry
goods merchant in Baton Rouge beat the big city competition of New Orleans and
held his trade at home. This was my second visit to New Orleans.
Too Conceited? Yes!—But
Perhaps I was entirely too proud in those days. Actually there is no “perhaps”
about it. I was! Later I was forced to suffer for years to have this vanity and
conceit crushed out, before I could ever have been fully prepared for the
responsibilities of today.
But I was young then. And I have often wondered if it is not really better
for a young upstart to be conceited, self-confident, cocky—and with it,
ambitious, energetic in trying to accomplish something, than to be an
ambitionless, spineless, lazy, shiftless fellow utterly lacking in spark, drive,
and the zeal to try to accomplish something worthwhile.
Such ambitious fellows, of course, may not have right goals—they may not know
the real purpose of life, or the true way
of life, and they may be energetically pressing on only toward more vanity, and
“a striving after wind,” as Solomon puts it. But at least they are mentally
alive and not dead! And once circumstances do
shake them and bring them to themselves, and humble them and open their minds to
the true values, they are already in the habit of exerting enough energy
so that, turned at last in the right direction, something is really
accomplished.
At least one reader of this autobiography—and so far as I know, only one—has
written very disapprovingly of it, condemning me for having been vain and
conceited in those early formative years. I have stated all the facts about that
over-abundance of self-assurance. Indeed I have put emphasis on it.
This, then, is one of the things I had to be changed from! This is a
candid and true life story, and the bad is being told along with what good there
may have been. But, if there was ego and cocky conceit, there also was
ambition, determination, fire, drive, and honest and sincere effort
toward what then seemed to be a right goal.
When the Unseen Hand mentioned in the introductory chapter took a hand, shook me
up, knocked me down, took away what financial success I appeared headed toward,
beat out the proud conceit and punctured the inflated ego, my eyes were opened
to what they had not seen before. The goal was changed. The self-confidence was
replaced with faith. But the fired-up desire now flamed forth in the new
direction. The sincere drive, and energy now was applied with increased
zeal to the new and far better goal.
And if faith, and
confidence, and positive assurance in
what God has set out to do through a poor human
instrument has been by some critics misapplied as vain conceit, then I offer no
apology—but the dynamic and ever-expanding work of the living God cannot stop,
just to please the whim of critics who stand on the sidelines, themselves
doing nothing except to carp and complain and criticize. My zeal and dynamic
drive toward a wrong goal did not exceed that of Saul of Tarsus. But when his
eyes were opened, look what a power he was!
Jesus was perfect in every respect, yet He had His critics who always
thought He was doing everything the wrong way. Yet, like the critics of His work
today, they did not do better—they simply didn’t do, period! They sat on
the sidelines and watched the procession empowered by the Spirit of God speed
by, on to the true goal of accomplishing God’s purpose here below!
So I have deemed it proper that the full truth about that self-conceit of those
formative years be brought out. But let me emphasize, it was not
deceit. It was honest and sincere.
Challenged into a Survey
The “Idea Man” tour continued on through Hattiesburg and Meridian, Mississippi,
then Selma, Montgomery, and Birmingham, Alabama. What route was taken from
Birmingham north I do not now remember. It seems that the next stop was Decatur,
Alabama. I think I must have made stops at Columbus and Nashville, Tennessee,
and Bowling Green, Louisville, and Lexington, Kentucky.
In any event, the next distinct recollection is in Richmond, Kentucky.
Apparently I backtracked some distance south to arrive there. I had heard from
travelling men along the way that Richmond was the “deadest” town in all
America, and I thought there might be a worthwhile story in finding the reasons
for this.
I do distinctly remember getting into a discussion with a furniture merchant in
Richmond. I might better have said a heated argument. For I had instantly formed
the impression that Richmond was then the most backward, lifeless town of around
5,000 population I had ever visited.
I hope that the bombshell I exploded before the merchants of that town had
something to do with waking it up—for apparently the town did come to life,
since I noticed in the latest census it is now over 12,000 population.
In any event, I was so utterly disgusted with the lack of civic pride and
development, and the lackadaisical inertia of the merchants after interviewing
several of them, that I must have expressed my disappointment to this furniture
merchant. He argued heatedly that Richmond was a very live town.
“Is that so!” I came back. “Do you realize that probably more than half
of the trade of the consumers in your town and immediate trade territory is
going to the mail order houses, and to the stores in Cincinnati and Lexington?”
“Why, we don’t lose any trade to outside competition,” he yelled.
I shot back. “That shows how sound asleep you are! Why, you don’t know what’s
going on right under your nose here in your own town. I’ll tell you what I’m
going to do! I’m going to show you that an outsider can come into your town and
learn more of the real facts of merchandising
conditions here in three days than you’ve learned in a lifetime!”
I was good and mad! I was determined to show this sleepy storekeeper, whom I
felt unworthy to be dignified with the name “merchant,” just how ignorant he was
of conditions, of just how dead the businessmen of this town were.
The prod was on! I was only supposed to spend one day in Richmond. I knew I had
to work fast. I had to account for my time at the office. This was not routine
“Idea Man” work. I was doing this on my own. So I had to hurry. I was fired up!
I was determined to get the facts!
I had no pattern to go by. To my knowledge no survey—no sampling of public
opinion—or investigation from a representative portion of the people, according
to the law of averages, had ever been made. I had to think my own way through.
But I was so angered that I did a lot of fast thinking—and planning.
The Pioneer Survey
Early each of the three mornings I went to the freight house and the express
office. I knew well the big Chicago mail order house methods of shipment. The
tags did not contain the mail order house names. Only the street addresses. But
I knew well the Homan Avenue address of Sears Roebuck and the street address of
Montgomery Ward. Also the smaller mail order houses. Rapidly I jotted down notes
of the names and addresses of all local citizens receiving merchandise from
Chicago mail order houses, listing the description of the merchandise.
As soon as the banks were opened on that first morning, I went to the bankers,
told them of the survey I was making, and asked their cooperation in checking
through their stubs and giving me the amount of bank drafts that had been
purchased for mail order houses during the past 30 days. Also to go through the
cancelled vouchers of customers, and add up the total, over a given period, of
checks that had been sent by local depositors to either mail order houses or
stores in Lexington and Cincinnati. All agreed to cooperate fully.
Next I went to the postmaster. I asked if he would cooperate to let the
merchants know conditions by checking back thirty days through the stubs of
money orders purchased for mail order houses or big city stores. There was a
postal regulation allowing the postmaster to use his own judgment about giving
out such information, and this postmaster was willing to cooperate.
Then, while they were tabulating this information, I devoted the three days to
house-to-house and farm-to-farm interviews. For this latter purpose I hired a
“rig,” for there were very few automobiles in service as yet in 1915, especially
in towns of this size. So I drove with horse and buggy ten miles out in two or
three directions from town.
I learned that the farmers west of town were so indignant at Richmond merchants
that they were actually organizing to boycott these stores altogether.
Housewives in town were eager to talk to an investigator. They vehemently poured
forth their scathing denunciations of their local merchants.
The women universally said they were forced to go either to Cincinnati or
Lexington to buy clothes. The stores there sent their expert buyers to New York
seasonally to select the latest styles. But the styles at local Richmond stores
were completely out of date, and of poor design, quality and workmanship.
The main street, downtown, was not paved, and often shoppers were forced to walk
through mud ankle-deep in crossing the main intersection.
The merchants and their clerks were sleepy, unaccommodating, uncheerful, and
seemed to feel they were imposed upon to wait on a customer. If merchandise was
unsatisfactory and returned, the customer was always wrong, and the
merchant always wroth.
I went to the ticket agent at the depot.
“These so-called merchants of ours,” he said, “have no idea at all of what goes
on. In order to go to Lexington—or to Cincinnati—the women shoppers have to take
an early morning train leaving at 5 a.m. Lexington shoppers have to change
trains at Winchester. Whether they go to Lexington or to Cincinnati, they have a
whole day for shopping, and the return train doesn’t arrive until long after
stores close in the evening. So local merchants are never up early enough to see
them go, or late enough to see them return. But we have a train load every
shopping day.”
My First Public Speech
After working furiously daytimes on this quick survey, I typed rapidly of
evenings, writing up reports of every interview. On the third day I collected
all the data from the banks, post office, and express office. Then I carefully
tabulated all the information, reduced the equations, by the law of averages, to
indicate the whole picture of the conditions of the town—and the results were
truly astounding!
Among all these drowsy storekeepers, I had found one live and alert merchant—the
local Rexall druggist. Consequently I had kept him informed as to what I was
uncovering in Richmond. He was intensely concerned, and urged me to stay over in
Richmond one more day, so he could have opportunity to arrange a dinner for the
following evening and get all the merchants to attend, and hear my report.
I felt I could not remain another day in Richmond. I was already three days
behind schedule. I did not, at that time, realize that this survey would be of
any use or value as editorial material in the magazine. The fear that I was
slated to be fired on return to Des Moines had been haunting me. Actually I
wrote up this complete report of the survey for the express purpose of
explaining this three-day loss of time—and I actually felt I would be reproved
for it, and now, more surely than ever, fired.
But this druggist was very persistent.
“Mr. Armstrong,” he argued, “you simply do not have any right to come
into our town, unearth all these sensational facts, and then slip on out and
refuse to share this information with our local merchants. Why, this is
what we’ve all been needing for years. It will wake this town up.”
When he put it as a moral duty, and an
obligation, I could not refuse. I think I must have had some kind of illusions
about sacrificing my job, however, to fulfill this obligation. However, it gave
me this fourth day to complete the typing of my report on the survey, together
with all tabulations, and final recommendations.
So on this fourth evening here was a dinner arranged by this Rexall druggist.
How he ever managed to induce all those merchants to attend I did not know, but
apparently all were present.
This was probably the first public speech I ever made in my life. But I was so
filled with sensational facts that I forgot to be self-conscious or
embarrassed.
I remember making the recommendation that, since no local ready-to-wear
department was large enough to hire an expert woman buyer and send her to New
York on buying trips, they all go together and cooperate, employing one buyer
for all of them; and that on her return from New York at each buying season,
they have her give public lectures in their various stores, giving the women
advance information on what would be the styles for the coming season.
Possibly some of these suggestions of mine, based on the survey, had something
to do with the fact that Richmond today is a growing town more than twice as
large as it was then.
My First Magazine Article
It was some weeks later that I received the shock of my life. I received a copy
of the latest issue of The Journal in the mail. I had heard nothing from
Mr. Boreman or anyone at the office in regard to the long report I had sent in
about the survey. At least, no news had been good news. They had not fired me
for it—yet!
But now, some weeks later, I opened the latest copy of The Journal, and
there, in big headlines as the leading article, I was told of the most
sensational article The Journal had ever published.
They played it up big!
And, for the first time—under my own by-line!
The accompanying editor’s note explained that they were publishing this
astonishing report verbatim, just as their “Idea Man” had written it.
Also, it seems now that in this same issue was another smaller article under my
by-line. For the past several weeks, I had begun to write up my material in
article form. Always before, however, the editors at The Journal office
had done a complete rewrite job on my material. But now, my own articles began
to appear.
Chapter 6
“Discovering Rules of Success”
Following the original survey of business conditions in Richmond, Kentucky,
instructions came from the home office of The Merchants Trade Journal to
do another investigation. They wanted this one from a larger town. Lansing,
Michigan, was suggested.
So, leaving Richmond, Kentucky, I proceeded north through Cincinnati and other
towns and cities in Ohio.
I am reminded at this point of a visit to the National Cash Register Company
plant in Dayton. Again, I am not sure whether it was on this particular tour.
But I learned there of an incident which has always been remembered.
A Sales Lesson
At that time NCR, as this company was familiarly called, had something of a
reputation of being the most aggressive sales organization in American business.
And its president, John R. Patterson, was more or less generally reputed to be
the country’s most successful sales genius.
This is what I learned: Mr. Patterson’s mind had caught a sudden sales
inspiration. Immediately he did a sensational and unprecedented thing. He sent
telegrams to every NCR salesman in the United States, ordering them to come to
the factory in Dayton immediately—at company expense. I was shown, while touring
the plant, a large auditorium in the company’s office building. Here, I was
told, the hundreds of salesmen assembled, filled with curiosity. Mr. Patterson
addressed them.
“Men,” he began, “you are wondering why I called all of you here. Now I will
tell you. Every one of you loses sales because your prospects put up objections
you are unable to overcome. An idea flashed into my mind the other day that will
enable you to turn every objection into your strongest selling point.
It’s so simple you’ll all wonder why you never thought of it. Whatever
the objection, you are to answer immediately, with a smile of complete
assurance: ‘Why, certainly—and that’s the very reason you
need this National cash register!’”
Then Mr. Patterson asked a few salesmen to come to the platform and pretend they
were prospective customers, putting up to him the objections that each salesman
had failed to overcome.
One said, “I simply can’t afford to buy a cash register.”
“Exactly!” responded Mr. Patterson, “and that’s the very reason
you need this National Cash Register. When you have all the records this
register will give you—when it protects you from losses—pays for itself and
saves you money, then you can afford things!”
One by one John R. Patterson answered every sales objection which his salesmen
had been unable successfully to answer.
I have found this principle of salesmanship effective, perhaps hundreds of
times.
A Disappearing American Institution
At this point I must indulge another digression. I had written this chapter of
the Autobiography in our bedroom of a Pullman car on a train. Mrs. Armstrong and
I were en route to Texas, on the Dallas car of the streamlined “Sunset Limited.”
At El Paso our car was switched onto a “T & P” train for Dallas.
We had just returned from the dining car. Between our streamliner car and the
diner we passed through one of the old-time Pullman cars. I had not seen one in
some time. The modern Pullmans are all-room cars. But these older models
contained mostly open Pullman seats that make up into berths in sections at
night. This is the kind of sleeping cars I rode constantly on these “Idea Man”
trips.
The newer streamliner cars provide private toilets in every room, but these
old-timers provided one large men’s washroom at one end and a ladies’ rest room
at the other end. These men’s washrooms contained a long leather lounging seat
at one end, and a chair or shorter seat on the side. They were also the men’s
smoking rooms. With the disappearance of men’s washrooms on Pullman cars has
departed a real American institution! I suppose few women know anything about
it.
In these washrooms, especially on long trips, men would sit or stand and talk by
the hour. In these washrooms no introduction was needed. Conversations were
opened as a matter of course. Men conversed familiarly, as if they had been
acquainted for years, rarely introducing themselves by name. And what would you
women suppose they talked about? Their wives? Laughing at dirty stories?
Not at all! I don’t believe I ever heard one
off-color story being told in a Pullman washroom. Men always had something more
important to discuss than idle gossip about their wives. The discussions were
always impersonal.
It was here, in this great but vanishing American institution that the
political, economic and social problems of the nation and the entire world were
“solved!” Questions of religion were usually avoided. Heated arguments or angry
controversy were rarely, if ever, indulged.
If only the heads of state of the world’s great nations could have had the
Pullman washrooms wired, and the conversations tape-recorded, they could have
had the solutions to all their knotty and perplexing problems!
Too bad! Tape recording came in after this
honored American institution went out!
I spent many an hour in thought-provoking conversation in this “institution” of
a bygone day, from the days of these “Idea Man” tours, until the modern
streamliners relegated this meeting place of business men to a vintage of the
past.
But in all seriousness, this digression about washroom conversations truly
belongs in this story of formative life experiences. For I verily believe
that these hours of contacts over the years with many important, thoughtful and
successful men contributed their share in the preparation for the
responsibilities of today, and for the years still ahead of us. We are
influenced by every person with whom we come in contact. The most successful
men—the leaders—the men of accomplishment—rode
the Pullman cars. These washrooms afforded a meeting place where I was
privileged to enter invigorating, stimulating, and often enlightening
conversation with men I could never have contacted otherwise. Here was a place
where men were free and relaxed, always willing to converse with other men on a
social parity, regardless of social distinctions outside the Pullman washrooms.
Contacts and conversations with scores and scores of prominent and important
men—many of them in Pullman washrooms, are among my most treasured experiences.
WHY Men Fail
On all these “Idea Man” trips, one assignment had been to observe, and to
question businessmen, in all parts of the country, to try to learn why one man
succeeds and another fails. An alarmingly large percentage of retail merchants
over the nation were operating “in the red”—on their way to failure and
bankruptcy. Why?
Two men might start out in business under almost identical conditions. One would
succeed in building a thriving and profitable business, while the other would
“go to the wall.” The Merchants Trade Journal wanted to know
why!
I had questioned literally hundreds of businessmen, as to their ideas or
opinions on this question. The majority gave the same answer—lack of ability.
While in Detroit on this trip I had a nice interview with the manager of
Detroit’s large department store, the J. L. Hudson Company. He, with a minority
of other businessmen I interviewed, insisted that the main reason for failure in
business was lack of sufficient capital.
Of course both of these were factors. But, based on observation, getting at the
facts that led either to success or failure in
hundreds of businesses, I found a third important cause of failures was the
fitting of the proverbial square peg in the round hole—in other words, so many
men are misplaced—in the wrong line of business, for them; this, coupled
with the fact that the seven laws of success are not known or followed by most
people.
One Sad Experience
I remember a perplexed and frustrated merchant in southern Indiana. He was
coming out on the short end, without any profit, and he couldn’t figure why.
“I have figured to the very penny every item of cost in doing business,” he
explained. “It costs me exactly 20% to do business—including every
expense—salaries, rent, utilities, advertising, even cost for wrapping paper and
string—and it runs exactly 20 cents on each dollar of sales. Now I have figured
that a 5% profit is fair. So I add the 5% profit to my 20% cost of doing
business, and I mark up all my goods 25% above wholesale price. But at the end
of the year my 5% profit just simply isn’t there—it has vanished, clean as a
whistle! I can’t figure where it went!”
“I think I can,” I replied. “Suppose you buy a certain item at a cost of $12 per
dozen. What are you going to retail that item for?”
“Why, $1.25, of course. $12 per dozen is $1 each. I add an overall of 25%—to
cover 20% cost of doing business and 5% profit, and mark the selling price at
$1.25.”
“I thought so!” I exclaimed. “That’s where you’ve made your mistake. Now look!
You say your expenses run 20% of your sales—right?”
“Sure!” he said.
“All right. Now I want you to figure 20% of that $1.25 selling price, and
subtract it from the $1.25.”
He did, and couldn’t believe his eyes!
“Let’s see—20% of $1.25 is 25 cents. Why, when I
subtract my expenses from the selling price, I am right back to my cost price!
Where did my 5% profit go?”
I felt like laughing, but it was no joke—it was too tragic!
“You see,” I explained, “you figure your cost of doing business as a percentage
of your sales—not of your buying price. But when
you figured your markup, you figured it on the buying
price, instead of the selling price. Actually, you should have marked your price
up 33 1/3% above the buying price, in order to
sell the item at a price to allow you 20% on the
selling price for expenses, and 5% for profit.”
I left this merchant in a rather dazed condition. Why was he failing? Lack of
capital? Lack of ability? Square peg in a round hole? Or, perhaps, lack of
proper education, the second law of success!
I found many retail merchants in small towns who were former farmers. It seemed
that many farmers in those days had a habit of grumbling and complaining. They
knew they worked hard. It seemed to them that the merchant in town had it mighty
easy, compared to their lot. The mail order houses kept telling them how the
retail merchants gouged them and took big profits. It looked like running a
store was a luxurious easy life, with big
profits.
So, many farmers sold their farms and bought retail stores. Then they began to
learn that a merchant had worries a farmer never thought of. They were
untrained and unskilled in merchandising, advertising, selling, cost accounting,
shrewd buying. Salesmen from manufacturers and wholesalers overloaded them with
the wrong goods. They didn’t know how to figure markups. They didn’t know how to
meet the public, or sell goods. They didn’t know how to manage clerks, if they
hired any. They were misfits—square pegs in
round holes!
Then, there are those seven laws of success!
Most people—men and women alike—probably do not think of, or apply a single one
of these seven laws. These are of such importance that we have issued an
attractive free booklet on the subject which the reader may receive upon
request.
The Lansing Survey
I continued on to Lansing, state capital of Michigan, to put on the second
survey of retail business conditions.
Here conditions were found to be very much like those in the smaller town of
Richmond, Kentucky. Although Lansing was much larger than Richmond, and had
better and larger stores, yet I found, on actual investigation by house-to-house
and farm-to-farm interview and reports from banks, post office, etc., that the
Lansing merchants were losing untold thousands of dollars’ worth of business to
the mail order houses and the larger stores and exclusive shops of Detroit and
Chicago.
I had one very good interview with the superintendent of the Reo automobile
plant in Lansing. He explained in detail why his plant, and all others, were
unable to compete with Ford’s new wage plan. They were not yet on the
assembly-line production basis.
Somehow, I do not remember so much about this particular survey. It was mostly a
repetition of the Richmond investigation, only on a larger scale. It was the
Richmond survey which shocked its way into memory, because it was a new
revelation to us.
Hiring Myself Another Job
My next definite memory, after concluding the Lansing investigation, was an
interview with the secretary of the Chamber of Commerce in South Bend, Indiana.
I have mentioned that, in addition to interviewing retail merchants, I usually
interviewed also the secretaries of Chambers of Commerce, for The Journal
was interested in general community activity and betterment, as well as
successful business methods.
Of all the Chamber of Commerce secretaries I had interviewed, this man, whose
name was Spaulding—I do not remember his given name or initials—impressed me by
far the most. He is the only one still retained vividly in memory. He impressed
me as being the most able and resourceful of any chamber secretary I had met.
After leaving South Bend, I had jogged back east as far as Ft. Wayne, Indiana.
From there I was scheduled to cut southwest toward Indianapolis, and then on
back to Des Moines. My biggest “Idea Man” tour was now nearing its end.
The imminence of the return to Des Moines brought back to mind the fear of being
“fired.” The thought of the disgrace of this now mounted to a mighty crescendo.
I felt I had to “beat them to it,” by resigning, avoiding the stigma of being
discharged.
So on the impulse of the moment, I entered a telephone booth and got Mr.
Spaulding at South Bend on long distance. Once again, I “hired myself a job.”
“Hello, Mr. Spaulding!” I said. “Since I was in South Bend, I’ve been thinking a
lot about you and your Chamber there. I’ve decided I want to get into Chamber of
Commerce work for a while. I’ve decided to resign from The Merchants Trade
Journal and come back to South Bend as Assistant Secretary of your Chamber
of Commerce.”
“You have!” exclaimed Mr. Spaulding incredulously. “Well, I don’t know what we’d
have you do, or how I could manage to pay any salary.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” I responded with the usual cocky confidence. “I’ll have
to go on out to Des Moines, and check out finally with The Journal, and
you’ll have a couple weeks or so to figure it out before I return.”
This self-assurance and positive approach must have been difficult to resist,
for Mr. Spaulding said he’d try to think of something.
Thereupon I sent in to Mr. Boreman a letter of resignation, saying I would
finish this trip and then would leave immediately to return to South Bend.
My First Big-League Game
It was about this time, or on one of my “Idea Man” trips through Chicago, that I
saw my first major-league baseball game. Ralph Johnson, manager of The
Journal’s Chicago office, and I went together.
The Detroit Tigers were playing the Chicago White Sox in an American League game
at Comiskey Park. I had seen a number of minor league games. I had played a
great deal of baseball as a boy, between ages eleven and eighteen. But it seemed
to me that this major-league brand of baseball was the most monotonous and least
exciting of all.
Then I began to understand the reason. They were better players. There was no
wasted motion. When a shortstop picked up a hot grounder, he didn’t get all
excited, and wildly wind up before throwing to first. He scooped up the ball as
his throwing arm was smoothly moving into throwing position, and effortlessly it
was thrown with speed straight to the first baseman. The players were not making
as many motions, but actually the ball was traveling faster.
It’s the same in all branches of athletics. The novice makes work of it—goes to
unnecessary effort. The champion does it smoothly, with precision.
The same is true with workmen. A greenhorn beginner as a carpenter wastes a lot
of motions with his hammer, plane or saw, and quite frequently his hammer misses
the nail altogether. The experienced carpenter does it smoothly, effortlessly to
all appearances, but he is getting the job done faster.
This particular baseball game really was a monotonous, dull, unexciting game.
Even the experienced regular customers were talking about it. We endured the
game down to the last half of the ninth inning. The White Sox led, 3 to 1.
Detroit was at bat. There were two outs, none on, and one strike on the batter,
who happened to be the famous Ty Cobb. We arose trying to get out of the stands
before the rush.
A regular “dyed-in-the-wool” fan, sitting in front of us, turned around and said
earnestly, “Please take my advice and don’t go yet. No baseball game is over
until the last out. Ty Cobb hasn’t failed to get a hit in any game this year.
Don’t worry—he’ll get a hit.”
Why Ty Cobb was Famous
We sat down again, a little dubiously. “Ball one!” droned the umpire.
“Ball tuh!”
“Foul ball! Strike tuh!”
the umpire’s drone continued.
“Ball three!”
“This is it!” exclaimed the fan in front of us, excitedly. “Now
watch what happens! Old Ty Cobb won’t miss getting that hit!”
He didn’t! The next pitched ball cracked squarely off Cobb’s bat, driven like a
bullet straight between left field and center. It was a two-bagger at
least—maybe a triple, if Cobb rounded the bases fast enough!
But Cobb didn’t! To our utter amazement, he jogged leisurely to first, sat down
on the bag, stretched, and yawned drowsily!
But as soon as the ball was thrown back to the pitcher, he was up and alert,
dancing friskily at a dangerous distance off first, beginning a taunting,
razzing line of chatter at the pitcher.
“Hey you pitcher! Thanks for that
two-bagger you handed me! Yea! Thanks for nuthin!
I didn’t want it as a gift! I’d rather steal
it from ya! Come on, now! I’m goin’ a steal
second. Try and catch me! Ya can’t throw straight enough to catch me!”
The pitcher whirled and whipped the ball to first. But Ty slid back under the
ball safely. Now he razzed the pitcher more than ever, taunting him, telling him
he was no good—he was going to pieces—daring him to catch Cobb off base.
The pitcher threw a ball and a couple of strikes at the batter, meanwhile
whipping the ball a couple more times to first trying vainly to catch Cobb off
base.
Then Cobb dashed off and stole second.
The batter finally connected. This, too, might have been good for two bases. But
the batter was forced to stop on first. Ty Cobb lay down on second, feigning
sleep, snoring loudly. But as soon as the ball was again in the pitcher’s mitt,
he was up and dancing wildly far off second, his torrent of contempt for the
pitcher pouring violently from his mouth.
Two or three times the pitcher made a vain attempt to snap the ball to second in
time to nail Cobb off base and end the game with the third out. But each time
only brought a fresh outburst of contemptuous discouragement from Cobb. This
strategy was beginning to have its effect on the pitcher. Before the next batter
could get a hit, strike out, or a base on balls, Ty had stolen third. There,
again, he sat down and continued taunting the pitcher.
Why didn’t Cobb race, on his own hit, for
second, third, or even to stretch his hit into a home run?
Why when he was on second, and the next batter
cracked out a line drive, didn’t he race on to round third and score a run?
Usually a single drives in a run if a man is on second.
The answer is that the score was 3 to 1 against Detroit. One run was not enough.
Had Cobb scored a run on either his own hit, or that of the batter following
him, the White Sox probably would have put out the next man, and the game would
have ended 3 to 2 for Chicago. Cobb’s strategy was to exasperate the pitcher
psychologically until he “went to pieces” so that following batters might
succeed in driving in a total of three runs
needed for a Detroit win. As long as Cobb remained on base, he was allowed to
taunt and razz the pitcher.
So he remained on third, shouting ridicule at the pitcher, who now walked a
batter, filling the bases. The pitcher now was thoroughly rattled, nervous, his
confidence gone.
The next batter drove out a double, scoring all three men on bases. Thus the
game ended. Score, Tigers 4, White Sox 3!
This game turned out to be one of those rare, once-in-a-lifetime thrills most
people never see, though they may attend ball games regularly. It was the topic
of conversation of all Chicago next day.
On arriving in Des Moines I learned, to my dismay, that Mr. Boreman had had no
thought of “firing” me, but merely wrote the letter I had received at Lake
Charles, Louisiana, in an effort to snap me out of a slump and prod me on to
better effort. I gathered the impression that he was genuinely sorry to see me
leave The Journal.
Actually, now, having been myself an employer for several years, I think I can
better understand. The almost three years I had spent with The Journal
had been largely preparatory years, and Mr. Boremen probably figured they had
invested quite a little time, instruction, supervision and money toward
developing a man who had some slight promise of becoming a really valuable man
in the organization some day. And to see me quit and drop out, just as I was
beginning to be worth something—beginning to be able to write articles and
advertising copy professionally—meant the investment was now wasted and a total
loss, except for whatever value I had been while there.
While with The Journal my salary had been raised a number of times. The
raises had never been large, but they were fairly constant, as frequently as I
deserved, and I probably was in line for another raise about the time I
resigned. I was then getting $20 a week, which was not a high salary, but with
the expense account, travelling most of the time, the salary was mostly clear.
There was no room or board to pay out of it.
I must have had another conference with my Uncle Frank Armstrong while in Des
Moines this trip, but do not remember his reaction to my latest detour from the
main track. But even though it was another sidetrack, nevertheless it was to
provide valuable experience and training for the later
big job.
Building a Highway
Leaving Des Moines this time was destined to be leaving it as “home” forever. I
had been born and reared there. But now I was almost twenty-three. Perhaps it
was time to fly the home nest.
I arrived, I believe, one evening in South Bend and obtained a room at the YMCA
which was to be my home for some three or four months. Next morning I reported
to Mr. Spaulding at the Chamber of Commerce.
Actually there had been no need of an Assistant Secretary, so there was no
salaried job awaiting me. But, as I had detected on my one interview with him,
Mr. Spaulding was a resourceful man, and he did come up with something for me.
The automobile was just beginning to come into its own in America in 1915. Of
course most families did not, as yet, own automobiles, but the number was
increasing annually. And the cross-country highway idea was just beginning to
make its first bit of headway. Of course all roads outside of towns and cities
were unpaved. But a great deal of work had been done on the Coast-to-Coast
“Lincoln Highway” (now U.S. 30), and this already had been built—in the manner
they were then built—routed through South Bend.
This manner of building consisted of doing considerable additional grading, and
surfacing of already existing roads. Few if any of the old “horse and buggy”
square corners were straightened out. Surfacing consisted, at best, of a certain
amount of graveling—but few even dreamed, as yet, of paving or hard-surfacing
highways between cities.
At this particular time the highway activity centered on getting through the new
“Dixie Highway,” from Canada to the Gulf. As planned by its promoters, this
north-south highway was to pass through South Bend. But the right-of-way, and
cost of road improvements had to be approved by, and paid by, each township and
county. The Federal Government had not, apparently, gotten into the highway
business as yet. Nor were there any State highways.
Mr. Spaulding explained to me that they were running into a snag. Although there
was a Dixie Highway Association, more or less privately promoted but endorsed,
as nearly as I remember the set-up, by civic groups such as Chambers of
Commerce, the right-of-way over existing roads or for any new roads, if
necessary, had to be voted and approved by a majority of property owners of each
township and county along its route. The big obstacle was the northern township
of Marshall County, which was next south of St. Joseph County, of which South
Bend was County Seat.
In order to hurdle this barrier, and to promote the construction of the new
highway generally, Mr. Spaulding had conceived the idea of forming a local Motor
Club. It was in no sense like the AAA, or associated automobile clubs of today.
Its primary aim and purpose was good roads, and the promotion of this Dixie
Highway.
One idea we had was to name or number every country road in St. Joseph County. I
am not sure now whether this was Mr. Spaulding’s idea or mine. It was very
difficult for a farmer to direct anyone unfamiliar with the neighborhood to his
farm. He would have to direct one to go about a mile and a quarter in a certain
direction to a certain windmill; then turn left to a road where he would see a
red barn; then right until he came to a certain cow in a pasture, then to the
fourth house on the left—or some such crazy and incomprehensible direction. Our
idea was to name and number country roads like city streets, with road signs
plainly designating the name or number of each road.
Mr. Spaulding’s idea was for the Chamber of Commerce to sponsor the Motor Club,
which I believe we named the St. Joseph County Motor Club, and memberships were
to be sold to automobile owners for $2 each, with the more prominent citizens
expected to purchase the multiple block of memberships.
How to Swing a Group
When I arrived, Mr. Spaulding had the germ of the idea, but it remained for me
to “put it over.” First, we had to propose the idea to the Chamber’s Board of
Directors, and win their approval.
One of the first lessons learned in this new school of Chamber of Commerce
activity was how to swing a group of hard headed businessmen to vote the way you
want them to. Mr. Spaulding had the know-how. It was an interesting experience.
First, he selected three of the more prominent and influential Board members
whom he felt sure of winning to the idea. He and I went to these men, and “sold”
them on the Motor Club idea privately. He arranged for one of them to spring to
his feet in the Board meeting as soon as Mr. Spaulding had presented the general
idea, and enthusiastically endorse it, saying he was most definitely in favor of
this idea. The other two men were to follow suit, rising promptly before any
other Board members could rise to object, and heartily endorse the idea.
Then, at the Board meeting, after Mr. Spaulding had outlined his proposal for
the Motor Club and these three members in rapid-fire succession had generated
enthusiasm by their vigorous endorsements, Mr. Spaulding exclaimed that it
seemed useless to ask for more discussion—and brought it to an immediate vote
before any member could object.
In this meeting were several multimillionaires. South Bend was home of a number
of very prominent industries, including the Studebaker automobile factory,
Oliver Chilled Plow Works, L. P. Hardy sales book manufacturers, and many
others. It was a new experience to me to see the psychological effect of this
strategy on these supposedly hardheaded businessmen. Like all humans, they had
the “sheep” instinct. The impression had been created in the mind of every Board
member that every other member, except possibly himself, was
enthusiastically in favor of this proposition, and not wishing to be on the
losing side, or a lone dissenter, each one voted yes—it
was unanimous!
So the Motor Club became a reality. My commission was to be 25%. I learned
later—too late—that the proper rate of commission on a thing of that kind should
have been 50%. But the whole idea was a new one to all of us. Actually, my work
was very successful, but I was only half paid, and was unable to “hold body and
soul together” as they say, on what I was making—so after a few months I was
forced, of necessity, to move on.
But there were some exciting experiences in putting through this Dixie Highway
during those few months.
Chapter 7
“How to Put Resourcefulness into Practice”
As I mentioned, there were no national or state highways in those days, late
spring of 1915. These pioneer cross-country highways were privately promoted
with the cooperation of civic bodies. They were merely graded and gravelled. A
paved highway between cities was as yet unheard of. I do not remember how the
funds were provided, but probably by popular subscription from property owners
along the right of way. I do remember we had to get all the farmers along the
way signed up for it.
The South Bend Chamber of Commerce had endorsed this Dixie Highway project. But
the promoters had run into a provoking snag. The farmers of the northern
township of Marshall County, next south of St. Joseph County of which South Bend
is County Seat, were refusing to sign up. They were stubborn. One little
township might block the entire project from the Gulf of Mexico to Canada. A
chain is no stronger than its weakest link.
It was my job, among other things, to sign up these adamant farmers.
For some little time, however, probably the first three or four months at South
Bend, my activities were bent on selling memberships in the new St. Joseph
County Motor Club. This brought me into close personal contact with some of
South Bend’s prominent millionaires. I worked fairly closely with Mr. E. Louis
Kuhns, a millionaire capitalist. I believe he was Vice President of the Chamber
of Commerce.
Several times I went out to the Studebaker works to chat with the sole remaining
member of the famous Studebaker Brothers. Mr. J. M. Studebaker was then 84 years
of age, hale and hearty, still somewhat active, and arrived at his office
precisely at eight every morning. He arrived always with a rose or a carnation
in his lapel. Two or three times, on my visits to his office, he removed his
carnation from his lapel and stuck it in mine. I remember Mr. Studebaker as a
very kindly man, and I always counted it a rare privilege to have been able to
spend a while in conversation with him. He and his brothers originally founded
the Studebaker Brothers Wagon Works, long before the days of the automobile. But
by 1915 they were one of the leading automobile makers.
Also I knew Mr. A. R. Erskine, at that time president of the Studebaker works. I
believe Mr. Studebaker was Chairman of the Board.
Mr. L. P. Hardy, head of the L. P. Hardy Company, which I believe was the
country’s largest sales-book manufacturer, also was very active in Chamber work
and I knew him well. The last time I passed through South Bend, driving a new
car home from the factory, I looked in the telephone directory and failed to
find the L. P. Hardy Company listed. They must have moved elsewhere or gone out
of business.
Most of these prominent and wealthy men bought multiple blocks of Motor Club
memberships, which sold for $2 each.
Frugality of the Wealthy
The one man reputed to be the wealthiest of all South Bend’s multimillionaires
at that time was Mr. J. D. Oliver, head of the Oliver Chilled Plow Works. He was
reputed to be worth one hundred and ten million dollars.
Here, I thought, was a man who could easily afford to purchase even a few
thousand memberships. I began to count my commission in advance. As
explained previously, Mr. Spaulding had not been able to create a salary job for
me, and I was promoting this Motor Club on a commission basis of 25%.
In order to psychologically build up to my one biggest
order of multiple memberships, I had planned first to contact all the other
prominent men. I felt it would have a good effect on J. D. Oliver to be able to
tell him how many memberships the others had taken. He, I figured, would want to
outdo them.
I had a nice talk with Mr. Oliver. He listened to my entire explanation of the
purposes of the Motor Club—the need of better roads—the benefit that would
accrue to the community and every business in South Bend. He listened to the
explanation of how generously the other prominent businessmen of South Bend had
purchased multiple memberships. He seemed quite interested. My hopes for a big
commission rose.
“Mr. Armstrong, I think this Motor Club is a splendid activity. It will be a
fine thing for the community. Yes, you may surely count me in. I want to join!”
Man! Now my hopes soared!
“That’s certainly splendid, Mr. Oliver. How many memberships shall I put you
down for?”
“Just one single membership. Two dollars!” came the businesslike reply.
Did you ever have a bucket of ice water thrown in your face at the moment of
greatest anticipation?
It was incredible! A man who had $110,000,000—and he took one little, tiny,
measly membership—just $2—just the poor widow’s two mites! But that’s what he
said.
“Maybe,” I thought, as I left the Oliver Chilled Plow plant, “that’s why Mr.
Oliver has a hundred and ten million dollars. He holds on to what he
gets.” I was a disappointed young man. But I still had a job to do.
Learning to Drive
After selling Motor Club memberships to most of the important businessmen, I
went after those running smaller businesses, and even citizens who were
employed. I needed to get out into the country and neighboring suburbs.
I suppose the dealers who handled some of the leading automobile makes might
have loaned me a car for this civic-betterment work, but they didn’t. It
remained for the dealer of the smallest, lowest priced of all to offer me the
free use of a car.
No—it wasn’t a Model-T Ford. It was a smaller and lower-priced car—a little baby
Saxon. Not many of my readers today will remember the Saxon, and my memory of it
is pretty dim, but I believe it was smaller than today’s German Volkswagen. I
had never before driven a car. This is where I first learned—with a baby Saxon
in South Bend, at age 23.
While I was there Ralph DePalma, then the world’s most famous automobile racing
driver, came to South Bend with his famous racing car. I don’t remember much of
the occasion, but I do remember DePalma—he made quite an impression on me.
Also while I was in South Bend two then famous movie stars came through. They
had soared to the top in a serial thriller, “The Million Dollar Mystery.” It
created about the same national sensation in that day that the TV show “The
$64,000 Question” did in 1955. These two actors told me that they had personally
made very little money out of it. No one knew how it was going to catch fire
with the public before it started, and they were employed on straight salary by
contract. It made a big fortune for its owners, not its actors. Then, in an
effort to cash in on their popularity, these two actors put all the money they
had into promoting the sequel, titled “The Hundred Million Dollar Mystery.”
But, as they should have known, had they been better psychologists, the sequel
was a total dud. They lost all they had. A million dollars seemed like an
unheard-of amount of money, and those words in the title coupled with the magic
word “mystery” captured the fascination and
interest of the American public back in the early “silent” days. But it was like
a child with a new toy. Once the glamor and excitement of the toy wears off, it
becomes “old stuff.” Give the child another toy just like it, only bigger, and
he won’t be interested.
The star of these serials was James Cruze. The other actor was Sid Bracey.
Cracking the Adamant
It must have been about mid-summer or a little later that the time came when the
Dixie Highway project could not be delayed any longer.
The farmers to the south of us, in the north township of Marshall County, were
adamant. The road was approved through Marshall County up to this township line,
and again as soon as it entered St. Joseph County. This little three- or
four-mile strip of road was the only link incomplete along the entire length of
the highway from Mobile to Canada.
It was now my job to crack through that human stone wall.
I had been quite intrigued in watching the strategy Mr. Spaulding had employed
in “selling” the Motor Club idea, and a job for me, to the Board of Directors of
the Chamber.
One morning we received a telegram at the Chamber of Commerce from the Director
of the Dixie Highway project in Atlanta, Georgia. It stated tersely that he
would be in South Bend in a few days, and unless we had the highway completed
through this county south of us, the entire highway would be re-routed by way of
Chicago, and South Bend would lose out altogether.
This was the ammunition I needed.
This was the signal to spring to action, in high gear!
I decided our only chance was to utilize the same principle of psychology Mr.
Spaulding had used in putting the Motor Club through with the Chamber directors.
But this was tougher. I decided it needed a big show—a real “whoop and hurrah!”
The only way to break through the obduracy of those farmers was through their
emotions. I had learned, as an advertising principle, that you can move people
to action easier and quicker through their emotions than through their reason.
I decided we had to appeal to both—with terrific impact!
Hurriedly I called Mr. Hardy and Mr. Kuhns. I told them I planned to stage a big
rally that night at the little town of Lapaz, in the very center of this
reluctant township. I asked them if they would come down and make an impassioned
speech to the farmers in favor of the Dixie Highway. When they had agreed to
this, I asked them if they would approve the expense, to be paid by the Chamber
of Commerce, of a big brass band to help get out the crowd at Lapaz. Having
agreed to speak, they couldn’t well refuse to approve the expense of the band.
Mr. Spaulding agreed to call other Board members and get the band approved.
Then I arranged for a big platform to be built during the afternoon at Lapaz.
These arrangements made, I borrowed my little Saxon car and drove to Plymouth,
county seat of Marshall County. There I arranged with the telephone company to
put through a “general ring” on every rural party line in that township, and
notify all the people that there was to be a big rally
that night at Lapaz—with a big brass band and noted speakers from South Bend.
Excitement of this kind was a very rare thing in such rural areas in those days.
I knew this would get all the people out. In Plymouth I went first to the hotel,
and wrote out the message I wanted the telephone operators to announce over all
their telephone lines in that northern township. You may be sure I put all the
advertising punch I knew in that message.
This accomplished, I went to the office of the county attorney. I explained my
mission, and what the South Bend Chamber was trying to do, and its value to
Plymouth and Marshall County. Then I asked him to draw up for me a legal
petition for the completion of the road improvements through this northern
township, with several sheets attached for signatures. He dictated the legal
document and his secretary typed it while I waited.
Armed with this, I drove back to the vicinity of Lapaz. I had previously
obtained the names of four leading farmers in this township, thought to be less
hostile than most to the new highway.
Now my real task began. I had to “sell” these
four men on the project in person, and I didn’t dare fail on a one. I was armed
also with the telegram from Atlanta received that morning. I had facts and
figures on how the new highway would increase the value of their farms, bring
more trade to the towns of the community, and in every way benefit the farmers.
The Big Show
With necessity as a prod, I succeeded. One by one these four key farmers were
won over. I explained that they would have to appear
enthusiastic. All four finally agreed to act according to my plan.
Now the stage was all set—and not a bit too soon—it was by that time sundown.
The crowd began to arrive. The platform had been erected. The delegation from
South Bend arrived, and took its place on the platform. I simply do not
remember, now, whether I myself acted as Master of Ceremonies or who, but it
seems that this was done by a leading businessman from South Bend.
The band struck up lively tunes, designed to whip up emotional fervor. We got
the crowd to singing, laughing, dancing, shouting. It was a real show. Then the
men selected as the best public speakers in the South Bend Chamber of Commerce,
Mr. Hardy and Mr. Kuhns, gave their stirring impassioned speeches, reading the
telegram, telling the farmers it was their last chance—tonight or never!—and
the advantages to them, their community, and probable increased value of their
land that the new highway would bring.
“Now, gentlemen, step right on up here and sign
this petition right now! Who’ll be the first?” shouted all six feet four of E.
Louis Kuhns.
This was the signal. I shoved my number one farmer forward.
“I want to sign that petition right now!” shouted my first farmer.
“I’m for it! I want to sign it!” shouted out my number two farmer,
crowding forward to the platform.
“Me, too!” barked my third man. “This is just what this community has been
needing!”
“Hey! Let me through!” roared my number four farmer. “We
all want in on this! Come on, men—let’s
all sign it!
And they all did. They all crowded forward and signed to put the highway
through! Every farmer who had been bitterly opposed was carried away with the
emotion of things, and was convinced that everybody else was for it, so
he might as well go along, too!
I had negotiated one more experience in learning to apply the fifth law of
success—resourcefulness—in meeting problems and
handling obstacles.
The adamant wall was cracked!
The Dixie Highway was built—today known as U.S. 31, now a major paved highway
from Canada to the Gulf. And, to my readers who live along U.S. Highway 31, this
is the story of how the last link of your highway was put through, and how it
finally came into being! Arriving in Danville “Broke” The two to four months
spent in Chamber of Commerce work in South Bend had been valuable experience as
part of the groundwork for later accomplishments—but far from profitable as
immediate financial return.
Arriving in Danville “Broke”
The two to four months spent in Chamber of Commerce work in South Bend had been
valuable experience as part of the groundwork for later accomplishments—but far
from profitable as immediate financial return.
It seemed that I was doing as well as could be expected. Many multiple
memberships had been sold. But I was running behind financially. I was living in
a small room with an alcove bed in the YMCA. I ate mostly either at the “Y”
cafeteria or the coffee shop in the Oliver Hotel, inexpensively. Yet I was
running into debt. And the “cream”—the multiple memberships sold to leading
businessmen and Chamber members—had all been skimmed off, and it had become a
matter of soliciting single memberships at $2 per person. My commission of 25%
was not sufficient to keep me going.
Finally the decision had to be made to leave. I should have taken this problem
up with Mr. Spaulding, or Mr. Kuhns, but I was too embarrassed to go to them
about a personal financial problem. Actually I took the more embarrassing
course, as I was to learn later. It is always best to face a problem and solve
it. Running away from it is never the solution. I left debts behind in South
Bend. Later, when they became very pressing and I was still unable to pay them,
I wrote to Mr. Kuhns.
I had by then learned that the standard rate of commission on activities similar
to mine in South Bend was 50%. Actually I had been only half paid. I wrote to
Mr. Kuhns about this, to see whether the Chamber of Commerce could rectify the
mistake and pay me the additional 25% which I actually had earned. He replied
that, on investigation, he had confirmed my contention that the commission
should have been 50%. But he maintained it was then too late. Had I come to him
about it before leaving South Bend, he said, something might have been done to
adjust the commission properly. Of course he was a millionaire, and without
missing the change he could have paid these small debts and cleared the
good name of a barely 23-year-old chap, who had, in this instance, been the
victim of an unintentional injustice. But that did not seem to be the way
millionaires get to be millionaires!
A year or more before I had come to South Bend, the Chamber had employed an
assistant secretary, whose name, I believe, was Vaughn. He had visited South
Bend while I was there, was about my age, and I had become acquainted with him.
He was now secretary of the Chamber at Danville, Illinois.
Why I took the train from South Bend directly to Danville I do not remember.
Apparently I had thought, or Mr. Spaulding had thought, that Vaughn might be
able to turn up something for me to do in Danville. And I had to get
something else to do immediately! I had barely enough money to get me to
Danville.
Arriving in Danville one morning, stone-”broke,” not even a dime, I went first
to call on Vaughn, but he had absolutely nothing for me—not even any ideas.
I walked back down on the street. I had no money for lunch. I had no money for a
place to sleep that night. I was too proud to beg. Actually, that thought didn’t
even occur to me—I’m merely stating it now. My experience indicates that no
honest man ever begs. I have given to many beggars on the street, and
have put many of them to many different tests to see if I could find an honest
one. Some had a “line” that sounded real sincere. But not one ever proved
honest. I think the police will tell you there is no such thing as an honest
beggar.
Perhaps some are like one I knew of in Vancouver, Washington—though most are not
as successful. This fellow could throw his body into a pitiful-appearing
contortion, put a pleading, pity-arousing expression on his face, hold up his
hat with some cheap pencils in it from his squatting position on a busy corner,
and wring the hearts of passers-by. Then every evening he would get up, limp a
few blocks to his Cadillac parked on a back side street, unkink his legs and
spine, and gingerly hop into his car and drive home to his wife who wore an
expensive mink coat!
King David knew human nature. He said, “I have been young, and now am old; yet
have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread” (Ps. 37:25).
No, honest people just never do beg!
Enforced Resourcefulness
Perhaps I should never have come to realize that
resourcefulness is one of the seven laws of success, or to have acquired
any of that ingredient, had circumstances not forced it upon me!
If so, I’m grateful for the dilemma!
Here I was, almost 2,000 miles away from my parents, with no place I could call
home, just arrived in a strange city, “broke!”
I had to think!—and think fast!!
One thing came to my mind in this emergency. The surveys of retail business
conditions I had made in Richmond, Kentucky, and in Lansing, Michigan, had been
sensational in what they had uncovered. They had been of very great value to the
merchants of those cities. While I had been in Des Moines, after resigning from
the Merchants Trade Journal, Mr. Boreman and I had talked about the idea
that there ought to be some way of selling these surveys to merchants so
that such investigations might be made everywhere.
But no way to sell the idea had occurred to us. Unfortunately men will not pay
money to hire an investigator to find out what’s wrong about them—to
discover and show them their faults and mistakes, and to criticize them.
The thought came that Danville was an ideal size city for such a survey. But
how could I induce anyone to pay me a fee to unearth the mistakes the local
retailers were making?
“I’ve got it!” The idea flashed to mind. “I’ll sell the idea to the local
newspaper. Why, this kind of information I dig
up in a survey is just the ammunition the advertising department of the
newspaper needs to sell bigger advertising space to the merchants! It’s just the
information they need to show the merchants how to write their copy—what
individual merchants need to do inside their stores to make their advertising
bring in better results! Why didn’t I ever think
of this before?”
With brisk and confident steps, I walked into the office of the business manager
of Danville’s daily newspaper. Enthusiastically I told him of the surveys I had
made—the national sensation they had created in The Journal—the value to
the merchants—and how this information could be used to perhaps double
the advertising revenue of his paper.
“I’ll buy it!” exclaimed the business manager without a moment’s
hesitation. “How much is it going to cost?”
Caught Flat-footed
He snapped out his decision as if he was afraid I might change my mind about
being willing to do the investigation if he delayed.
His answer came so suddenly it caught me flat-footed!
The fee? I hadn’t thought of that! I was so bent
on solving my dilemma and getting some money into my pocket before lunch time
that I had not thought the idea quite that far through. I had no time to think.
“Why,” I blurted out, “Fifty dollars, I guess.”
Again I had far underestimated the value of my services. As I found out later, I
should have said $500, and he would have paid it just as readily! Actually I did
later put on a number of surveys for $500 fees. These experiences will be
covered in due time.
I had outlined to this newspaperman that I proposed to get at least 100
interviews with consumers, so selected as to be representative of the whole
population, even out into the country and neighboring suburban towns; I was to
obtain as much information as possible from local banks, the express company,
post office, freight houses, etc., as to mail-order business and trading in
Chicago stores. All my information was to be typewritten in detail, accurately
tabulated and summarized, with separate private
reports and recommendations for each major local store. The newspaper was to
arrange a dinner at which all local retailers were to be invited, and I was to
give a talk, revealing what I had found.
So, on blurting out the $50 fee, I added:
“I’d like a $10 advance right now, the privilege of drawing another $10 during
the survey, and the balance when I turn over to you the complete typed report
and summary on the night of the dinner.” This was to be either the third, or the
fourth night.
Actually I had cheated myself out of $450! nevertheless, the predicament was
solved. I walked out of his office with ten dollars in my pocket! I ate lunch!
And I slept that night at the “Y”!
It certainly could have been worse! What I really did was to pay
$450 to learn another lesson. Experience is a dear
teacher! But, truly, “the laborer is worthy of his hire!” This experience helped
me to learn that it is not wrong to charge a fair and just price for services or
commodities, and that an employer should not underpay employees.
The business manager of that newspaper must have realized, at least after
receiving my 40- or 50-page typed report and analysis, that the professional
effort and “know-how” that went into that investigation was worth several times
the little fee I had spontaneously blurted out. But, in the business world, “business
is business!” He paid what he agreed. No more!
This world’s way is based on selfishness, greed, competition—getting
all you can, giving as little as possible—the profit principle.
Our world-girding enterprises of today have been based on the giving, serving
principle—and this way of doing things has built a major-sized
organization that has been eminently successful—serving and benefitting millions
worldwide.
A New Job
The merchandising survey was completed, typed, summarized, data tabulated and
analyzed in some three or four high-pressure days.
The dinner given by the newspaper for the merchants of Danville was well
attended. My report of the investigation, as had been the case at Richmond and
Lansing, was something of a bombshell. It really shook up the merchants to learn
existing facts about their own businesses and their own town of which they had
been totally unaware.
Nevertheless, a young man barely twenty-three is still just a “young man” to
others of senior maturity. I didn’t realize it then, but even the brilliancy of
this report did not conceal the obvious fact that I was a youngster, and
probably in need of a job. I do think, however, that this investigation and the
revelations it disclosed gave these businessmen the impression that I was a
fairly “live” young man who would be a valuable employee, because four or five
of them tried to employ me. And I was in no position to turn down a job.
I took the job that appeared, at the time, to be most promising. It was with the
Benjamin Piano Company, selling pianos. I devoted a month or two in determined
effort, and never sold a single piano!
This perfect goose-egg record reminds me of the “punch line” of old “Lightnin’
Bill Jones” in a play that broke all records on Broadway some 38 or 40 years
ago. Old “Lightnin’ Bill” was a likable good-for-nothing old codger who knew
all, and had done all.
“Yep,” he exclaimed at the climax of the show, “I was in the bee business once.
Drove a swarm of bees clear across the desert, and never lost a bee!”
I managed to get pianos in many houses, on trial, and never sold a piano!
I learned something about the piano business. It was not conducted like other
businesses. The method was to work through piano teachers. The piano teachers
always had prospective customers—homes where a child was at the age for learning
to play the piano. The company had a number of piano teachers working for it in
Danville, and over its entire trade territory. The teachers supplied us with the
names of prospects they had already approached with the idea of lessons for
their children. Then I would call and try to talk the parents into giving the
child lessons—which necessitated the purchase of a piano. I would induce them to
let me put a new piano in the home on trial—without any obligation to buy. Then
I would notify the teacher, and she would “accidentally” happen to be passing
by, and drop in for a friendly call—discover the piano, play it, tell the people
it had a wonderful tone, and a perfect action, and highly recommend that they
buy it.
Unfair Competition
This seemed like a “sure fire” method of selling pianos.
There was just one thing wrong with this setup.
Competition!
I soon found that our competitors also had piano teachers working for
them! I knew, of course, that our store paid a commission to their piano
teachers if the sale was made. What I didn’t know was that our competitors paid
a commission to their teachers if they could knock the sale of a Benjamin piano,
once it had been moved into a home on trial.
When I called back at a home a few days after placing a trial piano in it, I
usually found the woman angry.
“Why did you talk me into letting you bring that old tin pan into my home?” she
would demand. “I want you to send your truck and get this out of here at once!
Miss Anderson is a music teacher, and she happened to call on us, and she tried
out this piano and told us it was no good!”
I had been successful selling advertising space, but as a piano salesman I was a
total flop. That kind of competition seemed to me so absolutely rotten, foul,
and unfair I simply refused flatly to try to combat it. Getting a local music
teacher to recommend a good piano, which I knew was worth recommending, and
paying her a commission, seemed legitimate. But employing a teacher to go into
homes and lie about competitors’ pianos was a dishonest method I refused to
engage in. Instead I permitted disgust and resentment to discourage me on the
entire dirty business. Also I found there was no honesty in pricing pianos. They
were usually far overpriced at the start, and the salesman was expected to keep
cutting the price until he sold the instrument. This is not necessarily true of
the best quality pianos. And I am talking about 1915 practices.
I never believed in price-cutting. A product or a service ought to be fairly and
honestly priced in the first place, and then the price maintained.
I have learned that men fall into two classifications, so far as salesmanship is
concerned. Some men are born to be salesmen—others are not. Even the man with
the hereditary aptitude for it must learn. But salesmen are of two kinds.
One can sell a commodity, the other can sell an idea. I was of this
latter type. As a piano salesman I was a square peg in a round hole.
Back Into Advertising
Of course I had been keeping in touch with my uncle, Frank Armstrong, by
occasional letter. He realized I had become sidetracked again, and came to my
rescue.
About the time it became evident to me, and also to Mr. Benjamin, that I was not
headed for an overwhelming success as a piano salesman, I received a letter from
Uncle Frank saying he had lined up a temporary job for me, putting on a special
“Bank Building” number for The Northwestern Banker. This publication was
a leading sectional bank journal, read by bankers in Iowa, Minnesota, North and
South Dakota and Nebraska.
Without delay I landed back in Des Moines. At that time a large number of banks,
especially small country banks, had been erecting new bank buildings—some were
small bank buildings occupied solely by the bank—some were multiple-story office
buildings, with the bank occupying the ground floor.
The magazine had conceived the idea of a special number devoted to the subject
of new buildings. I was to sell ads to as many as possible of those banks who
had constructed new buildings, showing a picture of the new buildings in the
ads.
Newspapers are always working up special issues, with the purpose of selling
special one-time advertising space. I did not believe in these special
issues—and I detested them, after this experience, to the point that thereafter
I always refused to take part in them.
Actually there was no benefit to be gained by the bank in buying a page or a
half-page in this special bank building number, except to enjoy the vanity of
seeing a picture of their new building in this trade journal, with the knowledge
that most of the other bankers in these five states would see it also. But,
that’s the way business is done. One of the strongest advertising appeals is
vanity. You’ll see it constantly on TV commercials, and especially in all
the women’s magazines and the newspapers, utilized by cosmetics manufacturers,
automobile and cigarette companies, and many other industries. Advertising men
appeal to human weaknesses a great deal in order to sell goods.
I started with a trip through the southern half of Iowa. I was making very
disappointing headway. The truth is, my heart wasn’t really in it, for I
realized I was selling nothing more valuable than flattery.
Selling a Sales Manager
One incident occurred on this trip which might contain some interest. At Red
Oak, in Southwestern Iowa, was a nationally prominent calendar factory. What
idea I had in mind as to how they could profitably use advertising space in a
sectional bank journal I do not remember. But I do remember that I called to see
the sales manager. He refused to see me.
This only made me determined. Of all people, I felt a sales manager had
no right to refuse to see a salesman.
I went to my hotel room, and wrote him a brief and very pointed letter. I
reminded him that he sent salesmen all over the United States to call on
customers and sell his company’s product. Also I reminded him that if his
salesmen met with the kind of treatment he accorded me, his factory would soon
be covered over with rustimania instead of the beautiful green ivy vines that
covered it then. I didn’t mind being turned down if what I had to sell did not
fit in with his program or prove profitable to use. But I did demand at least a
hearing!
I rushed with the letter to the post office, registered it, and mailed it
special delivery, to be delivered to and signed by addressee only. I knew the
special delivery mail carrier would get in to him.
This strategy got me the interview. As I remember it, I did not sell him any
advertising space. But I did have the satisfaction of gaining the interview.
That cockiness and conceit that pervaded my personality in those days was full
of persistent determination, and a difficult thing for another to turn down.
I guess the lesson that came to mind on Goat Island at Niagara Falls on December
25, 1913, had its effect. Obstacles were things to find a way around, or
over, or through, or under. Resourcefulness, coupled with determined
drive, remember, are two of the seven laws of success. “Where there’s a
will there’s a way!” I hope some of this
will rub off on my readers. Not the egotistic conceit—but the determination,
resourcefulness, and right principles of a true success.
Success Out of Failure
This swing through Southern Iowa was anything but a success.
Clifford DePuy (pronounced DePew), publisher of The Northwestern Banker,
was discouraged. I think he was willing to call it “quits” and write off the
expenses and advanced drawing account of my efforts so far as a loss. But again
Uncle Frank came to the rescue.
“I’ve always noticed,” he said, “that salesmen who fail in Southern Iowa usually
succeed in the northern part of the state. I don’t think you’d better give up
yet. My advice, Cliff, is to send Herbert up into Northern and Northwestern
Iowa, and see if the results are not different.” Mr. DePuy agreed to one more
trial.
In the northern half of the state I began to sell ads, and it soon became
apparent that we would publish the special bank building number, after all.
Several of the new bank buildings I visited had been constructed by The Lytle
Company, of Sioux City. I was especially impressed by the fact that officers of
these Lytle-built banks were far more than ordinarily enthusiastic about this
company and its methods. They worked on the cost-plus basis. Most bankers told
me they considered this the most economical way to build, provided one is
certain he is dealing with a fully competent and thoroughly honest contractor.
This construction company was headed by Mr. J. A. Raven, and all bankers who had
dealt with the company spoke highly of him. I jotted down their comments.
An idea was beginning to perk in my mind.
Arriving in Sioux City, I waited outside the Lytle Company office building at
noontime until I saw Mr. Raven go out to lunch. I was not ready to see him—yet!
Then I walked in, and from his secretary obtained all his catalogs, circulars,
printed matter, and especially photographs or cuts of several of these bank
buildings I had visited.
Next I proceeded to a stationery store and procured a large sheet of good
quality drawing paper, somewhere near 14 x 26 inches in size. The next three
days were spent in my hotel room.
Down in Des Moines, Cliff DePuy was getting grey-haired wondering what had
happened to his new salesman. I had nothing to report, until I had completed my
idea. I did put on the pressure, but it had to be just “right,” and it took
time.
At the end of three days, I had produced a very forceful complete
four-page advertisement, with attractive layout
sketched and carefully designed on this large sheet of drawing paper, replete
with cuts of several bank buildings. It contained statements from these bankers,
which I had jotted down while in their banks, expressing their full satisfaction
with Mr. Raven’s system of building construction. It even contained the
endorsement of The Northwestern Banker, which I felt safe in offering,
based on such unanimous approval from so many banks. The ad, of course, invited
banks and bankers to write for catalog and a consultation with Mr. Raven with a
view to constructing a new bank home for them.
Selling a BIG Ad
At last I was ready to see Mr. Raven. When I walked in and showed him this big
layout of a four-page insert, he almost fainted. It happened he was a regular
advertiser in The Northwestern Banker—he ran a tiny sixteenth-of-a-page
card every month!
The audacity of trying to jump him from a sixteenth of a page to four full pages
seemed incredibly preposterous! Of course, I knew it would. I was prepared for
that.
Mr. Raven was a calm, steady, conservative type of man.
“Why!” he exclaimed, “we couldn’t afford to run an ad anywhere near that big!”
“On the contrary, Mr. Raven,” I rejoined, “you can’t afford not to run
it. Now let me read this ad to you. I want you to
hear it, before you decide. Here! You hold this
layout, and see with your eyes where each bit of text matter will be printed,
among these big headlines and pictures of banks you’ve built.”
Of course, he wanted to hear it. But he was convinced he didn’t want to
buy it.
One thing I had learned at the Merchants Trade Journal was the effective
method of selling advertising copy. There must be a well-designed and very
attractive dummy, or layout, with the headlines sketched in, the pictures or
illustrations showing, and boxes or horizontal lines showing where the smaller
text matter will be printed. The idea was to let the prospective advertiser hold
and look at this attractive dummy, while I held and read the typed text matter,
putting into it all the emphasis where it belonged, and the proper tone of
enthusiasm and drive.
This layout was very attractive—Mr. Raven had to admit that! The ad
certainly sounded convincing! He admitted that! Running in this special number,
devoted to new bank buildings, it ought to have a terrific impact. He couldn’t
get around that!
“Yes,” he said, “that’s all true enough. But—four pages! Why, that’s unheard
of! We can’t afford anything like that!”
“Yes,” I agreed, remembering John R. Patterson’s sales strategy, “it is
certainly unheard of! The bankers of these five
states have never seen anything as audacious, as important looking, as a
four page ad! And that’s the very reason
you can afford it, Mr. Raven! Now look! This entire four-page ad is going
to cost only $160. The very smallest country bank jobs you get run around
$8,000, and your bigger jobs into the hundreds of thousands. You construct on a
10% fee basis for yourself. Your profit on just one tiny little $8,000 country
bank building is $800. If this big ad results in bringing you only one little
$8,000 job, it will have paid you, won’t it?”
“Well, yes, I suppose it would,” he replied thoughtfully. “I never
thought of advertising in that way, I guess.”
“And, be honest, now,” I pursued. “How many new construction jobs do you think
you really ought to get as a result of a dominating ad like that?”
“Why, I should think it ought to bring us several new jobs,” he admitted.
“Mr. Armstrong, I guess you’ve shown me a new and more effective way to
advertise. But I, myself could never have designed and written an ad like that.
Yes, I think that ad will really pay! All right, we’ll run it, and see
what happens!”
Paying for Vanity
Leaving the Lytle Company office, I literally ran back to the Hotel
Martin, and from my room called Cliff DePuy in Des Moines.
“Where have you been? What in the world’s happened to you?” he
demanded on hearing my voice. “Have you sold any space yet?”
“Have I!” I exclaimed. “I’ve spent the past three days writing up an entire
four page insert for this special number, and I
sold it to Mr. Raven of the Lytle Company!”
“What!” he gasped, unbelievingly. “Say that
again!”
I learned later that Cliff forgot momentarily that he was a grown man, all 6
feet 3 of him, and all 28 or 30 years of him, as his age was at that time, and
that he jumped up and down for glee like a little boy, and then took off a half
holiday and ran out to tell every banker in the city that we were running a
whole four page ad in the next issue! Never
had anything that big been heard of!
Before describing the result of that ad, I must recount, here, an incident that
occurred at this same time while I was in Sioux City.
Mr. Raven told me he knew where I could sell a full page to a bank. He grinned
as he explained. Up in Royal, Iowa, a little town of perhaps less than 500
population about 80 miles northeast of Sioux City, he had built two small bank
buildings. On completion of the first one, the bank across the street called him
in. The president said he had watched the Lytle Company’s work, had checked up
on them and was convinced of their reliability and honesty, and had decided to
employ them to build a new building for his bank.
“Now, can you tell me how much that little new building across the street cost?”
he asked.
Mr. Raven said it had cost $8,000. (Remember, this was 1915. The same building
would cost immensely more today.)
“Well, Mr. Raven, we want you to draw up plans right away to build a $16,000
bank for us.”
It was going to take an entire day to go to Royal and back, on the slow branch
line railroads in that country. But I decided a sure-fire page ad was worth it.
I arrived in Royal and went immediately to this larger bank. I had a full page
ad designed, with a picture of the building, which I had obtained from Mr.
Raven. Also I had a layout of another full page with a picture of the smaller
bank across the street, which I managed carelessly to permit this banker to see.
“Well, that ad looks nice,” commented this bank president, “but Mr. Armstrong
there’s no reason for us to advertise in the Northwestern Banker. We have
nothing to sell to other banks.”
This was only too true. Today my conscience would not let me sell such an ad.
There was only one reason for him to buy it—vanity.
And, perhaps, spite, or competitive spirit to prevent his competitor across the
street from getting it. But I was prepared with the answer.
“Well,” I said, “in that case, I suppose I’ll have to see the bank across the
street. You see, this is an exclusive
proposition. Just one ad is sold in each town. If you take it, the other bank
can’t run their ad. If they do, then you can’t. And it really is too
bad—for now I suppose all your fellow bankers you know and meet at the group
meetings and state conventions will see the picture of that little bank across
the street, and they won’t even know that you have a building twice as
big and fine.”
I emphasize, I would refuse to use such a sales appeal to vanity and jealousy
today. It was almost pitiful, when he asked, like a whipped dog, “How much did
you say this page is going to cost?” as he reached for a pen and signed the one
time space contract without another word.
Yes, I learned that there is jealousy and a spirit of competition among
dignified and conservative bankers, just as there is between other humans.
Result-Getting Ads
After this Sioux City episode, I worked my way, selling a few page and half-page
ads to banks which had constructed new buildings along the way, on over to
Charles City, Iowa. In Charles City was another company which ran regular but
small ads in the Northwestern Banker, The Fisher Company, manufacturers
of bank fixtures and interiors.
They worked to some extent with the Lytle Company, since they installed most of
the interior of a bank, including the cages and counters.
Here, again, I took a couple days or so, first getting their catalog, with
illustrations of many of their interiors of banks, and designed and wrote a
double-page spread for them. By the same method used with Mr. Raven, this double
spread was sold to Mr. Fisher.
Both this two-page ad, and the Lytle Company four-page ad produced unexpected
results, and each sold a number of new jobs.
Before the next issue of the trade paper went to press, I called again at both
Sioux City and Charles City, and each company signed up on a yearly basis, the
Lytle Company for a full page or more each issue, and the Fisher Company for a
half page or more each issue.
Actually, through the following seven years each company never used less than
this minimum space, but many, many times the Lytle Company used double pages,
and the Fisher Company full pages, and, I believe, a few more double page ads.
These ads, which I continued to write for them over a span of the next seven
years, proved very profitable to them, and expanded their businesses.
For a few months I continued to work around in Iowa, using the procedure of
selling advertising space for ads I had already written before calling on
prospective advertisers.
Developing a Business
By this process a temporary one-month special-issue job was converted into not
only a steady job, but a developing and growing business of my own.
I had taken this special issue job on a commission basis, with a drawing account
of, I believe, $40 per week, as an advance from the publication to cover
expenses. This drawing account was deducted from commissions earned. The
commission basis, common for all publications of this class, was 40%.
In other words, publishers of bank journals and similar publications had found
that it actually cost them 40% of the sell space, regardless of the
method used in paying—whether salary and expense, commission, or what.
Clifford DePuy had, at that time, been the publisher of the Northwestern
Banker only a comparatively short time—possibly two or three years. His
father had been editor and publisher before him. But when the elder DePuy had
died suddenly, the entire responsibility came crushing down on Cliff’s
shoulders. His father had been most highly respected by the bankers of the
Central Northwest, and very popular personally.
Clifford DePuy had been attending an art school or something of the kind. He had
not established any great reputation as a success. But now he held a serious and
a frank conference at the bank which held the publication’s account.
Actually he and the elder DePuy’s family were shocked to learn the magazine had
been left heavily in debt. But on condition Cliff would make a real fight to
save the publication, the bank offered to back him as long as his efforts
remained promising for the future. He agreed to roll up both sleeves, plunge
into the business, do everything in his power to preserve the publication. The
bankers of the Northwest had a real love for this journal. They didn’t want to
see it suspend publication. Although Cliff was inexperienced in this field, they
agreed to back him.
I recount this experience here because it is one that frequently occurs and it
illustrates a principle. The sudden plunging of heavy responsibility on one
often brings him to an awakening, provides heretofore lacking incentive, arouses
dormant abilities. This new responsibility suddenly descending on Clifford DePuy
stirred him to intensive and dynamic action, and brought out dormant qualities
and abilities. In a few short years he had developed the publication into a very
profitable enterprise with adequate reserves. Later he expanded, purchasing
other publications. He became a successful publisher.
Cliff and I had a business relationship together for the next seven years. He
was tall, about six feet three as I remember, aggressive—a human dynamo. I
respected his abilities, and I’m sure he respected mine. Later, in Chicago, he
periodically came in, once or twice a year, and we would spend a couple or three
days calling on prospective advertisers together. We flattered ourselves in
those days that we were an unbeatable team. We both worked at a terrific pace,
and we fancied prospective advertisers found us almost impossible to turn down.
I think we did pack quite a persuasive wallop at that!
After a month or two of soliciting advertising accounts for the Northwestern
Banker over the state of Iowa, it seemed advisable for me to go in to
Chicago.
Chapter 8
“Becoming a Publishers' Representative”
It was now the fall of 1915. By this time I had a considerable amount of
valuable experience behind me.
I had reached the age when most students had graduated from
college—twenty-three. All this time I had continued my studies, delving into
many subjects, including philosophy and psychology, but my “major,” of course,
had been journalism, advertising, selling, and merchandising, along with
business management. This study had been combined with intensive “field
experience” in contacts and dealings with businessmen over most of the United
States, discussing business methods and problems with them.
Practical vs. Theoretical Education
This education was far more practical than theoretical classroom
instruction out of textbooks usually written by professors utterly lacking in
practical experience. Nevertheless, I frequently wondered, in those days, how my
education would stack up with that of most college graduates. Later I was to
find out.
You will remember, as recounted in the earlier part of this autobiography, that
at age eighteen I had faced, and answered, the question of going to college. I
had chosen the advertising profession. There were no worthwhile courses
available in advertising in the colleges and universities at that time.
On the advice of my uncle, Frank Armstrong, leading advertising man in Iowa, I
had decided on a course of self-study combined with active experience. I had,
except for deviations from my goal, chosen the jobs that would provide the
training I needed for the future, rather than the jobs which paid the most.
Then I purchased books, and borrowed books from public libraries, beside
subscribing to the trade journals in the advertising field, Printers Ink,
and Advertising & Selling. I read a great deal of Elbert Hubbard’s
writings, and continually studied and analyzed the best advertisements in
newspapers and leading magazines. Also, I read a great deal in certain general
magazines, such as the Quality Group of those days, especially World’s
Work. I confined my reading in magazines to informative and
thought-provoking articles, resisting fiction almost altogether. Fiction is the
lazy man’s reading. Like the movies, and today’s TV programs, it is merely a
ready-made daydream, inducing habits of mind-drifting.
These years of self-assigned study enforced mental activity, contacts with
successful men in many varied fields, coupled with the practical experience that
had been mine, had produced an education and training superior to the average
college education.
As president of a liberal arts college with three campuses on two continents
today, I can say that this intensive education from the university of hard
knocks and practical experience in application has made possible a college
offering today’s students a sound and practical education acquiring the
true values! And supplying the “missing
dimension” in education.
Moving to Chicago
My work on the one issue special bank building number of the Northwestern
Banker had been converted into a regular job as advertising solicitor, on a
40% commission basis, with a drawing account.
Right here I hope I may interject a success principle of which the vast majority
seem totally unaware. Here was a temporary job, doing a special one month
edition of a small class journal. But it offered larger opportunities. Those
greater possibilities were visualized, and acted upon! The
temporary job was turned into a steady job as advertising solicitor for one
sectional bank journal. And it led from these to establishing a successful
business as Publishers’ Representative in Chicago.
This is the quality, rare among people (but why should it be?), called
vision. This job on one sectional journal later
was developed into a business as publishers’ representative for nine bank
magazines. Most men are never able to see any possibilities of expanding their
present jobs. They do merely what they are told—what someone higher up thought
out and laid before them. Or they use deceit to jerk the rug out from under the
man above them.
The Bible says that if we do only what we are commanded—what is expected of
us—we are “unprofitable servants” to be cast out “into outer darkness.”
Most people go to one extreme or the other. While the big majority never think
beyond their present jobs—never think out ways to do the job better,
or to develop or expand their own job into something bigger, or to be
preparing themselves for the better jobs ahead and promotions to them, a
minority go to the opposite extreme. They are always trying to do the job
ahead—or the boss’s job—without adequate ability, preparation or experience, and
only throw monkey wrenches into the gears, causing damage, lacking wisdom and
judgment.
Most men never seem to realize how the application of some of these principles
makes all the difference between employee and employer; between mediocrity or
failure and success.
Back to the story. I had now developed the opportunity into a job. But the field
in Iowa was too limited. The nation’s advertising headquarters centered in two
cities—New York and Chicago. After a month or two of developing a few accounts
in Iowa, chief of which had been the Lytle Company and the Fisher Company, I
moved into Chicago.
I made my home at the old Hotel Del Prado, a southside residential hotel on the
Midway, adjacent to the University of Chicago. The one personal friend I had in
Chicago at the time was Ralph G. Johnson, manager of the Merchant’s Trade
Journal’s Chicago office, and I moved into the Del Prado because he lived
there.
The old Del Prado has long since been torn down, and a new skyscraper Del Prado
erected over on the lake shore. The old one was a sprawling three or four-story
frame building, well maintained as a first class residential hotel. Most cities
have residential hotels, and I learned that they are a most satisfactory type of
residence for single people, whether young or old.
Very soon I came to know most of the residents of the Del Prado. The hotel
provided a weekly Wednesday night dance for all guests. The dining room was
cleared to provide the dance floor. There were spacious lobbies and lounge
rooms. There was a sort of unwritten law among guests which dictated that if one
desired social contact, he would find almost any of the other guests receptive
and friendly; or, if he preferred privacy, or to sit alone in the lobby, no one
would intrude.
I lived at the Del Prado almost two years—until a certain Iowa girl came to
Chicago to become my wife. This privilege of living in a large metropolitan
residential hotel was one of the cultural and valued experiences of all those
formative years. It supplied one of those social-cultural influences which many
college students receive by residence in a fraternity house—but without some of
the evils of frat life.
I soon observed that the most popular girl at the Wednesday night dances—or
chatting in the lobbies at any other time—was Miss Lucy Cunningham. Miss Lucy,
as everybody called her, was a white-haired maiden lady in her seventies. She
was especially popular with all the single young men. A few University of
Chicago co-eds lived at the Del Prado with their mothers. But often these
attractive and intelligent young co-eds were forced to play the role of
wallflowers during a dance, while Miss Lucy was always in demand!
She was a charming conversationalist, witty, intelligent, well educated. We
fellows spent many an exhilarating evening hour chatting with her in one of the
lobby rooms—usually three or four young men around Miss Lucy. That was long
before cigarette smoking became habitual with the female sex. In those days it
was not generally accepted as being “nice” for a lady to smoke. Prostitutes
smoked, but not “nice” women. Miss Lucy, however, was a “nice” woman who was a
little ahead of her time. She was “nice” all right, but she dared to do what she
wanted. Miss Lucy smoked cigarettes! Whenever another guest walked past the
grouping of sofas and lounge chairs where we were sitting with her, she would
casually hand her cigarette over to one of the fellows, who would hold it until
the way was clear again. Probably not many, except a number of the young men
residents, ever knew her addiction to smoking.
I didn’t like to see her smoke. It has always seemed disgusting to me to see any
woman smoke. But, remember, I was young then, and fancied I was quite
“broad-minded” about such things. I was not naive. No one is wholly good or bad,
and I liked Miss Lucy for the things that were good about her.
Besides, I myself smoked in those days. You’ll remember how I “swore off
chewing” tobacco at age 5. But I had taken up pipe smoking during those long and
frantic night hours at Wiggins, Mississippi, as an aid to staying awake while I
worked over the books. I had smoked, moderately, ever since. However, I will say
that I was never a heavy smoker. Never more than one cigar a day, or three or
four cigarettes in a day. That’s the reason I did not have the battle many men
have had in breaking the habit, when I saw that it had to be broken. My battles
with myself were in other directions.
An Office of My Own
The first time in my life I had an office of my own was in Chicago. On arriving
there from Iowa, now representing the Northwestern Banker, I opened an
office in the Advertising Building, at 123 West Madison Street, in the heart of
Chicago’s Loop. This location was only a half block off South LaSalle Street,
which is the “Wall Street” of Chicago. Most of the great banks and investment
houses (of Chicago) are located on this street.
The Advertising Building was occupied solely by advertising agencies, publishing
firms, publishers’ representatives, or those of allied lines in the advertising
field. The Ad Club, a division of the Chicago Association of Commerce, had its
club rooms there.
The name of this tall but slender skyscraper has been changed at least twice
since then. Not many would remember it as the Advertising Building today.
Actually, I did not quite open an office, as yet. The fourth floor of
this building consisted of one large general room, with a tier of private
offices forming an “L” around the far side and the rear of the floor. This large
general room was filled with a number of desks. At first, I rented merely desk
space in this open room. It was about two years before my business expanded to
the point where I required, and was able to afford, a private office; and then I
rented one on that same floor. Altogether I maintained office facilities on that
same floor for seven years.
At the entrance of this desk-space room was a telephone switchboard and a
receptionist. She served all tenants on that floor, taking telephone messages
when tenants were out. Through this entire seven years of my tenancy there, the
same alert, quick-thinking receptionist remained at that switchboard. Her name
was Olive Graham. She had an astonishingly remarkable faculty. She could
remember every telephone number that had been given to her for days, and
precisely when the call had come in.
On one occasion, a man attempted to alibi his failure to call me by claiming
that he had called, and left his telephone number for me to call. I took his
telephone and called our switchboard—Randolph 2-100.
“Olive,” I said, “Mr. Blank says he called me three days ago, when I was out,
and left his number, Blank 8-693, for me to call.”
“No, Mr. Armstrong,” replied Olive promptly. “No Mr. Blank called three days
ago, and no one left the number Blank 8-693.”
That was positive proof. Olive was never mistaken. Mr. Blank was forced to admit
he had not made the call. How that girl could carry hundreds of telephone
numbers in her mind I could never understand. I never knew her to miss.
Advertising Tractors to Bankers
Some little time after setting up my own headquarters in Chicago, I had what
might appear to be a most absurd “brainstorm.” Those on our present staff and
our architects well know that these “brainstorms” have a way of continuing, even
today.
They may seem ridiculous or absurd at first thought. But more often than not
they have proven to be very practical and worthwhile ideas. You see, while I was
touring the country as the “Idea Man” for the Merchants Trade Journal, my
job was to look for ideas—practical ideas—ideas
that had been put to work, and had proven successful. That experience taught me
the value of ideas.
In the aptitude tests given prospective employees by one large corporation, one
of the questions was: “Do you ever daydream?” 99 out of 100 applicants, if
they were putting down the answers they supposed the company wanted,
rather than the actual truth, would most surely have answered
“No!” Actually, the company was looking for men
who do daydream in a certain manner. Not the kind of daydreaming that
lets the mind stagnate and drift without thinking—but the kind of thinking
daydreaming that utilizes imagination—that thinks up
ideas, and then mentally puts them to every test to see whether they will
work!
To climb the ladder of ultimate success in accomplishment, one must exercise
vision, and, supplementary to it,
imagination—the kind of active, practical
thinking that produces sound and workable
ideas! The college in which I was trained taught
me these things. The average college education, however, fails to
inculcate anything of this nature.
This “brainstorm”—or idea—was the selling of
large advertising space in the bank journals to
farm tractor manufacturers. Certainly no one had ever heard of such an
apparently preposterous idea before. But it worked, and it paid the farm tractor
industry in a big way—and, incidentally, it put me above the $50,000- a-year
income class (in terms of today’s dollar) while still a youth in my
twenties.
However, that idea required time to develop.
At first, my work in Chicago confined me primarily to the solicitation of
advertising from banks and investment houses which had not previously used space
in the Northwestern Banker. Although I was required to call on, and
render any desired service to the financial institutions which were already
advertising in the Northwestern Banker, I received no commission from any
of this, but only on such new accounts as I developed myself.
This journal was already carrying the advertising of many of Chicago’s large
banks and bond houses. But there were still others.
What a “Correspondent” Bank Is
One might wonder why the larger Chicago banks should carry advertising in
journals read only by other bankers. The answer is that these larger banks in
Chicago and New York do have something to sell to other banks.
They are, in a sense, bankers’ banks. Virtually every bank in Iowa,
Minnesota, North and South Dakota, and Nebraska kept a goodly sum of money on
deposit in at least one Chicago bank. This was a system used by banks to
facilitate the clearing of checks.
Have you ever wondered how checks you send to people in other states are
cleared?
Suppose, for example, you live in Ft. Dodge, Iowa. You owe a bill to a concern
in Muncie, Indiana. You mail the Muncie firm a check on your local Ft. Dodge
bank. The Muncie firm deposits the check in its local bank in Muncie. The Muncie
bank either pays the Muncie firm the amount, thus cashing your check, or it
credits the amount to the firm’s account in the bank.
But, now, how is that bank in Muncie, Indiana, going to get the amount of the
check from you? When you wrote out your check,
drawn on your Ft. Dodge bank, you represented that you
had that amount of money on deposit in the bank in Ft. Dodge. The check is
merely an order for your bank in Ft. Dodge to pay to the firm in Muncie,
Indiana, the amount of your money written on the check. Now when a bank
over in Muncie, Indiana, pays this amount of money to this Muncie firm, the
Muncie bank must have a way to collect your
money from your bank in Ft. Dodge. How?
Banking procedures have undergone some change, and today the Federal Reserve
system is used by member banks to a great extent in the clearing of checks, and
the correspondent system to a lesser degree.
But in those days it was done primarily through this correspondent system. Most
banks scattered over such states as Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin have a
Chicago Correspondent. That is, they keep a sum of money on deposit in a Chicago
bank, for the very purpose of clearing checks. So the Muncie bank has a Chicago
Correspondent. Also the Ft. Dodge bank has a Chicago Correspondent, although it
may be a different Chicago bank.
Here is how the system works. The Muncie bank sends your check to its Chicago
Correspondent bank. On receipt of your check, this Chicago bank credits the
amount of your check to the account of the Muncie bank. Now the Muncie bank has
been reimbursed for cashing your check. If your check was for the amount of
$100, it has $100 added to the amount it has on deposit in the Chicago bank. Now
this Chicago bank must be reimbursed. Through the Chicago Clearing House system,
it sends your check to the Chicago bank which is the correspondent of your Ft.
Dodge bank, which has an adequate amount of money on deposit with its Chicago
Correspondent bank. This bank in Chicago thereupon debits the account of your
Ft. Dodge bank $100. In plainer words, it takes the $100 out of the money on
deposit by your Ft. Dodge bank, which is paid through the Chicago Clearing House
system to the other Chicago bank which is the Correspondent of the Muncie bank.
And finally, the Chicago Correspondent of the Ft. Dodge bank sends your check
back to your bank in Ft. Dodge, notifying your bank that it has taken this $100
out of the money they had on deposit. Your bank stamps your check paid, taking
your $100 which it had on deposit, thus reimbursing itself for the $100
which its Chicago Correspondent took out of its money on deposit there. And at
the end of the month you receive a statement from your bank showing they have
deducted this $100 from your balance on deposit, and enclosing the canceled
check.
This is all not so complicated as it probably sounds. I have taken space to
explain it so simply that a little child can understand it. But I thought it
might be interesting to my readers, most of whom probably never had any
understanding of how checks are cleared from one part of the country to another.
Attending Bankers’ Conventions
My work now brought me into contact with many of the nation’s leading bankers.
Solicitation among Chicago’s larger banks and security firms made it necessary
to cultivate personal acquaintance with those officers directly connected with
the correspondent accounts. This often included one of the vice presidents, and
in some instances the presidents.
Certain phases of the banking business are not generally known by the public.
One of these is the personal acquaintances and contacts maintained among men of
the banking fraternity.
Each state has its state Bankers’ Association, with its annual Bankers’
Convention. These state conventions are well attended by presidents, vice
presidents, cashiers, and even some assistant cashiers, especially those whose
jobs are connected with the correspondent business. Each state is divided into
groups, and each group holds its annual group meeting.
Then on the national level, there is the national A.B.A. (American Bankers’
Association) convention each year, well attended by presidents and top-ranking
vice presidents of the nation’s largest banks.
At these annual conclaves, bankers, so dignified and formal at home and before
customers in their own banks, really “let down their hair,” as the saying goes.
They familiarly call each other by their first names.
To a large extent, this correspondent business between banks is conducted on a
personal acquaintance basis. Although there were two outstanding national
magazines in the banking field, these localized sectional bank journals
maintained a personal contact and hold on their banker subscribers that was not
possible for a national magazine.
There were seven principal sectional or regional journals, all published by men
of outstanding personality. These publishers attended most of the group
meetings, and all of the state and national conventions. They mixed personally
with the bankers of their districts—who were the readers of their publications.
The most eagerly read pages of these monthly journals were the personal gossip
pages. All these sectional journals published a great deal of personal news
about individual bankers in their districts. The bankers of each section, who
knew most of the other bankers personally, were naturally eager to read any
personal news items about bankers they knew—and about themselves!
Since I was now the advertising representative of perhaps the leading one of
these sectional bank journals, I began to attend several of the state bankers’
conventions, and most of the A.B.A. (American Bankers’ Association) conventions.
In this manner I began to form personal acquaintance with hundreds of prominent
bankers—another important factor in my education which had some influence in
preparing me for the real job ahead.
In Chicago were many manufacturers of products sold to banks. Of course I
solicited advertising from these.
The Tractor Brainstorm
I do not remember just how this idea came to
mind about selling large-space advertising to the manufacturers of farm
tractors. But in some manner, through personal contacts with scores of
small-city and country bankers, I had come to realize that tractors, in those
days, were sold for cash—there were no easy-payment plans, or financing
terms offered. The farmers were forced to borrow the money from their bankers in
order to purchase tractors. My conversations with bankers had indicated that
bankers were not, as yet, “sold” on the idea of the farm tractor.
So, in order to get all the facts, I made an
extensive survey. That experience in conducting the surveys at Richmond,
Kentucky, and Lansing, Michigan, had shown the value of fact-finding by survey,
obtaining information from a representative portion, based on the law of
average.
This farm tractor survey was made primarily by mail through questionnaires.
These questionnaires were sent to a thousand or more bankers, and a
representative number of farmers, and a third questionnaire to scattered local
dealers who sold tractors. Simultaneously, I went out on a personal tour of
several states, personally interviewing bankers, tractor dealers, and farmers.
This survey unearthed some startling facts, which tractor manufacturers had
never realized about their business.
The officers of the average bank in the Northwestern Banker territory
owned eight farms. Many had come into this farm ownership through foreclosure of
mortgages. Of course they did not farm, themselves. These bankers either
employed managers to operate them, or rented them out. Multiplying our
circulation by eight, I learned that I had a farm-owner circulation to sell at a
lower cost per page per thousand circulation than the farm papers.
But the principal reason farm tractor manufacturers needed to buy advertising
space in a banking journal was to win the favor of bankers so that they would
readily loan money to their farmer customers for the purchase of tractors. The
bankers were proving a very serious sales-resistance factor. Whenever a farmer
would come into a bank to borrow money for the purchase of a tractor, the
banker, calling him by his first name, would ask:
“What do you want the money for, John?”
And when he learned John was about to buy a tractor, he discouraged John. At
first, when I presented these facts to tractor manufacturers, they scoffed.
“Why, Mr. Armstrong,” they would object, “if the bank they do business with
refuses the loan, the farmers simply go across the street to another bank and
borrow it there.”
“Apparently,” I replied, “you do not realize the personal relationship between
country bankers and their farmer customers. The country banker is a sort of
‘father confessor’ to his farmer customers. They come to him with their
problems—ask his advice. Do you suppose these bankers are so stupid that they
would turn down a loan in such a manner that their farmer customer would be
offended, and go to a competitive bank? I have interviewed scores of bankers on
this point. The banker who feels his farmer customer ought not to spend the
money for a tractor doesn’t refuse the loan—he merely talks the farmer
out of wanting it. He will talk to farmer John something like this:
“‘Well, John, my advice would be to go a little slow before you go into debt to
buy that tractor. As you know, John, I own eight farms myself. And I’m not at
all sold on the practicality of tractor farming. In my opinion, the tractor
hasn’t arrived yet. It’s still in the experimental stage. Now I know, John, that
tractor salesman has probably put up a pretty slick argument. Of course he’s
interested in getting a big fat commission for himself. But I’m
interested in your welfare, John. Now, of course, if you decide to let
that salesman talk you into it, we’ll loan you the money, but my advice is,
don’t do it! You raise your own feed for your horses. But you’ll have to
buy gasoline to feed the tractor. I don’t think
it would pay.’”
In soliciting the advertising of tractor manufacturers, I soon found that their
advertising managers could not buy it, because they were given a definite
appropriation for definite fields—the farm journals, and the farm dealer trade
papers. They had no appropriation for bank magazines, and they lacked authority
to change company policies.
It became necessary for me to go direct to the presidents of factories in the
tractor industry.
This, again, was an experience that afforded personal contacts with several
multimillionaires. Among them was the president of J. I. Case, Mr. Wallis; Mr.
Brantingham of the Emerson-Brantingham Company; George N. Peak, president of
Moline Plow Works, who later became prominent in President Franklin D.
Roosevelt’s N.R.A.; Gen. Johnson, vice president of John Deere & Company, also
later head of one of President Roosevelt’s N.R.A. activities.
Representing Nine Magazines
My one biggest obstacle in this farm tractor field—and also in soliciting
manufacturers of items sold to banks—was the limitation of our circulation to
one five-state region. These big advertisers in the Chicago district advertised
on a national basis.
Also, because of this, I encountered stiff opposition from the advertising
agencies. Advertising agencies serve the advertiser, who is their client,
but they are not paid by their clients. They are paid by the publishers,
on the basis of a 15% agency commission on all billings.
The Agency position was this: It took just as much time, and effort, for them to
prepare a page ad for our little sectional bank journal with some 2,000
circulation and an advertising rate of $40 per page, as for a page ad in the
Saturday Evening Post with a page rate, in those days, of $5,000 (much
higher, in later years!). The Agency would make only $6 for its work on a page
for us, compared to $750 for the same amount of effort for a page in the Post.
I began to realize that I could sell big-space advertising much easier for a
large national circulation than for one small sectional journal.
This brought about another “brainstorm.” Although there were two leading
national magazines in the banking field, they did not provide a sufficiently
complete national coverage. The seven leading sectional journals completely
dominated their respective fields. The only possible complete national
circulation in the banking field could come only by using these nine—the seven
leading sectional journals, and the two national magazines.
But there was still a major difficulty. These various bank magazines had various
page sizes. Agencies usually send ads out in plate form—already set to type. The
necessity of making plates of so many sizes would discourage agencies.
So, about a year or a year and a half after moving to Chicago, I had worked out
a proposition to set myself up as an independent publishers’ representative in
the bank field.
These publications, by whatever methods, had found it cost them 40% to get
business. I proposed to represent all nine magazines, and myself to finance all
solicitation, and send them advertising at a reduction to them of 25% in cost of
obtaining business. In other words, I was to have exclusive representation, on a
30% commission basis, but the magazines were to pay me the entire year’s
commission in advance on all 12-time yearly contracts, upon receipt of signed
contract from the advertiser. They were all to adopt a standard magazine page
size.
But there arose one overpowering obstacle in my path.
Clifford DePuy, about this time, had acquired a second of these seven leading
sectional bank journals—the old St. Louis Banker, the name of which he
changed to the Midcontinent Banker. He objected in loudest tones to my
representation of any other publications. I had been his exclusive Chicago
representative, and he was determined to keep it that way.
I, on the other hand, had become determined to expand my field. I maintained
that I could send Cliff a great deal more business as the representative of a
complete national circulation. He didn’t think so. We really
clashed on this issue.
But, before this issue was finally settled, I had met a certain very
attractive young lady out in Iowa.
I think the time has come to relate a different phase of these life
experiences—my dating girls, and the romantic side of life from the beginning up
to the time of marriage.
Chapter 9
“How I Met My Wife”
In the chronicle of experiences that provided the training for the activities of
later years, none exceeded in import the dating experiences that culminated in
marriage—at least none exceeded the marriage experience.
If it be true, as it definitely appears now in retrospect, that the Eternal God
knew He would call me to the important activity now in progress with
progressively increasing power of impact, and that this early training of
formative years had some measure of unseen and unrealized divine guidance, then
it is true, also, that the selection of my wife and life partner was
providential.
It was through her, years later, that circumstances impelled my conversion and
induction into the Great Commission. This commission, from its beginning had
been a team activity commission in which Mrs. Armstrong shared
equally—even though it may not have been evident to many.
No phase of any man’s life is more important, or has greater bearing on his
future success or failure, than the romantic experiences and their culmination
in marriage. The same is true, conversely, in the lives of girls who have
reached the dating age.
Few young people, today, realize the seriousness of this phase of life. Proper
dating has become virtually a lost art in America. Young people today, it seems,
do not know how to date. Most have little or no conception of the nature of true
love, or the meaning and responsibility of marriage. They are men and women
physically, but they are still children emotionally.
Let me repeat, here, that I was born of solid old Quaker stock. I was brought up
from childhood to believe that marriage was for life, and divorce was a thing
unheard of in our family. Marriage was regarded seriously, and as something not
to be considered by a young man until he had acquired his education and
preparatory experience, and was established financially and in position to
support a wife and family.
Consequently, in my dating of girls prior to age 24, there was no thought of
marriage, except indirectly.
My Dating “System”
And, by “indirectly,” I mean this: I had a “system.” I was conceited enough to
think it a pretty good system. I was aware that I did not really know what love
is. But I had the conception that it was a mysterious thing that might hit a
young man when he wasn’t looking. He might suddenly “fall” for a girl. Once this
happened, so I surmised, the poor victim lost his mental equilibrium. He was
“hooked” and unable to help himself, or if the girl be the wrong one, to
recognize that fact.
I was, in other words, afraid I might be caught off guard and helplessly plunged
into a binding lifelong marriage with the wrong girl. I had heard that love was
blind. If I should fall in love with the wrong girl, I would probably be totally
blinded to the fact she was the wrong one. My life would be ruined! That is, so
I then supposed.
My “system” was born out of fear of this possibility. I didn’t want to get
serious, or think of marriage, before I was advanced enough to support a family.
But, if this “love bug” should stab a hypo love potion into me
prematurely, I wanted to have insurance against being bound to the wrong one.
Therefore my “system” was this: I would generally avoid even dating a girl
unless she appeared, so far as I could then see, to be at least eligible if
I lost my head and “fell” for her. Next, on my first date, one thing was always
uppermost in my mind—to coldly analyze that girl from the point of view
of what kind of a wife and mother she would make, if I lost my head over
her. If she definitely didn’t measure up, I firmly avoided any second date with
her. If I were not quite sure one way or the other, I would allow myself a
second date—if she appeared sufficiently interesting. If a girl passed my
analytical test, then immediately I put all thought of marriage out of mind, but
she remained on the list of girls who were eligible for dates—if
I desired them.
As a result of this “system” I did date girls I felt were well above the
average. I enjoyed a scintillating conversation. If a girl was unable to carry
on her part of such an “intellectual” conversation, or was lacking in any mental
depth and brilliancy, she didn’t interest me enough for another date.
My First Date
I suppose most little boys, around age 4 or 5, pick out some girl they call
their “girl friend.” This is, of course, quite cute and amusing to parents and
other adults. I mentioned, earlier, a little girl who took part in some church
play with me, at age 5.
Then, around nine or ten years of age, a Sunday school chum and I picked out a
girl whom we mutually called “our girl”—only she never knew it. We were too
young and too shy to tell her.
I kissed a girl for the first time when I was twelve. Some of us kids in the
neighborhood were playing “post office.” I think I secretly considered that girl
to be my “girl friend,” though I’m sure she didn’t know it. I do remember her
name.
I also remember the name of this Sunday school girl I secretly shared with the
other boy. But I will refrain from mentioning it, for the other boy finally did
start “going with” her when he became old enough, and wound up marrying her—and
I have heard that she moved to Pasadena.
But my first real date came when I was a freshman in high school. It was with a
neighbor girl who also was a freshman at North High, in Des Moines. The occasion
was some high school event that took place in the evening. I remember I was very
self-conscious being on a street car alone with a girl.
Why is it that so many teen-age boys are bashful
in the presence of girls their age, while girls seem never to be the least bit
embarrassed?
I did continue to “go with” this girl, off and on, for some seven or eight
years, but never was it “going steady” as so many young people do today, and it
was never serious. Never once did I kiss her.
Once, when I was probably twenty-two or twenty-three, on a date with her in Des
Moines, I did start to slip an arm around her. Promptly she took my arm and
placed it back where it belonged. But not because she was a “prude.”
“I wish you wouldn’t, Herbert,” she said simply. “At least unless you are
serious. You’re the only fellow I’ve ever gone with that hasn’t necked with me.
I’d like to keep this one slate clean. It has really meant something to me.”
I wasn’t serious, so my arm stayed home the rest of the evening.
“Necking” Experiences
When I first dated this girl, at about age fifteen, and for some years after
that, I never “necked” with any girl. Only we didn’t call it “necking” then—it
was “loving up,” and back in my mother’s day it was “spooning.” I don’t know
what they called it in Abraham Lincoln’s day, or back in the days of Adam and
Eve. But it’s been going on all these millenniums and centuries, no matter what
any passing generation may call it. It speaks its own universal language. But,
in this autobiography, I shall use the terminology of the present day, for
reasons of clarity.
So far as I know, during the earlier years of my “dating” experience this thing
of “necking” was not practiced in the promiscuous way it is today.
I dated a number of girls I regarded as unusual, and considerably above the
average. One was the daughter of the president of an insurance company. She was
my mother’s original preference, and I think that at the time Mother would have
been pleased had I married her. But neither of us held the slightest romantic
interest for the other. She was an artist and sculptress. I admired and
respected her, however, and, enjoyed an occasional date with her. Then there was
another girl, a neighbor in Des Moines, who excelled as an artist. In fact, this
girl excelled in just about everything she did. I dated her frequently in
Chicago, as I passed through on those “Idea Man” trips, while she was a student
at the Chicago Art Institute. Actually, both of these girls were studying at the
Art Institute. There was another girl in Rock Island, Illinois, with whom I
became acquainted through the above-mentioned two girls, a member of one of the
oldest and most prominent Rock Island families.
But, along about age 21, it seemed that the “necking” pattern was being ushered
in. In those years I wanted to be “modern” and to keep up with the times. I
began to think that perhaps I was being considered a little behind the times,
and decided that perhaps I ought to start “necking” a little—at least after a
second or third date. I don’t think many indulged in it on the first date, in
those days.
At that time I was dating a girl in Des Moines who was a special “buddy” of a
girl who was going “steady” with a chum of mine. The four of us double-dated
frequently. So I began the popular pastime of “necking.” Only it was then called
“loving-up.” The girl didn’t object. Her father was dead. Her stepfather was an
automobile dealer, and frequently, on our dates, we were taken riding in their
car with her stepfather and her mother. We “necked” openly in the back seat. Her
parents seemed to think nothing of it.
Then one night on their semi-secluded front porch, she became especially
serious. She began to tell me how much money her father had left her, and she
felt we ought to begin to plan what to do with it.
This came like an electric shock. I realized she was seriously taking marriage
for granted. Such a thought had never entered my mind. I told her so. This
stabbed her right in her heart. “But if you’re not serious, and thinking of
marriage, what on earth have you been ‘loving-up’ with me for?” she asked.
I explained that she was the first girl I had ever “necked” with—that I had come
to believe I was being considered old-fashioned by the girls—that it had seemed
to me that it was being done generally, and that girls expected it. I did it
because I supposed it was the thing I was supposed to do.
At this she burst into tears and ran into the house. This sudden turn of affairs
shocked and hurt me deeply. I knew I had hurt her, and that made me feel like a
cad. Next day I called on the telephone to apologize. Her mother answered.
“My daughter has told me all about it,” accused the mother with icy scorn. “She
never wants to see you again!” She hung up the receiver.
So my first experience in “necking” came to an unhappy and semi-tragic end. I
hope this girl later became really in love with the right man for her,
and found a happy marriage. She was a fine girl and deserved it. But I have
never heard from or about her since.
Truth About Necking
I have wished very much that I could have known, in those days, what I am able
today to teach the class in “Principles of Living” at Ambassador College. For
had I realized the truty about this practice
called “necking,” that very fine girl would have been spared the humiliation of
confessing love for one who was not in love with her.
But I didn’t know such truths in those days. My standards were those of the
other young people my age in the world—that is, the standards of those young
people who had ideals and good intentions—but based on the way that
seemed right to us humans.
It was totally against my code of morals to “insult” a girl—which, according to
those human standards meant carrying “necking” beyond the point of “decency.”
That I never did in my life. I felt I knew where to “draw the line.” And I
was always careful to observe that human-reasoned line.
But all young people are not that careful. What I did not then know is that even
any “necking” at all—harmless as it is supposed to be—is the very first phase of
the four phases of sexual intercourse! In very plain and frank language,
“necking” belongs in marriage as a definite
part of the marriage relationship. Humans
usually reverse what is right. They indulge in this preliminary act of sexual
arousal prior to marriage as a part of dating—and then dispense with it
after marriage, thus often ruining and breaking up marriages!
I didn’t realize, then, how many countless acts of fornication, and premarital
pregnancies, are caused by this supposed harmless and popular custom of
“necking.” The “new morality” has replaced the strong convictions some of us had
about where to “draw the line.”
I Meet Two Pretty Girls
Up until 1917 I had never thought really seriously of any girl. I liked the
company of girls. In my vanity I fancied that I had been dating the real
“cream-of-the-crop”—girls considerably superior to the average. But during these
years I was still “going to school”—in the way I had decided was best for
me—acquiring knowledge of my chosen field, gaining experience, preparing myself
to make big money later.
In my foolish conceit of those days, I was cocksure that I was headed for
outstanding success. But I had certain ideals and convictions, and one of them
was that a young man ought not to think of marriage until he was prepared to
assume the responsibilities of marriage—especially that of supporting
a wife! The idea of my wife having to get a job to help earn the living
would have crushed my spirit—would have been the supreme disgrace!
In January, 1917, I was in Des Moines on one of my regular trips to Iowa,
renewing contracts and soliciting new ones. My mother had written that her twin
sister, my Aunt Emma Morrow, was stricken with pneumonia, and asked me to visit
her on this trip. So I took the short side-trip to the Morrow farm, 30 miles
southeast of Des Moines, and a short mile north of the crossroads town called
Motor, which consisted only of a store, schoolhouse, church, and two or three
houses.
I found my aunt considerably improved, and convalescing. During the afternoon a
girl from Motor, two years younger than I, came to see my aunt. She was
introduced to me as a cousin—but only a third cousin. Immediately I was
impressed. She was pretty, and seemed to be an unusually nice girl. Her name was
Bertha Dillon, and her father owned the store at Motor. He was my mother’s first
cousin.
I was enjoying a conversation with her, when, about 4:30 in the afternoon, her
older sister, Loma—just my age—came bounding in. That’s not an exaggeration. I
hadn’t seen such fresh, joyous, “zip and go” in a long time. She
literally exuded energy, sparkle, good cheer, the friendly warmth of a sincere,
outgoing personality.
Now I was much more impressed! She was even prettier than her sister.
There was something different about her—something wholesome that I liked.
She was the school teacher at Motor.
“Where,” I asked myself inwardly, “could I have been all my life, never to have
run across these two cousins before?” At that time, although these girls
were rather distant cousins, I thought of them only as “cousins.”
This was about the middle of the week. My cousin, Bert Morrow (he was a first
cousin), just one year my junior lacking a day, drove me over to the little town
of Beech to take the evening train to Des Moines. My aunt’s nurse was returning
to Des Moines on the same train. Loma rode along with us in the “Model T” to
Beech. I learned that she was planning to go to Des Moines Saturday morning to
do some shopping.
“Why,” I asked, “don’t you bring Bertha with you, and meet me at noon for lunch,
and we’ll take in a movie in the afternoon?”
It was a date.
Only, when I met her Saturday noon, she had not brought her sister. I had
preferred to meet Loma alone, but I had felt that propriety demanded that I ask
both girls.
I took her to luncheon at Des Moines’ nicest place at that time—the Harris-Emery
department store Tea Room. It was one of the finest department store tea rooms
in the nation.
I was really enjoying this date. She didn’t know it then, but Loma was being
intensively analyzed. No thought of marriage, you understand—just routine, as I
always did on a first date. She seemed to be a girl of sound-minded good sense
and high ideals. She had superior intelligence. There was a mental depth
most girls lacked. I was well aware that she was utterly lacking in
sophistication. She was not, in fact, completely “city broke.” There was none of
the haughty social veneer—none of the acquired artificial mannerisms of the
eastern “finishing school” products or the social debutante. Indeed, I perceived
she was a bit naive. She was completely sincere in trusting and believing in
people. She had not seen or learned much of the rottenness and evils of this
world. She had that innocent, completely unspoiled freshness of a breath of
spring.
Also, from the instant when she first came bounding in at my aunt’s farm,
I had noticed she was almost something of a tom-boy—active, very alert. Whatever
she did, she did quickly. I learned later that her brothers dubbed her with two
nicknames—”She-bang” and “Cyclone!” She was full of fun, yet serious—with
the unspoiled wholesomeness of an Iowa country girl. And, most important of all,
strength of character!
I observed quickly that although she was alert and active-minded, hers was not
one of those flighty surface minds, active but shallow. She was able to discuss
serious and deep things intelligently. She was very much an extrovert, but not a
shallow, gossipy chatterbox.
Although I noticed, and became immediately well aware of these qualities, no
thought of falling in love, or of marriage, entered my mind. I thought of her
only as a cousin. Perhaps I had so disciplined my mind in regard to marriage
that it automatically avoided such thoughts. But I did want to see more
of her—definitely!
She Rated a Second Date!
After the luncheon conversation, which must have lasted more than an hour and a
half, we went to a movie. I remember nothing whatever about the movie—I do
remember holding a soft, warm hand.
I always stayed at the Brown Hotel in those days—a residential hotel on the edge
of the business district. After the movie, we walked over to the hotel lobby. I
ran up to my room, picked up a package of family pictures I happened to have in
my suitcase, returned to the lobby and showed the pictures to her.
I remember that among them was a “Cousins’ Letter” I had initiated. Ever since I
could remember from earliest childhood, my father’s generation had kept a family
letter circulating. It made the rounds, perhaps once in nine months or a year,
from coast to coast. Some of the Armstrong family were in New Jersey and
Atlantic coast locations. Some were in Ohio and Indiana, some in Iowa, Colorado,
and some in California. Each time it came around, my father removed his letter
which now had gone the rounds, wrote and inserted a new one. I had organized a
“Cousins’ Letter” of our younger generation. It made about two rounds, and
apparently died a natural death. But this big packet of letters had just
finished its first round, and I remember showing it to my new-found cousin. She
however, was a third cousin on my mother’s side of the family. This circular
family letter only included the “Armstrong” cousins.
Then I took her to her evening train to return home.
I have mentioned my “system” of analyzing girls on the first date. Loma had been
duly analyzed. She passed the test with a perfect grade. She rated a second
date!
In fact, the more I thought about it, she rated it without delay! I lived in
Chicago. If I were to have another date with this very attractive young lady any
time soon, I decided it had to be next day!
Accordingly I hopped the morning train, called my cousin Bert Morrow to drive
over to Beech after me, and, to everybody’s surprise, here I was to “see my
aunt” again! I don’t remember, now, how I maneuvered to get Loma up to my
aunt’s, but I do remember spending considerable time with her there. And she
remembers a walk out on the country road in the deep snow.
I also remember holding her hand again—much to the dislike of my uncle and aunt.
After I left, they began to warn her against me.
“Now Loma,” they admonished, “you’d better let Herbert alone. He reads those
magazines written by that awful Elbert Hubbard, and he’s probably an atheist. He
probably doesn’t ever go to church anymore!”
But I had asked Loma to write, and she said she would.
So now the “dating” was continued by mail. I must have had her a great deal on
my mind, for I wrote to her almost every day, and received several letters a
week in return.
A year and a half before, I had felt that the Iowa territory was rather “dead”
for new business for the Northwestern Banker. There was more business to
be had in Chicago. But now, of a sudden, Iowa seemed to become very desirable
territory again, requiring more frequent visits from me.
The next Iowa trip seems to have been some time in February. On a later Iowa
trip in May or June, we had a double date in Des Moines with Loma’s number one
girl chum and her fiancé. At an amusement park, we took a roller coaster
ride—Loma’s first in her life—and also her last! She was so frightened
that she unconsciously had a firm, almost death-like iron grip on my trousers
just above the knee as we came to a stop—much to her embarrassment and the glee
of her chum and fiancé! She was such a modest person that this was terribly
mortifying!
But I am getting ahead of the story.
As we continued the acquaintance by correspondence, we exchanged ideas on many
subjects. I wanted to know what she was interested in—what she believed—what her
ideas were. She seemed to have high ideals, and I discovered that she was
seriously concerned about religious truth—more so than I. I had virtually no
interest in religion.
Business seemed to require my presence in Iowa again in early April, and then
the first week in May.
I “Fell”
In our correspondence, we had exchanged ideas and ideals on such subjects as
“necking.” Of course I had never, as yet, made any advances toward her in this
direction—except for holding her hand a few times. Her letters said she didn’t
believe in “necking.” I would not have been a normal young man if I had not
determined to put her to the test on that.
It was about the 7th or 8th of May that she met me again in Des Moines. During
the afternoon, we went out to one of the spacious parks where wild flowers could
be picked.
As we were sitting, or leaning on our elbows on the ground, opportunity came for
me to slip an arm around her shoulders, and, leaning over her, plant a healthy
kiss on her lips. She didn’t resist.
Sitting back up, I grinned and asked, “Now are you angry with me?”
“Uh-huh,” she smiled.
I wasn’t quite sure what to think, now, after she had expressed such
disapproval of anything of this sort in her letters. But it was not just
a frivolous kiss to her, as I was soon to learn.
We returned to the apartment of my uncle Frank Armstrong and his family. I was
taking a midnight sleeper for Sioux City, and she was to remain at my uncle’s
for the night.
When it came time for me to leave for my train, Loma came out into the corridor
of the apartment building to say good-night. Suddenly, impulsively, she reached
her arms around my neck and planted a good earnest kiss on my lips!
This, I suddenly realized, was serious.
In a daze, I left. I couldn’t sleep that night for hours. Nothing had ever hit
me like this before. That had not been any ordinary “necking” kiss! I knew that
was, as they say today, for REAL! It came
on impulse straight from the heart. She had kissed me because she really
meant it! It produced an emotional upheaval inside me—a totally new
experience. Through the mental daze I began to realize this was
love.
I hasten to add, however, that this emotional thrill I experienced was produced
because of the circumstances leading to it. No one should suppose that
being really in love must hit one with the kind of emotional wallop I
experienced.
In Sioux City next morning, the first thing I did was to call on a doctor whom I
knew. I asked him if there was any reason why third cousins ought not marry.
He only laughed. “None whatsoever,” he said. “Third cousins are no cousins at
all, so far as marriage is concerned.”
Returning to Des Moines a few days later, I went back down to Motor. It was the
night of May 13th. We walked down the roadside, past the old Quaker Church
building and graveyard. I told Loma that I knew, now, that I was in love with
her.
Tragedy Threatens!
This seemed to come like a shock to her. Apparently she had not thought of it in
just this way before, but now, suddenly, it dawned on her that if we were
married it meant living in Chicago, in more cultural and, as she supposed,
sophisticated surroundings than she had known. This sudden realization
frightened her.
She stammered that she was not sure.
That statement fell on me like a ton of bricks! I had never doubted, in my
confident conceit, that if and when I ever did fall in love it would be mutual.
Now, suddenly, came the realization that I might be faced with tragedy!
But I knew the right answer. I wish more young people, “falling” for one
who is not in love with them, could know this right answer. Most
young fellows, it seems, would start pleading with the girl to marry them,
anyway. That is definitely not the right answer.
“In that case, Loma,” I said regretfully, soberly, but firmly, “I don’t want to
ever see you again—that is, not unless, or until you find that you, too, are in
love. I certainly wouldn’t ask you to marry me if you don’t love me. It would
only wreck both our lives—and I love you too much to ruin your life.”
We were walking back to her home, which was on the second floor over the store.
We sat down for a while on the steps of the store.
It was momentarily difficult to understand, now, why she had kissed me as she
did that night outside the door of my uncle’s apartment. Was I merely receiving
just retribution for causing the first girl I had ever “necked” to fall in love,
when I didn’t love her?
I asked Loma for an explanation.
She explained, then, how the sudden thought of marriage had frightened her. She
and I had lived in two different worlds. I had been city born and city reared. I
had travelled a great deal. I was worldly wise. I knew the world and was a part
of it. I lived in one of the world’s largest and most metropolitan cities. She
was a country girl. How would she be able to act and live in the sophistication
of a city like Chicago?
“Loma,” I said seriously, “you’re a real diamond. Maybe you haven’t had the
exterior polish of an eastern finishing school applied. Most of those girls have
outer polish, but no qualities underneath. It’s mostly a lot of put-on and
make-believe. It isn’t real. But you are real,
Loma, and you have the quality of good character
all the way through. I can see to putting on what polish you’ll need. I don’t
want, and never could love, a lot of pretense and empty-headed sophistication!
You have the real qualities for a good
wife and the mother of my children. It’s you I
love, and I know now I can never love anyone else. Don’t worry about the lack of
social training and sophistication. That stuff can be bought a dime a dozen!
It’s trash! I don’t want it! All I want you to
decide is whether you’re in love with me, as I am with you.”
Then, rising, I said finally, “Just one thing I want you to promise me. As soon
as you’re sure, in your own mind, whether you’re
in love—either way—I want you to telegraph me just one word—‘yes’
or ‘no’—and I’ll understand.”
She promised. I walked away toward my aunt’s house, a mile down the road. There
was no good-night kiss.
Chapter 10
“Marriage Plans Complicated by War”
I had no intention of returning to the store at the crossroads “town” called
Motor. But next morning my Aunt Emma Morrow found it necessary to do some
shopping, and asked me if I would drive her in their Model T Ford.
How my aunt maneuvered me into the upstairs rooms I do not remember. But I
distinctly remember sitting on the bed in a bedroom, my aunt in front of me on a
chair, and Loma Dillon sitting beside me, with the box of old family pictures on
her lap.
The Unspoken Answer
As we were looking over the family pictures, my Aunt Emma told us that my Uncle
George had courted her and that they became engaged to be married in those same
upstairs rooms, over the store. Then suddenly, when my aunt and Bertha had their
eyes on a picture, Loma leaned over and whispered in my ear that she had
something to tell me, a big secret. I “got the message” and squeezed her hand,
but neither of us gave the others any idea of what had happened under their very
eyes.
Not a word was spoken at the moment. But of course Loma and I knew I had
received the unspoken answer. She was now sure. And the following morning,
waiting at the depot for the train to take me to Des Moines, we agreed we were
engaged to be married.
Actually, I had never proposed—that is, in so many words. We simply
knew—and verbally agreed that we were engaged.
The Cloud of War
But even the happiness of knowing we were in love and engaged to be married was
clouded by the war. The United States had been drawn into World War I, declaring
war on Germany April 6, just five weeks and four days before we were engaged. It
had left my future gravely in doubt.
Immediately after the declaration of war, or as soon as the call went out for
voluntary enlistments for the Officers’ Training Camp at Ft. Sheridan, Illinois,
I had applied for entrance.
The Army did not have a fraction of the needed number of commissioned officers.
It was impossible for West Point to graduate the required number quickly. To
meet the emergency, Officers’ Training Camps were set up immediately at various
locations. Intensive rush training had to be given to qualified applicants in
time to provide officers to train draftees and volunteer soldiers in the large
cantonments all over the country as soon as they could be built.
To qualify for admission to an Officers’ Training Camp, a candidate was required
to be a college graduate or its equivalent. Lacking a degree, the equivalent had
to be testified to by three men of known prominence. I was very glad to be able
to obtain a letter from Arthur Reynolds, President of Chicago’s largest bank,
the Continental & Commercial National (now the Continental-Illinois National),
saying he had been personally acquainted with me for several years (I knew him
when he was President of the Des Moines National before he went to Chicago) and
considered that I had acquired considerably more than the equivalent of a
college education. I obtained similar letters from an official of Halsey-Stuart
Company, prominent investment bankers, and from my friend Ralph G. Johnson,
manager of the Chicago office of The Merchants Trade Journal.
Immediately I purchased an army officers’ military manual and began to study.
Also I enrolled in a drill class organized for preliminary training of officer
candidates at one of the armories. But as an army officer I was certainly a
“greenhorn” as evidenced by a snapshot I had of Ralph Johnson and me
patriotically trying to salute in front of the Hotel Del Prado, where we both
lived. I had not yet learned that a soldier must keep his heels together.
Attempting to Be an Army Officer
I successfully passed the physical examination, and received notice that I had
been accepted for admission, with orders to report at Ft. Sheridan on a definite
date, which I do not now remember.
Then a few days before I was to enter camp, a second notice came. It advised me
that in the last minute rush the Army had received six times as many
applications as it could accept, and consequently first choice had been given to
those with previous military experience, and secondly, to the taller men. I was
only average height for those days. The notice expressed great appreciation by
the government for my patriotism, but regretfully notified me that I could not
now be accepted. However, I was advised that I might apply for enlistment in the
second session after graduation of the first, some three months later.
Immediately I applied for entrance into the second Officers’ Training Camp.
Again I was accepted, and notified to report on a definite date. But again, at
the last minute, an overflow of applications by men of previous military
experience or taller men crowded me out.
I applied for admission in the Quartermasters’ Corps, feeling that if I could
not enter the army as an officer, I could serve better in its business
department than as a private. But here again the rush of men enlisting was too
great, and this department was already filled to capacity.
“Well,” I said in some disappointment, “I’ve tried. Now I’m going to let them
throw a rope around my neck in the draft and come and get me.”
Meanwhile, as related above, Loma and I became engaged on May 15th.
The Marriage Problem of Every War
And immediately we faced the age-old problem that always has confronted engaged
couples in time of war. Many of my readers also faced this same problem, either
in World War I, World War II, the Korean war or the war in Vietnam. Those of you
who have will understand.
I felt that our marriage should be postponed until after the war, as most men
feel at such times. Loma wanted to be married before I donned a uniform—as girls
in love usually do.
Our arguments will bring back memories to those of you who also found yourselves
in love in time of war.
“Suppose,” I argued—as perhaps millions of men have argued—”I should be
seriously wounded, and come home crippled for life. I wouldn’t want you to be
tied for life to a disabled man. And then you’d never be free to marry another.”
“I would never want to marry anyone else,” she countered. “And if you
should come home crippled or disabled, then more than ever I would want to be
your wife to help you. But if we were not already married, you’d be too proud to
marry me then—you’d think I was marrying you out of pity, and you’d refuse. So I
want to be your wife before you go into the army.”
“Yes, but I might even be killed in action, and then you’d be a widow. I would
rather leave you still single and free to marry someone else.”
“If you should be killed,” came her immediate answer, “then I would want
to be your widow. And as for falling in love with anyone else, you look here,
Herbert Armstrong! Do you think you could fall in love with some other
girl?”
“No of course not!” I replied.
Around and around we went. As fast as I could think of another reason for
waiting until after the war, she countered with a ready answer. We simply could
not agree.
Finally, “Tell you what I’ll do,” I concluded. “I will take our problem to the
chairman of my draft board. He is a college professor, Prof. J. Paul Goode of
the University of Chicago.”
Finally she agreed to this.
One of my strongest arguments against pre-war marriage had been the fact that
thousands were getting married to escape the draft. At the outset of World War
I, married men were not being drafted. Those who married to escape the draft
became contemptuously referred to as “slackers.” I did not want to be called a
“slacker.” I was sure that Dr. Goode would advise me not to marry prior
to war service.
Accordingly, as soon as I returned to Chicago, I sought and obtained an
interview with Dr. Goode. He listened attentively, asked questions, got all the
facts. Then he surprised me by advising me to marry Miss Dillon at once.
It is, of course, difficult to remember many details and dates of such events
after forty-one years. But a letter to my mother (then in Weiser, Idaho,
partially reproduced in this volume), brings much vividly to memory.
This letter was written Friday night, July 20th. The first drawings of draft
numbers, to determine by lot which men would be called to camp first, had taken
place in Washington, D. C. that morning. My registration number was 1858. It was
one of the earliest numbers drawn. I wrote that I figured I would be among the
first 80,000 men drafted in the entire country. And since an army of some four
million was actually put into service, it was apparent that I would be called to
training camp on the very first group.
It appeared, however, that due to delays in building and equipping the training
camps the first contingent would not be sent to camp before October 1st.
I had been out to Motor, Iowa, visiting Loma on this trip and now was on my way
back to Chicago. However, on getting this news of my early draft, I stated in
this letter: “This is Friday night, so I am going back to Motor early in the
morning, to spend Saturday and Sunday with Loma. It’s getting harder to remain
away from her, someway, and I can’t return to Chicago now without another visit.
Loma still wants to be married before I go (into service). I have put up every
possible objection to it I could think of, and they are numerous, but she
brushes them all aside, says she has considered them all and still wants to (be
married first).”
We Set the Date
Next morning Loma and her father met me at the depot with their Ford car. I had
given her, by long distance telephone, the news of the draft. For the first time
she was not beautiful. She was sobbing. Leaning her head on my shoulder, her
tears dripping down my chest, she sobbed that she wanted to be married before I
went to camp.
What man is strong enough to resist a woman’s tears?
My Aunt Emma had been on her side. Professor Goode had been on her side. And
her tears were on her side. I was unanimously outvoted—for this swung even
me over on her side—and I acquiesced, as I suppose men have done in such
circumstances ever since Adam and Eve.
We decided to be married as soon as possible. She needed a week to make all
preparations to come to Chicago. I needed a week to locate a place for us to
live. It was now July 21st. My twenty-fifth birthday was the 31st. We decided
she was to be the finest birthday present of my life.
Sunday night I caught the sleeper in Des Moines for Chicago. Loma spent a busy
week sewing and preparing. The minister’s wife gave a shower for her, attended
by nearly everyone in the neighborhood. Mrs. Gertie Shoemaker, mother of one of
her first grade little girls, Irene, worked steadily with Loma, sewing, all that
week. She is still one of Mrs. Armstrong’s best friends, whom she visits
whenever she is in Iowa—and that little first-grade daughter of Mrs. Shoemaker
is today herself the mother of a fifteen-year-old daughter, Mary Kay.
Meanwhile, in Chicago, I had succeeded in renting a nicely furnished apartment
for six weeks from a family going away on vacation. It was located on the North
side on Wilson Avenue, between the Evanston “L” line and the lake.
The Wedding Day
On Monday, July 30th, Loma, accompanied by her father and stepmother (her own
mother had died when she was twelve), did her final shopping in Des Moines, and
boarded the night sleeper for Chicago. We had arranged for her to leave the
train at suburban Englewood station, and I was to meet her there.
She would never let me forget that I was ten or fifteen minutes late in
arriving. Never having been in so large a city before, she was frightened. She
telephoned my office, but I was on an “L” train en route to meet her.
I was imbued with the advertising man’s flare for first impressions. In those
days I felt very proud of Chicago. I always enjoyed showing visitors the
biggest or the largest
of everything—the largest stockyards in the world, the largest store, the
largest theatre (until New York built bigger). I wanted my bride’s first glimpse
of Chicago’s “Loop” to be the impressive Grant Park view, overlooking Michigan
Boulevard. So I took her on an “L” train over to the Illinois Central commuter
train in Jackson Park, thence to the “I. C.” commuter station in downtown Grant
Park.
We walked through Chicago’s “Loop,” up to my office, where by this time I was
sharing a private office with another tenant; then a block north on Clark Street
to the County Building and the Marriage License Bureau, where we obtained our
marriage license.
We had lunch at the then most famous Chinese restaurant in Chicago, King Joy
Lo’s. We went back out to Jackson Park on the South Side, took some camera
pictures, then to the Hotel Del Prado where I had lived for nearly two years. I
asked Miss Lucy Cunningham, the 70-year-old most popular “girl” in residence at
the Del Prado, to accompany us as a witness to the marriage ceremony. She took
Loma to her room for a little relaxing rest and freshening up. Then we three
walked a short distance to the residence of Dr. Gilkey, pastor of the Hyde Park
Baptist Church. I much admired his preaching.
I had made arrangements beforehand for the wedding at the home of Dr. Gilkey. He
had been unexpectedly called out of the city. But his father-in-law, a Dr.
Brown, pastor of the Oak Park Baptist Church, was on hand to perform the
ceremony. Dr. Brown was a very handsome and distinguished appearing elderly man.
Mrs. Gilkey was the second witness.
And so, in what I have always felt was the nicest simple little wedding ceremony
I have ever seen, with only five people present, we were married for the
remainder of our natural lives, and I placed the wedding ring on her finger and
kissed my own darling wife.
I myself have since officiated at so many weddings I have long since lost count
of the number—some of them somewhat more elaborate, with many guests—some as
plain and simple as our own. But somehow I have always felt there is no nicer
wedding than a plain, simple ceremony without ostentation of formal dress, with
only the minister and two witnesses present.
I think it is usually the brides’ mothers who engineer the lavish weddings.
In any event, we were married, not as so many deluded people are today, “till
divorce do us part,” but till death do us
part.
The Unrecognized Call
Our first home together seemed to us to be a very lovely apartment. Of course we
were to have it only six weeks, but it was nice while it lasted. It had to
substitute for a honeymoon. The beach was only about two blocks down Wilson
Avenue. We spent many hours there.
One night my wife had a dream so vivid and impressive it overwhelmed and shook
her tremendously. It was so realistic it seemed more like a vision. For two or
three days afterward everything else seemed unreal—as if in a daze—and only this
extraordinary dream seemed real.
In her dream she and I were crossing the wide intersection, only a block or two
from our apartment, where Broadway diagonally crosses Sheridan Road. Suddenly
there appeared an awesome sight in the sky above. It was a dazzling
spectacle—the sky filled with a gigantic solid mass of brilliant stars, shaped
like a huge banner. The stars began to quiver and separate, finally vanishing.
She called my attention to the vanishing stars, when another huge grouping of
flashing stars appeared, then quivering, separating, and vanishing like the
first.
As she and I, in her dream, looked upward at the vanishing stars, three large
white birds suddenly appeared in the sky between us and the vanishing stars.
These great white birds flew directly toward us. As they descended nearer, she
perceived that they were angels.
“Then,” my wife wrote a day or two after the dream, in a letter to my mother
which I have just run across among old family pictures, “it dawned on me that
Christ was coming, and I was so happy I was just crying for joy. Then suddenly I
thought of Herbert and was rather worried.”
She knew I had evidenced very little religious interest, although we had
attended a corner church two or three times.
Then it seemed that, from among these angels in her dream, that, “Christ
descended from among them and stood directly in front of us. At first I was a
little doubtful and afraid of how He would receive us, because I remembered we
had neglected our Bible study and had our minds too much on things apart from
His interests. But as we went up to Him, He put His arms around both of us, and
we were so happy! I thought people all over the world had seen Him come. As far
as we could see, people were just swarming into the streets at this broad
intersection. Some were glad and some were afraid.
“Then it seemed He had changed into an angel. I was terribly disappointed at
first, until he told me Christ was really coming in a very short time.”
At that time, we had been going quite regularly to motion-picture theatres. She
asked the angel if this were wrong. He replied Christ had important work for us
to do, preparing for His coming—there would be no time for “movies.” (Those were
the days of the “silent” pictures.) Then the angel and the whole spectacle
seemed to vanish, and she awakened, shaken and wondering!
In the morning, she told me of her dream. I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to
think about it, yet I was afraid to totally dismiss it. I thought of a logical
way to evade it myself, and still solve it.
“Why don’t you tell it to the minister of the church up on the corner,” I
casually suggested, “and ask him whether it means anything.”
With that, I managed to put it out of my mind.
Let me say here that in about 99,999 times out of 100,000, when people think
God is speaking to them in a dream or vision in
this day and age, it is pure imagination, or some form of self-hypnotism or
self-deception. I have only come to believe that this dream was a bonafide call
from God in the light of subsequent events.
Do not hastily ascribe a dream to God. True, the Bible shows that God has
spoken to His own chosen servants by this means of communication—primarily in
the Old Testament, and before the writing of the Bible was completed. But most
dreams mean nothing. And false prophets have misled people by telling false
dreams, representing their dreams to be the Word of God (Jeremiah 23, where God
says, “I am against prophets who recount lying dreams, leading my people astray
with their lies and their empty pretensions, though I never sent them, never
commissioned them”—verse 32, Moffatt translation).
Certainly I did not ascribe this dream to God. It made me feel a little
uncomfortable at the time, and I was anxious to forget it—which I did for some
years. I was twenty-five at the time. God left me to my own ways for five more
years. But when I was age thirty, He began to deal with me in no uncertain
terms, and from that time every business or money-making venture I attempted was
turned into utter defeat.
The Draft Classification
Upon return of the people from whom we rented the apartment, we stayed on in the
bedroom we had occupied a few days. A friend of theirs, a desk clerk at Hotel
Sherman, was looking for temporary tenants on a similar basis. His wife and
children were to be gone a month. He kept one room for himself, and rented the
rest of the apartment to us for the month. Then we moved to a single bedroom of
an apartment occupied by a Mrs. Brookhart in the same general North Side
neighborhood, where we had dining room and kitchen privileges at times when Mrs.
Brookhart was not using them. By this time we knew that we were to become
parents.
It was about this time, probably late September, that the draft boards had their
questionnaires ready for filling out. The questionnaire included a question as
to marriage status, whether there were children or a pregnancy; and also a
question regarding religious affiliation. I wrote down “Quaker,” but realizing
the Quakers were being granted exemption as conscientious objectors, I wrote in
the words: “I do not ask for exemption because of Church affiliation.”
I was still expecting to go to army camp as soon as the camps were ready. But no
call came, and a few weeks later I received my draft classification card. Dr.
Goode had personally marked it “Class IV, Noncombatant,” probably because he
remembered I had married on his personal advice, with no intention of evading
the draft.
I have mentioned that I sold advertising space by first writing the copy and
selling that. Always these ads were carefully gone over with my wife before
submitting them to prospective advertisers. The surveys made were discussed and
planned with her active participation. From the time of marriage, we have always
been partners in whatever was my work.
I remember her saying, not many days after we were married: “They say a wife
either makes or breaks her husband. Well, you just watch me make mine!”
But do not receive the impression that she “wore the trousers” in our family.
She was a woman of purpose, of ideas, vision, depth of mind, resourcefulness and
great initiative. But the responsibility of being head of the family was mine,
and I have assumed it.
An Emergency Call
About one o’clock one afternoon a telephone call came from my wife. It was a
desperate emergency call. She was sobbing so that she could hardly talk.
“Something terrible has happened,” she said between sobs. “Hurry! Come home
quickly!”
“What’s happened?” I asked. She couldn’t tell me, over the telephone. “Just
hurry home—quick! Oh, it’s terrible!
Hurry!”
I ran full speed to the elevator, and out to the street below, where I hailed a
cab. No time to take the “L” train. I asked the cab driver to rush full speed to
our address.
Dashing up the stairs two steps at a time, I ran into our apartment and took my
sobbing wife in my arms.
“What on earth is it?” I demanded.
Then she told me, still sobbing. She had lost faith in two women!
“Those women told dirty stories!”
She had been introduced to an elderly woman by the people of the second
apartment we had occupied after marriage. She had seemed such a kindly, nice old
lady. My wife had gone to visit with her several times.
On this particular day, this lady was entertaining my wife and one other woman
at luncheon. These two women began to tell dirty stories and laugh at them. Mrs.
Armstrong was shocked. She had never heard that kind of language come from the
mouth of a woman before. She was horrified! Manners or no manners, she suddenly
excused herself, and ran from the woman’s apartment. She continued running all
the way to our apartment and immediately called me.
I looked at my innocent, naive, trusting little wife incredulously!
“Is that all!” I exploded, almost speechless. “Look here, Loma! Do you mean to
tell me you called me away from an important business conference, and caused me
to waste cab fare all the way out here, for nothing more serious than that?”
My sweet, trusting little wife was so broken up at having to lose faith in
people that I found it necessary to remain with her the rest of the day. We took
a long walk out Sheridan Road, and probably then went to a movie to get her mind
off of it.
The disillusionment she experienced in Chicago caused her a great deal of
suffering. She learned that many if not most people in a great metropolitan city
become hard, suspicious, selfish, more mechanical than human.
Chapter 11
“Our First Child”
For some four months after our wedding day we lived on the North Side of
Chicago, near the lake. During that brief period we had occupied two furnished
apartments and one furnished room.
About Thanksgiving time, 1917, we moved into a single room on the South Side. We
sub-rented this room from Charley and Viva Hyle in their apartment some short
distance south of 63rd Street.
Charley Hyle worked on the night shift at an automobile assembly plant. My wife
and Viva became good friends. Actually, although we rented only the one bedroom
with kitchen and dining room privilege, we shared the entire apartment with
them—living room, as well as dining room and kitchen.
By this time we knew we were going to become parents. Our first baby was due the
latter part of May.
Our First Child Born
It probably was the affirmative checkmark on the pregnancy question on my
draft-board questionnaire which caused the Board chairman, Professor J. Paul
Goode, to give me a Class 4, noncombatant, draft classification.
We lived with the Hyles until very shortly before the time for our baby to be
born.
In January, 1918, my wife accompanied me on a business trip to Des Moines. We
both wanted our baby to be born in Des Moines. Mrs. Armstrong had formed an
intense aversion to the artificial and mechanical city of Chicago.
Arriving in Des Moines, my wife found that her girl chum’s mother was in the
hospital, having just given birth to her tenth child. The modern method of
hospital delivery with anesthesia was just then becoming the vogue. This
particular mother recommended it to my wife, and also her doctor, a woman
obstetrical physician, Dr. Georgia Stuart.
Mrs. Armstrong preferred a woman doctor, and I did not oppose. Consequently, a
visit was made to Dr. Stuart’s office for a check-up and instruction, and she
was retained.
Our baby was due to be born about May 25th. We made our next trip to Des Moines
well ahead of time—so we supposed—arriving on Sunday, May 5. On Monday we went
to the doctor’s office for a check-up. I needed to take a week’s business trip
to Sioux City and other points.
“You are in splendid condition,” Dr. Stuart assured my wife. “There is every
reason to expect the baby to go the full time, and I believe it is perfectly
safe for Mr. Armstrong to be away for the remainder of this week.
My wife’s sister, Bertha Dillon, came to stay with her in our apartment in The
Brown, a residential hotel where we always stayed when in Des Moines. I left
that day for Sioux City.
About two o’clock Thursday morning Mrs. Armstrong knew the baby was about to be
born. Two weeks prematurely, she called Dr. Stuart on the telephone, and the
doctor told her to get dressed and she would drive past the hotel and take her
to the hospital at once.
In those days women wore high-top laced shoes, and in the excitement of the
emergency, much frightened due to the fact I was away and this was her first
childbirth experience, Mrs. Armstrong was too nervous to lace up her shoes, and
her sister had a frightful time trying to get those high-tops laced up!
Finally they made it and were ready to leave. Bertha sent a telegram to me
telling me to race to Des Moines on the first train.
This trip I was staying at the West Hotel in Sioux City. For some reason I slept
a little late that Thursday morning. Coming down for breakfast around eight, I
looked in my box at the desk, and the clerk handed me the telegram, which had
arrived there at 3:30 a.m.
“Quick!” I exclaimed, “when does the next train leave for Des Moines?”
“The only train all day to Des Moines left about 15 minutes ago,” was the
terrifying answer.
I was outraged!
“Look at this telegram!” I thundered at the hotel clerk. “It arrived here at
3:30 a.m., in plenty of time for me to have caught that train.
Why didn’t you call me or send it to my room?”
“Well, I suppose the night clerk didn’t want to disturb you,” was the
nonconcerned and exasperating answer.
I could not have been more angry!
“Now look!” I said sharply, “There’s got
to be some way to get to Des Moines before that train tomorrow morning!”
“Well,” said the hotel clerk, “there is a train leaving for Council Bluffs and
Omaha in about thirty minutes, but I don’t know whether you could make any
connection from there to Des Moines.”
In that thirty minutes my bags were packed, and I had boarded that Council
Bluffs train. At the depot I learned that if we were on time at Council Bluffs,
there was a chance to race across town in a taxi and catch a train on the Rock
Island line due in Des Moines about six o’clock that very evening.
Quickly I scribbled off a telegram to my sister-in-law giving the train number,
and requesting her to wire me on the train, at some town along the way, the news
of my wife’s condition.
A Father Suffers Birth Pangs
Nervously I kept inquiring at every train-stop for a telegram. There was no
telegram. The suspense was building up. It was becoming almost unendurable.
We did arrive at Council Bluffs on time. The taxi made the mad dash across town.
The taxi driver thought I might take three minutes to try to get a long-distance
telephone call through. There had not been time to try to get Bertha by
telephone at Sioux City—I just barely caught that train. The cab driver stopped
in front of the telephone office. I raced in and tried to make the connection
with Des Moines. The three minutes ran out on me before they got the call
through.
I just caught the Rock Island train for Des Moines on the run.
But the train didn’t seem to run—it seemed to slow down to a slow walk.
WHY didn’t that train go a little faster? It didn’t seem in any hurry. It made
all the stops.
Time dragged. My nerves raced. The suspense built up.
I don’t think we arrived in Des Moines at six that same night. I think it was at
six several nights later. At least so it seemed to me.
After an eternity of anxious suspense, before the train came to a full stop, I
was the first passenger off at Des Moines. I ran full speed to a telephone at
the newsstand in the depot.
A nurse at the Methodist Hospital said sweetly, “You have a fine new
seven-pound-nine-ounce daughter.”
I didn’t even hear that.
“I don’t care a hang about that,” I snapped back, “HOW’S MY WIFE?” All
day long I had lived through the agonizing hours not knowing whether my wife had
lived through it.
You see, this was my first experience at becoming a father. I didn’t know yet,
then, that the doctors will tell you they’ve never lost a father yet.
“Oh,” said the sweet little nurse’s provokingly slow voice, “she’s just
fine!” At last I could relax a little, as I
raced to a cab and asked him to drive full speed to the hospital.
Babies Don’t Stop Breathing
Stepping briskly into my wife’s private hospital room, I was greatly relieved to
see her smiling happily, reaching her arms toward me. I kissed her, and almost
immediately a nurse brought in our little daughter, Beverly Lucile. She was the
most beautiful baby I had ever seen! I was a very proud father.
Mrs. Armstrong has always had a penchant for naming babies. She has named
dozens—perhaps scores of them—wherever and whenever other mothers would allow
her to name their babies. Of course she had Beverly named long before she was
born. Had she been a boy, my wife had decided to name him Herbert Junior. But by
the time our first son was born, more than ten years later, we had both changed
our minds about the name “Junior.”
Just as the baby was born, my wife, only partially under the ether, asked:
“What is it, girl or boy?”
“It’s a girl,” answered Dr. Stuart.
“Girl! Beverly!” said Mrs. Armstrong with emphasis in her
semi-anesthetized stupor.
After ten days the doctor released her from the hospital, and our little family
of three and Bertha resumed life at The Brown. There was a small balcony off our
apartment. The baby was laid on the bed, and we sat down out on the balcony.
We heard a slight sound from the baby.
“Quick!” exclaimed my young wife in nervous anxiety, “see if the baby’s still
breathing!”
I had to rush inside to reassure her that babies just don’t stop breathing for
no reason at all.
Whenever the baby made a sound, Mrs. Armstrong was sure she was choking to
death. When she did not make a sound, my wife was sure she had smothered to
death.
In our apartment was a small kitchenette. The baby’s first bath away from the
hospital was quite an experience. Mrs. Armstrong’s first experience! She
was so afraid the baby would take cold, she turned on the stove until the
kitchenette room was so hot the baby screamed. The young mother didn’t know why
the baby screamed—became frightened, supposing something terrible was wrong with
the baby. Both sweat and tears rolled down my wife’s face. She was afraid for
any air to touch the baby, so she hurried frantically with the bath! When the
baby cried and even screamed because of the excess heat and lack of oxygen, her
young mother, not knowing what caused the baby’s discomfort, burst out crying,
too—but with determination she finished the bath! Many young mothers have many
things to learn, the same as young fathers!
The Flu Epidemic
It was now after the 20th of May, 1918. The flu epidemic had struck the United
States, during the very crisis of the war. People were dying all over the
nation, and especially in the larger cities.
We decided against taking our baby back into the congestion of Chicago. Instead
we rented a house in Indianola, Iowa, 18 miles south of Des Moines, where there
were fewer people to come in contact with and less danger of being exposed to
the new influenza disease. The house we rented was close to the Simpson College
campus.
Leaving my wife and baby with her sister Bertha, I returned alone to Chicago to
look after my business. At the railroad depots boxed caskets were being loaded
on the baggage cars of most trains—bodies of influenza victims. We had not
wanted to risk exposing our new baby by a train ride to Chicago. In Chicago I
saw people in the congested “Loop” traffic wearing cloth masks over their mouths
and noses to prevent breathing a flu germ.
After some three months we decided the family could not remain apart any
longer—nor could I afford the frequent trips to Iowa to be part time with my
family, so I brought my wife and baby daughter back to Chicago. This time we
rented a room with a family named Bland, who had an apartment on the South Side,
south of 63rd Street, not far from the Hyles, who had moved away by this time.
I began to concentrate more and more on developing the farm tractor business for
The Northwestern Banker. As mentioned in a previous chapter, Clifford
DePuy, publisher of The Northwestern Banker, had purchased the old St.
Louis Banker at St. Louis, and changed its name to the Mid-Continent
Banker.
He appointed a former acquaintance of mine, R. Fullerton Place, as Editor and
manager of the Mid-Continent Banker. Some years before, when I was 18 years of
age and a solicitor in the want-ad department of the Des Moines Daily Capital,
Mr. Place had been Sports Editor of the Capital. We always called him by
his youthful nickname, “Rube” Place.
Also I mentioned, in an earlier chapter, that after this “farm tractor
brainstorm” hit me, I had made extensive surveys to gather facts and information
not possessed by tractor manufacturers about their distribution problems.
With this information accurately tabulated and analyzed, I was able to approach
the manufacturers in the tractor industry with facts they themselves did not
know about their own selling and distribution problems.
I found that bankers invariably discouraged their farmer customers from buying
tractors. The readers of my magazines—the country bankers—were talking thousands
of farmers out of buying tractors after local dealers had talked them into it.
Our readers provided a major sales resistance.
It was, therefore, important to the tractor industry to “sell” the bankers on
modern mechanized farm methods.
Doing Business With Millionaires
It became necessary to do business direct with the presidents of these great
corporations. Thus, once again, I was thrown into business contact with
important millionaire executives. These contacts were important in the early
training for the job I was destined to be called to later.
I soon learned, however, that it was difficult to induce the head of a great
corporation with national distribution to advertise in one small bank journal
covering only five states—or, after the purchase of the Mid-Continent Banker,
even the two small localized sectional journals. They were accustomed to doing
business in a big way—of national scope.
I think I must have caught some of their vision. Later, when the media of radio
and the printing press were opened to me in the big Commission, it seemed
natural that my thinking was constantly along lines of expansion—first from Lane
County, Oregon, to the Portland area; then the entire Pacific Northwest; then
California and the entire coast; then national; then, finally as of today,
worldwide! I think my readers will be quick to
grasp how these years of business training provided the necessary foundation for
the great Work of today.
Of course all these farm tractor manufacturers placed all their advertising
through advertising agencies. In the agencies, even more than in the offices of
tractor corporation presidents, I was tremendously handicapped by representing
only a small sectional circulation. They, by contrast, bought space on a
national basis.
The New Brainstorm
This situation inspired the new brainstorm, also previously mentioned in this
autobiography. There were seven leading sectional bank journals, and two
national magazines with more scattered banker circulations. It required all nine
of them to cover the entire nation with an intensive national circulation.
I compared my situation to that of actors in show business. An actor in a
theatre on Broadway gets paid for one performance each night, but to play before
many thousands of people he must act the part all over again night after night.
But a movie actor in Hollywood, I reasoned, acted the part just once, and it was
seen in hundreds and hundreds of theatres. The Hollywood stars were paid in
hundreds of thousands or millions of dollars, while the Broadway actors were
paid in hundreds of dollars. The movie star received multiple
compensation for the one effort.
I saw that it would be far easier for me to sell a national circulation
for a string of nine magazines on the one effort. In other words, it would be
easier to make nine commissions on the one solicitation, than one commission.
Immediately this idea met emphatic and determined resistance from Clifford
DePuy. I was his Chicago representative, and he was not going to share my
services with anyone else!
I told Cliff I was absolutely certain I could send him more business under the
new setup, at only 30% commission, than I could as his exclusive representative
at 40%. He believed that I could not get as much business for his magazines
sharing my time with seven others as I could devoting all my time to his
magazines alone. It was like the irresistible force meeting the immovable
object.
We were both strong willed.
It came to a climax one night in the offices of the Mid-Continent Banker
in St. Louis. I had been in St. Louis soliciting business. Mr. DePuy was there.
I needed to draw an expense check as advance commission in order to have train
fare to return home in Chicago.
“O.K.,” said Cliff, “agree to give up this fantastic idea of representing seven
other journals, and remain exclusively my representative, and I’ll give you the
check.”
He “had me over a barrel”—so he thought!
Actually, his ultimatum was entirely fair and reasonable, from his point of
view. But I couldn’t see it that way. To me it meant more business than ever for
him, and at 25% reduction in cost of getting it. I felt he ought to help get me
established in it.
Round and round we went. Neither would give in.
Mr. Place tried to cause me to give in. He quoted Scripture. “The Bible says,
‘To him that hath shall be given; and to him that hath not shall be taken away,
even what he hath.’ In this case Cliff hath, and you hath not!
You’ll simply have to give in, Herbert, or you have no way to get back to
Chicago.”
“I’ll never give in!” I retorted with increased determination and set
jaw. “I’ll start to walk back to Chicago before
I’ll give up this new plan. If you won’t advance me expense money, I might as
well leave the office and start walking. I’ll find a way to get home and
develop this string of bank journals!”
When Cliff saw how determined I was, on the showdown, he was not willing to let
me start walking all the way to Chicago. He gave me the needed expense money.
I will say, however, that I did my best to make it a good investment, and
succeeded. I did send him a great deal more advertising under the nine-magazine,
national-circulation setup than I could have done otherwise—and at lower
commission.
In those days I worked sporadically in streaks.
I seemed to have my “off” days and my “on” days. When I was “on,” I was “red
hot,” and, as I fancied, at least, very brilliant. But on the “off” days it
seemed I couldn’t sell anything. I became very uncomfortably aware of this great
fault, and I tried to fight it, but it took me years to overcome it. But I did
overcome it eventually.
Actually, during these next few years, I did not work more than four or five
days a month. But, with the nine magazines and a national circulation, the
commission on a half-page, or a full-page contract for one year was rather
large. I did not need to have too many of the brilliant days to make a good
year’s income.
From memory, my income for that year 1918 was approximately $7,300; for 1919
approximately $8,700; and for 1920 over $11,000. When you consider what a dollar
in those days was worth, those were very good incomes by today’s standards.
The Curtis Opportunity
Not very many knew of that fault of working in spurts on my “on” days. The
business contacts didn’t, because I only called on them on the “good” days. On
those days I was supremely self-confident, and consequently effective.
Soon I knew and was known by almost every advertising agency in Chicago.
Representing the nine leading bank journals—having virtually a monopoly
representation in the banking field—now with an intensified national circulation
to offer, enhanced my prestige greatly with the agencies. They came to know me
as a publishers’ representative who “knew his stuff.” Also, they had learned, by
the latter part of 1918, that I was absolutely honest in statements about bank
journals—whether those I represented, or competitive journals.
Since bank journal circulations were very small, even though extremely high in
class, the page rates were comparatively low. Agencies made very small
commissions from business placed in bank journals. Having confidence in my
knowledge and honesty, most Chicago agencies came to rely almost altogether on
my advice relative to any space used in the banking journals.
At that time the biggest organization in the publishing field was the Curtis
Publishing Company of Philadelphia, publishers of The Saturday Evening Post,
The Ladies’ Home Journal, and The Country Gentleman. They were
regarded as the most aggressive people in the publishing business. It was a
matter of great prestige to be on their staff.
Along about this time the Curtis organization was looking for a brilliant and
promising young cub solicitor who showed promise of developing into a high
executive position. They inquired of space-buyers and contact men in most of the
leading advertising agencies for recommendations of the most promising man in
the field soliciting the agencies. I was one of the top two recommended by the
Chicago agencies, and was called to the Curtis Chicago office, where their
western manager offered me the opportunity to join the Curtis staff.
It was a very flattering opportunity. However, I wanted to be
sure before making a change. By this time I had
finally learned the lesson of sticking with a thing, and not shifting around. I
went to Arthur Reynolds, President of the Continental & Commercial National
Bank—Chicago’s largest bank, and second largest national bank in America—for
advice.
He pushed a button on his desk. Immediately a secretary appeared.
“Bring me our file on the Curtis Publishing Company of Philadelphia,” he said.
The file was quickly produced. He scanned over it quickly. I noticed that the
material in it was red-pencil marked, so as to call to his attention quickly the
most vital information.
“I’m going to advise you to remain where you are,” he concluded within a few
moments. “The Curtis people are a big prestige organization. But you’d be just a
cub with them, starting near the bottom. It would be years before you’d be
noticed by any of the men at the top. Some of these big companies take good care
of their men, others pay small salaries. The Curtis people do not have to pay
big salaries for the job or office held. With them you’d be a little frog in a
big puddle. Where you are, you are a big frog in a little puddle. You have your
own business. You have developed it so as to bring yourself into constant
contact with big and important men. In my judgment this is better training for
your future success than anything you would get with the Curtis organization. It
is flattering, of course, that the advertising agencies have rated you one of
the two most promising and effective young advertising solicitors in Chicago.
Take this as encouragement to drive yourself on to greater accomplishment. But I
think you are doing well right where you are.”
I took his advice. The Curtis offer was turned down.
An Irate Competitor
An incident occurred about this time which illustrates the confidence that had
been built up in the advertising agencies of Chicago.
One day the space buyer of the Critchfield agency called me on the telephone.
“There’s a Mr. Chazen here,” he said (the name has been changed for obvious
reasons). “He says he is publisher of three bankers’ magazines, one circulating
in Illinois, Indiana and Wisconsin; one in Nebraska, and one in Kansas and
Oklahoma. Is it any good?”
It was not. It was a fake. I told him the truth.
“No, it’s a plain fake. He really has a good circulation in Nebraska, but that
is all. He puts a different cover with a different name on a very few copies and
calls it by the name of his supposed Illinois, Indiana and Wisconsin paper; then
he puts still a different cover with another name on a few copies, supposed to
be a magazine circulating in Kansas and Oklahoma. I have survey reports from
every bank in Illinois and Wisconsin. His supposed magazine for these states has
exactly four subscribers in Wisconsin, and 17 in Illinois. That’s all.”
“Thanks, Armstrong,” said the Critchfield space buyer.
It took this irate publisher about 12 minutes to hotfoot it across the Loop to
my office.
“Armstrong,” he shouted as he burst in the door, “what kind of a game are you
playing, anyway? It seems you’ve got all the agencies in Chicago hypnotized so
that no one else can get any business here without your approval. All right!
I’ll pay! What’s your price? What have I got to pay you to lay off, and
recommend my three magazines?”
“Sit down, and cool off, Mr. Chazen,” I said. “Sure I’ve got a price. The price
is simply whatever it is going to cost you to build an honest circulation for
those two fake papers of yours, and join the Audit Bureau of Circulations, and
prove your circulation by an ABC audit. Then I’ll recommend your magazines for
nothing.”
“Why, Why!” he puffed and stammered, “that’s outrageous! That’s
impossible! Do you know what that would cost
me?”
“Sure I know. But it’s the price of being honest!”
“It’s an outrage!” he kept shouting, as he
stomped out of my office.
There was another occasion when an agency had a client who needed all the banker
circulation he could get in Minnesota. In addition to the Northwestern
Banker, I recommended a Minneapolis bank journal that had a good strong
circulation in Minnesota. Its publisher came to see me and thank me. He had a
good honest circulation in Minnesota, and where it fit a marketing problem I was
glad to recommend it.
Our New Apartment
We were still living in our little three-room apartment at Blands when the World
War I ended, November 11, 1918.
We shall never forget that day. We had Beverly with us at my office. Chicago’s
Loop went crazy—berserk! We joined in tearing thick telephone directories into
thin strips and throwing them out our fourth story window. Everyone was doing
it. It was like snow falling all over the Loop. I got out in the throng for a
while—managed to elbow my way for some two blocks—then fought my way through the
jam back to the office. Every whistle and siren was going—every car honking full
blast!
About that time I learned of a new apartment building being built out in
Maywood, third suburban town west of Chicago. I was beginning to get some of the
tractor advertising for my nine magazines, and we felt that at last we could
lease a full apartment. I leased this one, on the third floor, from the
architect’s blueprints, about the time the foundation was being laid. The
apartment was on Fifth Street, a block or two north of the Northwestern railroad
tracks.
It was going to be several months before the apartment building would be ready
for occupancy. Nevertheless, in January we rented an old house on Second Street
in Maywood, a few blocks from the new apartment building. My wife’s father had
decided to come to Chicago, and he bought furniture for the house. Her younger
brother, Walter, had been released from the Navy and he and Bertha also lived
with us in this place.
We lived there some six months. Beverly learned to walk there. The elder of my
wife’s younger brothers, Gilbert, returned from the trenches in France,
discharged from the Army; and so, with his two sons back from the war, my wife’s
father shipped his furniture and moved back to Iowa.
We then moved for a few weeks into the hotel in Maywood. Maywood was a totally
different type suburb in those days than it is today. It has grown immensely and
has become a big factory town.
The frame hotel caught on fire while we stayed there, an incident of great
excitement. In one room a couple of excited guests threw the mirror off the
dresser out the window, breaking it into many fragments and then they carefully
carried down the stairs the dresser itself.
We soon found a furnished house on Fourth Street we could rent until our
apartment was finished. While living in this house, shortly prior to occupying
the new apartment, my mother came to visit us, and remained until we had moved
into our apartment.
All the while business was improving. We felt able to furnish our new apartment,
and engaged one of Marshall Field’s decorators to work with us in the
furnishings for the apartment. What we selected was of the very best. Our own
apartment—the first that was our very own since marriage—seemed a joy indeed.
We had moved into the furnished house in early December, 1919, and into our
apartment in April, 1920.
By this time we were expecting our second child. My wife was having
difficulties. Within a week or two after moving into our new apartment, and only
a few days after my mother had returned to Salem, Oregon, Mrs. Armstrong was
stricken with toxemia eclampsia, with urinalysis showing 40% albumin, and rushed
to a hospital. We were told that there was only one doctor in the world who
could save her in her serious condition—and this specialist was called in. She
survived, and our second daughter, Dorothy Jane, was born in a Des Moines
hospital on July 7, 1920.
There was one lasting ill-effect from this critical illness—the treatment that
was administered ruined my wife’s beautiful golden hair—the most beautiful I had
ever seen—and in a comparatively short time she was white-haired.
The world-famous obstetrical specialist brought in on my wife’s case in Chicago,
her Des Moines doctor, and my wife’s uncle who was a captain in the Medical
Corps in the Army, all told us that another pregnancy would mean the certain
death of my wife and of the baby. Although we did not know why at the
time, we learned much later we were of the opposite Rh blood factor.
Chapter 12
“Depression Strikes!”
Shortly after our second daughter, Dorothy, was born, I persuaded my younger
brother, Russell, then twenty, to come back to Chicago and join me in the
advertising business. He had been employed in an office job with the Portland
Gas & Coke Company in Portland, Oregon.
My Brother’s Experience
I gave him what instruction and coaching I could, and sent him out calling on
prospects to sell advertising space for our magazines. But after several days—or
perhaps two or three weeks—he didn’t seem to be doing so well. I knew he had not
had any of this kind of experience. So I decided to take him on a call with me,
to observe the manner in which I talked with prospective advertisers. I decided
that we should call together on someone I had never met before.
The J. I. Case tractor account had just switched to a new agency I had never
contacted. I decided to make the call on the space buyer of this agency. It was
one of my “on” days, and about 10:30 in the morning.
I wanted to set a good example for Russell, to show him how it was done. We went
together to the agency office. Briskly, and with dignity I stepped up to the
receptionist.
“Tell Mr. Blank that Mr. Armstrong is here to see him,” I said in a positive
tone. I had found that this approach usually got me right in on my man.
The space buyer came out to the reception office, holding my card which I had
sent in by the receptionist.
“What bank journals do you represent?” he asked.
“The nine largest—all of them that are worth using,” I replied snappily
and positively, and in a tone of authority.
“Well!” he exclaimed, “come in!”
In his office I immediately launched into the situation my surveys had
disclosed, slapping down on his desk a pile of hundreds of questionnaires from
bankers and tractor dealers, and taking out of my briefcase the typed
tabulations and summaries of the surveys.
He was tremendously impressed.
“Mr. Armstrong,” he said after we had covered the material in the surveys, “I
wonder if you could prepare for me a statement of the combined circulations,
page sizes, rates, et cetera, of your publications.”
“I have it right here—already prepared for you,” I said, handing the statement
to him.
He asked me to prepare for him some other statement. I reached into the
briefcase and handed it to him. He asked if I would send over to him sample
copies of each of my magazines. I reached in the briefcase, and handed them to
him.
“Well,” he said finally, “that just about covers everything. Now tell me, Mr.
Armstrong—I see you know this problem thoroughly, and you know your own
publications. Just what do you advise for this J. I. Case account—which
magazines, and how much space ought they to use to accomplish their objective
with the bankers?”
“They should use nothing but full pages,” I said, speaking authoritatively, “and
they should use all nine publications for a concentrated national circulation,
because the J. I. Case distribution is national; and they should use it every
issue on a year-around basis because they have an educational problem which is
going to require constant educational-type copy over an extended period of time.
You’ve got to change the attitude of bankers in regard to mechanized power
farming. That’s a big order. It can only be done with big space, and it’s going
to take time. And here I have for you the data and arguments you should
incorporate into the advertising copy to convince the bankers. These are the
facts that will convince them if you present them in important-size space and
keep it up month after month.”
I handed him the typed statement of facts, data and arguments which my surveys
and personal interviews with bankers had indicated would be most effective in
changing banker attitudes toward tractors.
He thanked me, and Russell and I left.
Record-Breaking Contract
Out in the hall, on the way to the elevator, I asked Russell: “Do you think we
will remain on the J. I. Case list, for renewal contracts for another year?”
“Boy!” exclaimed Russell, “will we! Why, I think he will do just what you
recommended. Why, you had him literally eating right out of your hand.”
“Well, did that experience help you, Russ?”
I was completely surprised at his answer.
“No! It certainly didn’t! Instead, it showed me why I haven’t been landing any
contracts. Look, Herb! I’m only twenty years old. They think of me as just a
kid. You are twenty-eight. You’ve been in this for years, and you’ve had
experience I haven’t had. You have all the facts right on your tongue tip. You
speak with assurance and authority. You know your stuff, and men you talk to
know that you know your stuff. They have confidence in you immediately. But
I don’t have all this knowledge yet, and I don’t appear as mature, and I can’t
talk as confidently.”
I was disappointed. To try to help my brother, I had really keyed myself up to
“put on a good show” for him on this call. It boomeranged. It reacted in
reverse. It discouraged him. And I didn’t know what to do about it. What he had
said was true. It would take him years to gain maturity of appearance, and the
knowledge of all these merchandising and distribution problems, just as it had
taken me years to acquire this knowledge and maturity.
That same afternoon the space buyer in the agency we had called on that morning
called me on the telephone.
“Hello, Mr. Armstrong. I have some good news for you. I didn’t tell you this
morning, but while you were here, the president and advertising manager of the
J. I. Case Company were here in the office of our president, making up the lists
for the next year. I took all your data list.”
“Splendid!” I replied, “but how much space?” I was already carrying the J. I.
Case account, with half-page space in only three magazines.
“Full page,” he replied.
“Splendid! But how many magazines?”
“Oh,” as if he had not thought to tell me, “all nine of them.”
“Splendid! But how many months?” I was having to drag it out of him.
“Fifteen months,” he replied. “We will start with the October numbers, using
October, November and December of this year, and then the entire calendar year
next year, making a total of 15 pages in each magazine.”
“Wow!” It was the biggest advertising contract ever sold for bank journals, so
far as I knew. And so far as I know, it probably is still the record today. By
this time advertising rates on all my magazines had gone up considerably. My
commission on this order was probably around $3,500—a good fee for about one
hour’s consultation that morning!
For some little time longer I tried to keep Russell on the job, not soliciting
tractor accounts, but smaller-space advertising. But he was just too young. He
procured a job with one of my clients, a burglar alarm manufacturer, selling
their burglar alarm system to banks. He traveled for some months in northern
Illinois and in Wisconsin, gaining some valuable experience, getting together
Board meetings in banks to present his product to them. But, although he did
better on this, his youth proved too great a handicap, and finally he returned
to Portland, Oregon, and to his job with the Gas company.
Depression Strikes
In January, 1920, the well-known statistician Roger Babson was the speaker at
one of our Association of Commerce luncheons then being held each Wednesday in
the Cameo Room of the Morrison Hotel. Through the Advertising Club, a division
of Chicago Association of Commerce, I had been a member of the Association for
some years.
We were then at the very height of a wave of postwar prosperity.
“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Babson, “we are about to enter the worst business
depression that our generation has ever experienced. I advise you all to set
your houses in order. I advise against any further plans of expansion until this
depression has passed over.”
Seated at tables in that large room were leading bankers and business executives
of Chicago. I glanced around. I saw amused smirks animate the faces of many
prominent men.
Through the next few months of 1920 business activity continued its boom
upswing.
In the summer of that year I attended the American bankers Association national
convention in Washington, D.C. While passing the White House one day, I was
stopped at the driveway for a large limousine emerging from the White House to
pass. In the rear seat was President Woodrow Wilson. He smiled and waved his
hand to the two or three of us who happened to be passing at the moment.
Mr. Wilson was the fourth President I had seen in person. At age five or six,
when we lived in Marshalltown, Iowa, held in my father’s arms, I saw President
William McKinley. He was making a rear platform address from his private train.
The event was so vividly stamped in my memory that I remember it distinctly,
even though I was scarcely out of babyhood at the time.
I saw and heard President Theodore Roosevelt several times, both during his
administration and afterward. I sat within about fifteen feet of him at an
Association of Commerce banquet in the ballroom of Hotel LaSalle in Chicago. I
saw President Taft, when he made a speech in Des Moines, Iowa. But since seeing
and waving back to President Wilson that day in 1920, I have not seen a single
President in person—though of course, since television, most of us have seen
every President many times; and I had seen all presidents since Wilson in
newsreels.
A highlight of that 1920 convention trip to Washington, D.C. was a long
conversation I had, lasting more than an hour, with John McHugh, in the lobby of
the Willard Hotel. Mr. McHugh was then president of the Mechanics and Metals
National Bank of New York. Later, through consolidations of this bank and others
into the gigantic Chase National Bank, Mr. McHugh was elevated to a position two
levels higher than the president of the largest bank on earth, with the title
“Chairman of the Executive Committee.”
But one might ask: “What price Glory?” in the business world, after all.
A very few years ago I stopped in at the Wall Street offices of the Chase
National Bank, and asked for information as to the latter days of John McHugh.
“Who? Never heard of him!” was the only reply I could get from those of today’s
staff that I questioned. Had he been a glamour-boy movie star instead of a
world-famous banker, his name might have lived after him more effectively.
I was really puzzled about one thing. John McHugh was the very epitome of a
quiet, cultured, dignified gentleman. He was extremely courteous, kindly,
polite. Naturally he had many friends and many who posed as friends. How
could a soft-spoken and kindly gentleman like John McHugh turn down a
conniving, scheming, professing “friend” who might come to him for a large
undeserved loan?
“Didn’t friends and acquaintances take advantage of such a gentle soul?” I asked
one of my bank journal publishers.
He laughed. “Oh, no,” he explained. “Don’t worry about the wrong kind taking
advantage of John McHugh’s friendliness. His judgment is very keen, else he
would never have risen to such high level in the banking world. Nobody puts
anything over on him. He simply remains gracious and friendly, and explains that
loans of this type are handled by such and such officer. He then offers to
introduce the would-be borrower, expressing confidence he will be well taken
care of. He always is. Such procedure is the signal to the other officer to turn
the man down. The would-be borrower friend, of course, becomes angry and furious
at this other officer—but not at Mr. McHugh, who still retains the friendships.”
Before the end of 1920, Roger Babson’s predicted depression did strike—with
sudden and intense fury. By January, 1921, we had reached and passed its lowest
ebb.
“Thermometers on the Wall”
At this time Roger Babson once again was the guest speaker in the Morrison Hotel
Cameo Room Association of Commerce luncheon.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “you will remember that a year ago I warned you that
within one year we would be in the throes of the worst depression our generation
has ever seen. I noticed many of you smiling unbelievingly then. Well, that year
has rolled around, and here I am again, and here is the depression with me.”
Chicago business leaders were not smiling now. Mr. Babson then proceeded to
explain why he knew what was coming and business executives did not.
“It is now mid-winter,” he said. “If I want to know what the temperature is,
now, in this room, I go to the wall and look at the thermometer. If I want
to know what it has been, up to now, and the existing trend as of the
moment, I look at a recording thermometer. But if I want to know what the
temperature in this room is going to be, an hour from now, I go to the source
which determines future temperatures—I go down to the boiler-room and see
what is happening down there. You gentlemen looked at bank clearings, indexes of
business activity, stock car loadings, stockmarket quotations—you looked at the
thermometers on the wall; I looked at the way
people as a whole were dealing with one another. I looked to the
source which determines future
conditions. I have found that that source may be defined in terms of ‘righteousness.’
When 51% or more of the whole people are reasonably ‘righteous’ in their
dealings with one another, we are heading into increasing prosperity. When 51%
of the people become ‘unrighteous’ in their business dealings with their
fellows, then we are headed for bad times economically!”
I have never forgotten Mr. Babson’s explanation. I hope my readers today may
remember and profit by it, too.
I paid with the loss of my business to learn the lesson!
Every one of my big-space advertisers in the tractor and similar industries went
into economic failure in that flash depression of late 1920. It wiped out my
business and source of income—literally!
I was not a quitter. I had learned, now, not to give up. But I had not learned
that a dead horse is dead! For two years
I stayed on in Chicago vainly attempting to revive a dead business.
Chapter 13
“Business Disintegrates”
The next two years—from late 1920 until December, 1922—were discouraging years.
A few nationally known business executives, unable to take the reverses of the
depression, sank to despondency and committed suicide. One of these was the
president of one of the large automobile manufacturing concerns whom I had known
personally.
I had been knocked down, stunned, made groggy—but not knocked out. Desperately I
clung on, hoping to climb back on top.
Conference with Millionaires
One morning—it must have been about February, 1921—a telephone call came from
the secretary of the National Implement and Vehicle Association. An important
meeting of the Board of Directors of the association was in progress. Mr. Wallis
(I do not now remember his initials), president of the J. I. Case Plow Works, my
biggest client, was chairman of this board. He had asked the secretary to call
me and ask if I could run over immediately to their meeting, being held across
the Loop in the Union League Club.
I told him I would be right over.
I raced down to a clothes-pressing shop and shoe shining parlor, a half block
down West Madison Street from my office, ducked into a dressing room and had my
suit pressed and shoes shined while I waited—a rush job. Then I caught a taxi
and hurried to the Union League Club.
Being ushered into the private room where the Board meeting was being held, I
shook hands with Mr. Wallis, and in turn was introduced to six other millionaire
presidents of large farm implement manufacturers. I remember there was Mr.
Brantingham, president of Emerson-Brantingham, among the others. The magnetism
of the powerful personalities of these seven big business heads surcharged the
atmosphere of the room. It was the first time I had ever been in the presence of
so many big men at once. I was deeply impressed. But they were not in a happy
mood. They were a deeply concerned group of men. The depression was ruining
their businesses. They faced ruin.
Advising Clients to Cancel
“Mr. Armstrong,” said Mr. Wallis, “you know, of course, the extent to which this
depression has hit the farm tractor industry. This meeting has been called in
the interests of this entire industry. The industry cannot survive unless we can
find some way to stimulate sales in this depression. We have to find some way to
induce farmers to buy tractors—and they have quit buying them.
“Now what we want to ask you is this: can you—will you bring pressure on
the editors of bank journals of this nation, whom you represent, to write strong
and vigorous editorials urging bankers to advise the farmers to resume buying
tractors. Can your editor show the bankers why
they ought to bring pressure on farmers to buy tractors, and save this great
industry?”
It was a crucial moment in my life. Here were seven heads of great corporations.
They represented the entire great farm tractor and farm implement industry. And
they were appealing to me to devise an idea, and take an action that
would save this vast industry of American Big Business from bankruptcy!
What an appeal to my egotism! What a temptation to think of personal importance!
But I did know the facts! And when this
test came, I had to be honest with these men. It was no time for a
grandstand play for personal glory, or for pretense. I knew the
facts—hard, cold stern
facts—and I had to be honest! Even though I knew it meant
cancellation of what tractor advertising had not already been cancelled.
Of course the implication was that, if I could induce our editors to undertake a
campaign to pressure bankers into inducing farmers to purchase tractors in this
depression, an unheard-of volume of big-space advertising would be handed me on
a platter!
I was well aware of that. I was well aware that I had it in my power to ignore
facts I had gathered, and start such a campaign
in America’s leading bank magazines. These men didn’t know what I knew. But it
would be misrepresentation—and deliberate dishonesty.
I was ambitious to make money. But not by falsification or dishonesty! I was
sincere!
“No, gentlemen,” I replied without hesitation. “I cannot do it! I have been
constantly in touch with the bankers in regard to the farm tractor situation.
Let me tell you what the country bankers know. They know that corn which
normally has been selling for $1.12 per bushel has dropped down to 18 cents per
bushel. I have one client now whose business has skyrocketed since the
depression—the Gordon-Van Tyne Company of Davenport, Iowa. They make, as you
know, prefabricated structures for temporary grain storage. Everywhere farmers
are buying these, and storing their grain for a rise in the market—after the
depression is over.
“Bankers know that one tractor replaces six horses. Tractors have to be fed
gasoline, which is expensive right now. Horses are fed on 18-cent corn and oats
and hay that have skidded likewise in price. Country bankers know their farmer
customers would think they were fools to recommend buying tractors and feeding
them on high-priced gasoline, when they have their horses being fed on grain
they can’t sell.”
The next day I received a cancellation of my last remaining tractor account—J.
I. Case. But I still had my honesty and self-respect.
A Child’s Menu
In early May, 1921, it was necessary to take a business trip to Iowa. It was
decided that I should take our eldest daughter Beverly, then almost three, for a
visit with her “Auntie Bert” as she called her Aunt Bertha, while I transacted
business in Iowa.
In a lower berth on the sleeper that night, as I was undressing her to put on
her sleeping garment, Beverly stood up, and discovered she could reach up and
touch the shiny top of the berth.
“See, Daddy,” she exclaimed, “I’m a big girl now. I can touch the ceiling.”
Next morning we were having breakfast in the dining room of the Hotel Savory.
When the waitress brought me a menu, Beverly, in the highchair they had brought
her, demanded a menu also. Laughingly the waitress gave her one. She looked up
and down the menu with a studious expression—it might have been upside-down. And
then, with great feminine dignity, in a very ladylike voice, Beverly gave the
waitress her order.
“I think I will have,” she said, pertly, “some ice cream, some string beans, and
some candy.”
Later, when her younger sister Dorothy became about the same age, she ordered a
dinner.
“I want some ice cream, popcorn and some chewing gum,” she ordered.
I never did quite agree with the modernistic psychologists who say we should
always give children whatever they want—that they instinctively know what is
best for them.
Our children and grandchildren, of course, like all others, have on occasion
gotten off some “cute” sayings. One time my wife was putting on Dorothy’s little
Dr. Denton sleepers to put her to bed. It seems they were made of wool, and they
scratched her skin.
“Mother,” she said seriously, “nobody but just me and God and Jesus knows what a
fix I’m in!”
Recuperating in Iowa
Things in my business went from bad to worse. It was discouraging—frustrating. I
was taking the biggest beating of my life—but hung stubbornly on. Finally, about
July, 1922, it became necessary to give up our apartment. My income had gone too
low to support my family, and at that time we decided that Mrs. Armstrong and
the girls should go to her father’s farm in Iowa, to lessen the expenses.
I rented a single room about a block away in Maywood, furnishing it with some of
our very fine furniture, and the rest of the furniture was put in storage. We
had a Knabe piano I had purchased new on contract, but it went back to the store
when we could no longer keep up the payments. All the rest of the furniture had
been bought for cash.
From this time I entered upon perhaps the blackest and most discouraging three
months of my life. It was a mistake to try to face this uphill treadmill climb
alone without my wife and family. If ever I needed my wife it was then.
I began palling around with two other young men who were advertising
representatives of magazines. One of them was in process of separating from and
divorcing his wife. The wife of the other was away for the summer and fall. We
began to haunt nightclubs—then called cabarets. Often we would hang around these
places of sorrowful, moaning, screeching, wailing music—if you could call such
dirges “music”—until 1 or 2 a.m. We began to drink—not at all even a fraction of
the volume of an “alcoholic”—but too much for efficiency. My mental attitude
became one of frustration.
Finally, I got two or three weeks behind with the room rent on my single room,
and I felt too humiliated to go back. I went to a northside second-rate
hotel—then to another. Finally I could not even keep this up.
I reached the end of the rope in Chicago in October, 1922. I was lonesome for my
wife and children. At last I, too, had to seek refuge on my father-in-law’s farm
in Iowa, where we would have no cost of living. I do not remember now, but I
probably traveled this time in a day coach.
My father-in-law was finishing up corn shucking and I did the best I could to
help him—but I was inexperienced, and unable to keep up with him.
Through that fall and winter, I spent most of the time in resting, and
recuperating in morale from the crushing defeat of losing my business because my
Big-Business clients had lost theirs. That winter, beside the warm fire of
burning oak logs, I read through three or four books of fiction—about the only
fiction reading of my entire life. I did what I could to help on the farm, but
that wasn’t much, and my wife, of course, did the cooking, and housework.
My First College Activity
At this time my wife’s younger brother, Walter, was a freshman in Simpson
College in Indianola. Along in November he came to me with a proposition.
“Herb,” he said, “I’ve decided to go in for the college oratorical contest, if
you’ll help me.”
A short time before had been the first day of basketball practice. Walter had
been the star basketball player in Simpson Academy, which he had attended
instead of High School. His greatest ambition had been to make the Simpson
varsity basketball team, and to be chosen on the Des Moines Register’s
all-state team.
On opening day of basketball practice, he was the first one into the gym with a
basketball suit. When the coach and other players came on the floor, the coach
had frowned and walked over to Walter.
“Dillon,” he said, “what are you doing here? We won’t need you. We have all the
material we need this year. Go to the showers and get into your street clothes.”
This was open humiliation before all the candidates for the squad. Being
rejected without a chance to even try out for the team was unfair,
unjust, and discriminatory. He couldn’t understand it. He was
mad! Later he found the reason. The coach’s
salary at that time was being paid by a certain fraternity, and only frat
members were given consideration for the team.
“Now here’s the way I figure,” he said to me. “In oratory, anyone can
compete. They can’t throw me off because I don’t belong to a frat. Now you are a
professional writer. If you will help me write my oration—and it is allowable to
have help—and work with me on delivery, I think I have a chance. The two best
orators Simpson ever had are a Junior and a Senior—both members of that frat. If
you can beat them, it will be sweet revenge. Will you help me?”
“Well, Walt,” I replied, “I don’t know a thing about college oratorical
contests. I never saw one. I have never read the script of a college oration. I
don’t even know what they are like. But if you will bring me copies of a few
sample orations, I’ll sure help you if I can.”
Chapter 14
“College Competition and "Oregon or Bust"”
On expert advice, I had put myself through the college of
experience—or, as it is sometimes called, the
college of hard knocks. First was a year of want ads on a Des Moines daily
newspaper. Later came three years on a national trade journal—the largest in the
United States, involving a great deal of travel, and intensive instruction,
training, and experience in writing advertising copy, dictating business
letters, and later, writing magazine articles. After six months of Chamber of
Commerce work, the seven-year career representing the leading bank journals of
the nation began.
All these years I had studied diligently. My “major” in this study, of course,
was advertising and merchandising. I studied what books were available. I read
religiously the trade papers of the profession. I studied psychology. As a
“minor” study, I delved into Plato, Epictetus, and other books on philosophy,
and continually read Elbert Hubbard (whom I became personally acquainted with)
for style in writing. I read human interest articles and other articles on world
conditions and on the business of living, in leading magazines.
At the beginning of World War I, I had been able to obtain written
recommendations for entrance into the Officers Reserve Corps from such prominent
Chicago men as Arthur Reynolds, president of the largest bank in Chicago and
second largest in America, testifying that I possessed more than the equivalent
of a college education.
But I had not received my education in college.
The Challenge for College Competition
This request from my brother-in-law presented an intriguing challenge. I had
taken a confidence-shattering beating in the failure of the Chicago business.
But the vanity had not been crushed out of my nature by any means. Here was a
chance to match wits with college students. Also it offered a total mental
diversion from the Chicago nightmare. It was something I could “sink my teeth
into,” with energy and a new interest.
But I knew nothing of how college orations were written, or delivered, or
judged. As I mentioned, I asked my brother-in-law if he could bring me copies of
a few first-place winning orations.
He brought out to the farm a number of them from the college library, printed in
pamphlet form. Immediately I noticed that they were all couched in flowery
language—the amateur college-boy attempt at fancy rhetoric, employing five- to
seven-syllable words which actually said practically nothing. All the orations
were written on such altruistic and idealistic subjects as peace, or
prohibition, or love for fellowman. They displayed ignorance of the
way to peace, or the problem of alcoholism, or
of human experience in living. But they did contain beautiful, high-flown
language!
This became very intriguing.
“Tell me, Walt,” I asked, “what is the prevailing style of delivery? Do the
oratorial contestants go at it hammer-and-tongs, Billy Sunday style tearing
their hair out, throwing chairs across the platform, thundering at their
audiences—or do they speak calmly and smoothly, with carefully developed
graceful gestures—or how?”
“Oh, they try to speak with as much calm dignity as possible—with graceful
gestures.”
One Chance in TWO
“How many contestants will be in this contest?”
“There will be six, including me,” Walter answered.
“All right—tell me, now—would you rather enter this contest with one chance in
six of winning, or with one chance in two?”
He didn’t quite understand.
“Why, with one out of two—but what do you mean?”
“Well, Walt,” I replied, “I guess I’m not much of a conformist. I often break
precedent. I figure it this way: if you write a flossy, flowery oration with big
words that say nothing, and attempt to compete with these upperclassmen
of greater experience on their own terms, you are only one of six contestants,
and you probably do not even have one chance in six of winning.
“But if you pick for your subject some red-hot controversial topic—if you have
the courage to actually attack something, give
the plain truth about it, open people’s eyes
about it, and work yourself up to white-hot heat of indignation and emotion, and
let it fly Billy Sunday style—to start a big controversy—well, either the judges
will like your kind of oration, or the other kind. You have one chance in two.
If they like the other kind, you lose out—you’ll be voted last place.
Then they have to choose among the other five. But if they do like your style,
there is no one to choose but you—you’ll be the
only contestant with that kind of oration. So, I figure you will be either first
or last. You will not be second or third.”
“Say! That sounds good!” exclaimed Walter. “I don’t want to be second or third.
I want to win. If I can’t win, I might just as
well be last.”
What to Attack?
“O.K. Now we must find something to attack and expose—something that is wrong.
Something that will stir up the people. What do you hate the most?”
He didn’t seem to hate anything or anybody. There was nothing I could find that
he was really mad at.
“Well,” I said finally, “we’ll have to find something that needs
exposing—something you can really flay with forceful language. Come to think of
it, right now labor leaders are resorting to some very foul practices. There
have been murders, and gross injustices, both against employers and against the
union members themselves. I remember when I visited Elbert Hubbard at his
Roycroft Inn, at East Aurora, New York, I read a pamphlet of his that really
flayed dishonest labor leaders—and he has the best, most prolific vocabulary,
and the most effective rhetorical bromides of any writer I know. Suppose we
attack labor racketeering.”
He didn’t know anything about it, but he guessed this subject would be as good
as any. Immediately we wrote to Roycroft Inn for this booklet I had read. Also
we wrote to Governor Allen of Kansas, who had just been on a fiery debate on
labor-leader racketeering that had made national headlines.
The Herrin, Illinois massacre had occurred shortly prior to this—where many had
been killed. We went all out to obtain facts on
how labor leaders (some of them) were racketeering off of their own worker
members. Walter explained to me that we were allowed to use a total of 200 words
in the 2,000-word oration directly quoted from published sources. We quoted some
of the most forceful phrases from Hubbard and Governor Allen.
We did not attack or oppose the principle of
unionism. The first line of the oration stated, in the somewhat flowery language
which Walter insisted on putting into it against my advice: “There was a time
when the laboring man was brutalized by toil. Capital held the balance of power.
Labor was cowed into meek submission.”
What was opposed and exposed was the wrong economic philosophy of labor leaders
who assumed that management is the enemy of labor—that the two interests run in
opposite directions—that laboring men ought to use force and the strike to
get all they can, while at the same time they
ought to “lay down on the job” and give in return as little as they
could. The threat of calling a strike for blackmail purposes—asking a huge
payoff from an employer to a crooked labor leader to prevent his stirring up the
men for a strike—murders and violence—these things we opposed.
The First Course in Public Speaking
Now began my first real experience in public speaking. I had given talks before
dinner groups of retail merchants three times—at Richmond, Kentucky, at Lansing,
Michigan, and Danville, Illinois, upon completion of merchandising surveys. But
I had never studied public speaking, nor looked into any textbooks on the
subject. Before this college oratory experience was over I was to become
acquainted with the authors of the two textbooks on the subject used in most of
the colleges and universities throughout America. As I now look back over the
events of those formative years, in writing this autobiography, it becomes more
and more evident that the unseen divine hand was guiding me continually into the
very experience and training needed for the Great Calling.
After the oration was written, Walter memorized it. He announced that he was
finally ready to begin practice on delivery. We went over to the college chapel
at an hour when it was entirely unoccupied. I took a seat about two-thirds’ way
back. Walter went to the platform.
He started his oration. Consternation seized me. He was speaking it in his best
attempt to emulate the prevailing college style—quiet, with dignity, and
graceful gestures. Only, his gestures were not graceful. They were so
obviously practiced, and not at all natural—and they were ridiculously awkward.
The expression was not natural. I saw visions of “winning” last place in the
contest.
This was a dilemma that had, somehow, to be solved. I saw at once that Walter
did not grasp the real meaning of his shockingly powerful speech. He didn’t
feel it. This labor racketeering crisis then so prominently on front page
news was something of which he seemed unaware. The oration was just so many
meaningless words. Unless he could become aware of the situation, and really
feel with white-heat indignation the scathing indictment of these criminal
abuses of unionism, he had no chance of winning.
What to do?
An Incident Makes It Personal
At just this time a living incident made the whole meaning of the oration
personal. A strike was in progress at the Rock Island Railroad division
point in Valley Junction—now renamed West Des Moines. The morning Des Moines
Register reported a bombing of the locomotive roundhouse. Eleven big
locomotives had been destroyed.
We went to Valley Junction, and managed to get through the lines to the office
of the superintendent. The superintendent showed great interest in learning of
the subject of the oration. He gave us considerable time. We went out through
the roundhouse. We saw the twisted and tangled masses of steel of demolished
locomotives.
We visited a home in town where the front half of the house had been blown off
by a bomb. Inside the house at the time had been the wife and children of a
worker who had taken up the tools the union men had laid down. For some little
time the workmen who had accepted jobs after the union men had walked out had
been kept behind barricaded walls day and night. Violence had become rampant.
Nonunion workers had been assaulted upon leaving the yards and returning to
their homes after working hours—hence they had been forced to remain behind
defense barriers night and day.
Walter was now really outraged.
“When union leaders try to kill innocent wives and children just because their
husbands have picked up the tools they laid down, that is just too much!” he
exclaimed with heat.
Another nonunion home—occupied only by the innocent wife and children—had been
rotten-egged.
Back in the superintendent’s office he told us one of his problems with the
union leaders.
“I was powerless to hire or fire a man without consent of labor leaders,” he
said. “In the railroad business it is just as serious a crime for an engineer to
go to sleep in his cab as for a sentry to go to sleep on duty in the army in
wartime. I had such a man. I tried to fire him. The labor leader refused. He
said I did not have proof. I had to employ a professional photographer, and keep
him here on the job constantly until this engineer went to sleep again on duty
in his cab. When we presented the photographic evidence to union officials
higher up, they finally consented to firing the man.”
The next afternoon at the usual time we went into the college chapel for
rehearsal. As Walter began speaking, the words of his oration for the first time
conveyed real meaning to his mind. These words described in dynamic language
exactly the way he now felt. I had told him to dispense with all gestures
immediately after that first rehearsal. Unless gestures are natural,
automatic and unrealized by the speaker, they are not effective anyway.
But this time Walter was gesturing. He didn’t know it—but he was gesturing!
They were not the most smooth and polished gestures of the professional
speaker—but they were terrifically convincing!
Today Walter was really angry! As the words poured forth, their meaning more and
more expressed the very indignation he felt. The delivery was a little raw and
rough—it was somewhat amateurish—but it was powerful
and it was convincing!
“There!” I exclaimed joyfully, when he had finished, “hold it!” Hold it right
there! Just go into the contest exactly as you went into this rehearsal! Now you
have a chance. Of course, the judges still may not like something so
radically different from the established style of college oratory. But now
you will be either last, or first!”
Comes the Final Contest
On the night of the local college oratorical contest, Walter drew last place. He
was quite discouraged. He didn’t know, then, that the last speaker always has
the advantage. He was terribly nervous.
The two students rated the best were, of course, very good as college speakers.
Theirs were the usual suave, smooth, flowery big words, delivered calmly with
smooth and much-practiced graceful gestures. They were highly applauded. This
year the students had high hopes of winning a state championship—which Simpson
had not won for eight years.
Then Walter walked out on the platform for the final oration. He started out
calmly but nervously. But after some six or eight minutes the words he was
speaking took him right back to Valley Junction. He forgot the
nervousness that had seized him at the beginning. He thought only of the
outrageous injustices he had seen with his own
eyes. And for the first time he had an audience to tell it to! He began to
gesture. He began to pace back and forth on the platform. He shook his fist. He
was in dead earnest! He really meant what
he was saying—and he was SAYING SOMETHING!
When he had finished, he knew he had lost—but at least he had gotten a message
over to that audience! He had that much satisfaction.
The judges’ decision was announced. First came the third-place choice. It was
one of the two supposed best orators. The other was announced as second. First
place—Walter Dillon!
There was little applause. The two favorites had lost out to a green, nonfrat
freshman! The judges had been moved by his speech. They had liked it. But
the student body and faculty apparently disagreed.
In the days that followed there was only one topic of conversation on the
campus—the merits or demerits of labor unionism. It became a heated controversy.
The professor of economics took it up in class. He disagreed with Walter
Dillon’s economics. He favored the union brand of economics. Apparently he had
slight socialist or Communist leanings.
One senior said to me, “I hope Dillon won’t disgrace us in the state contest. We
might have won this year, but now, with a green freshman representing us, we
haven’t a chance. Boy! but wasn’t Sutton’s
oration good?”
“Yes,” I rejoined. “It was smooth and well delivered. By the way,
what did he talk about? I can’t seem to
remember.”
“Why—why—” stammered the student, “I—I can’t seem to remember, either. But it
certainly was a great oration!”
“Well, really, was it—if neither you nor I can remember a thing he said?
Everyone in town seems to remember what Dillon said. He really stirred up a
hornet’s nest! Do you really think a speech is good if it doesn’t say anything?”
He went away somewhat angrily.
The State Contest
A short time later came the state contest. It was held that year at Central
College, Pella, Iowa. There it was the same. Walter was very nervous. I walked
with him over the campus grounds while the first few contestants were speaking.
Once again he was last speaker.
Once again, after a calm and somewhat nervous start—not necessarily obvious to
the audience—he relived the scenes of violence at Valley Junction. When
he came to the Herrin massacre, the bombing of the Los Angeles Times
plant, and the other outrages of violence covered in the oration, he really
lived it! Again he paced the floor, shook his fists, rose to a crescendo of
indignant and outraged powerat the climax, then
had real pleading in his voice in his final solution of these problems.
Again third place was announced first—then second. Again we knew he was either
first or last. Finally the winner—Walter E. Dillon of Simpson!
Returning to the campus we witnessed a living example of the fickleness of
public opinion. After winning the home contest Walter had been in disgrace. “It
was just a fluke decision,” most of the students said. A freshman had spoiled
their chance of winning a state contest. Walter was avoided on the streets. He
was shunned.
But now, he returned the conquering hero.
Simpson had won the state championship! Walter Dillon was the hero of the
campus. It was the first time any freshman had won a state contest. This was
news. It even made the front page of the Chicago
Tribune! He had bids to join fraternities. The professor of economics was
out of town on vacation several days—until the reverse opinion on his economics
subsided. For now the student body unanimously accepted Dillon’s brand of labor
economics!
Well, it had been an interesting participation in college activity for me. It
helped restore shattered morale. I had helped win
something. I had begun to study public speaking. I had gained invaluable
experience in speaking, which was later to be used. My brother-in-law had
been deprived without a chance of his ambition to be one of
five to win all-state honors in basketball. But
he had won the state championship in oratory, which he didn’t have to share with
anybody.
Walter Dillon continued in the field of education as a life profession, and,
much later, he was to become the first president of Ambassador College, and its
first instructor in public speaking.
Actually, our experiences in college oratory continued on another year. I
promoted a number of entertainment programs in various towns in Warren County
during the following year, with Walter billed as the headliner, and charging 25
cents and 35 cents admission. We brought in some comedy and singing talent from
college. A year later, by early 1924, Walter Dillon was a smooth and finished
public speaker. Following the national contest of that year, its sole judge,
Professor Woolbert of the University of Illinois, author of a much-used college
textbook on public speaking, heard him, and told me he probably would have given
Mr. Dillon the national championship, had he been entered.
Doing Surveys Again
After the rest, and oratorical contest experience of the fall and winter of
1922-23, I realized I had to find something to do.
Once before, the reader will remember, when I was stranded without a dollar in
Danville, Illinois, I had brought the merchandising survey experience to the
rescue by selling a survey to the local newspaper. It had been highly successful
for the newspaper, resulting in a big increase in advertising volume. Newspapers
derive their revenue from the advertising.
At Danville, I had made one colossal mistake. Caught off guard when the business
manager of the paper asked what my fee would be, I had set it at $50. It should
have been $500.
Now the thought of entering upon a business of conducting surveys was uppermost
in mind. My brother-in-law borrowed a car, and we drove to Ames, Iowa—seat of
Iowa State College. The idea of the survey was quickly accepted by a Mr. Powers,
who was owner or manager (or both) of the Ames Daily Tribune. This time
the fee was $500. The price was accepted at once.
This time I put on a more thorough survey than the previous ones. Not only
housewives in the town, but students and faculty members, and heads of
departments at the college were interviewed. The newspaper put at my disposal a
small car. I do not remember the make, but I believe it was smaller than a Ford.
This enabled me to interview farmers in all directions.
The survey uncovered some peculiar and astonishing facts. About 75% or more of
the day’s shopping on school days was done after 4 p.m., when rush hour began in
the stores. The women of Ames seemed to prefer doing their shopping when the
college girls did theirs—after class hours.
As usual, most of the trade in some lines went to Des Moines, only 30 miles
south, or to the mail order houses. I found out why. Interesting facts were
uncovered about certain individual stores.
Curing a Sick Store
One department store, not the largest, and one of a small chain of three or four
stores, about half or two-thirds owned by the local manager, came in for the
most criticism. Women were satisfied with their stocks and styles, and also with
their prices. The big complaint was on the salespeople.
“Why, I’ve stood waiting ten or fifteen minutes to be waited on,” one typical
customer said, “and then the clerk said they were out of the item I wanted, when
I could see it in plain sight high up on a shelf. She just didn’t want to reach
up that high to get it down.”
Women universally reported that the clerks never smiled. I learned it would be
the most popular store in town if its sales force would be transformed into
smiling, helpful, enthusiastic, wide-awake people anxious to please customers.
I gave a private confidential report to each store, which the newspaper did not
see, in addition to the general report and summary which was supplied the
newspaper. I distinctly remember the personal report I made to this particular
department-store manager. The confidential report hit him personally right
between the eyes. I had discovered that he underpaid his sales force. He never
smiled at them. He maintained a secret spy system, spying on clerks. He was
dumbfounded to hear from me that all his clerks were well aware of this.
“The whole thing is your fault, personally,” I said. “But I can show you how to
correct it and double the size of your business.”
“Vell,” he said at last, in a Scandinavian accent, “this is the hardest ting I
have ever had to take in my life—but I guess ve can take it. Vhat do you advise
me to do?”
“First, raise salaries—and in a rather dramatic manner.”
“Vait!” he cut in. “Look! A store can only pay a certain percent of sales in
salaries. I am paying them too high a percent already!”
“Yes, sure, I know that,” I responded. “But the way to get the percent of
sales paid in salaries down is to raise
salaries, and get your sales force on their toes—happy—smiling. Then sales will
double, and the percent paid in salaries will go down.”
LOWERING Salaries by Raising Them
“Tell me how we do it,” he said dubiously.
“All right, here’s what I want you to do. I don’t
want you to do any additional advertising in the Tribune at all—until
this new system has been working for at least six weeks. Big-space advertising
right now would ruin your business. But, once you get this thing corrected,
big-space advertising will quickly double your sales volume. First, I want you
to plan a big party for the sales force. Have it on your second floor, in the
women’s ready-to-wear section. Try to arrange for the Home Ec. Department out at
the college to prepare the biggest and finest dinner you ever saw. Hire a dance
band. Don’t try to beat down the cost—pay what it costs to get the best. Then
invite all your employees. Let them know you expect them to be there. I think I
can pass the word along through some of them, so they will all come. I have made
friends with some of them.
“After they have had the finest dinner they ever ate, and the dance band has
them feeling good—and have all these dunce caps, noisemakers, confetti to
throw—everything to get them into the most gay mood—then rise and make a speech.
Start out by telling them you have been making a big mistake. You have not
treated them right, and they have not treated customers right—but you never
realized it before, and probably they didn’t either. Then tell them immediately
that you are announcing a substantial raise in salaries for
everybody. Tell them that from now on
they must smile while waiting on customers. They
must be alert. You intend to treat them right from now on, and
they must treat customers right—or you’ll get salespeople who will.
You’ll probably be paying the highest salaries in town. They have to sell enough
goods to earn it—at a lower percent of sales than present salaries! If
they don’t, your high salaries will attract the best salespeople, and those who
do not respond will be fired.”
He said he would do it if I would come to the party, and sit by his side to
bolster him up, and make a speech myself.
The party was held. It had an electric effect.
“Now,” I said to the manager, “hereafter you must personally stand by the front
door between 4 and 6 each afternoon, greeting customers yourself with a smile,
and being sure they are promptly waited on.”
Winning With a Smile
Next afternoon about 4:15 I dropped in. There he was, trying to bow and smile
stiffly at incoming customers. Quickly I drew him to one side.
“No, no!” I exclaimed. “That will never do! You
are acting like you never smiled before—like your heart is not in it. Look
at those fine people coming in here. They are customers!
They are coming to spend money with you. Don’t
you like them?
He did, but he had never thought of them in that light before. With a little
coaching, he began to realize how much he did likethese
people. He began to smile a natural smile, like he meant it!
After six weeks, this store began really big-space
advertising, with the slogans I had suggested—something like “most
prompt and interested in service in Ames.” Or, “Where, you receive quick,
attentive, interested service with a smile!”
I heard later from traveling salesmen who made Ames regularly that this store
had more than doubled its sales volume in six months. Also an Ames shoe store,
which had come in for some special criticism and correction. The newspaper
doubled its advertising volume.
That was my kind of salesmanship. The newspaper paid a fee of $500, and doubled
the size of its business. The merchants found what was wrong with them, and
doubled their business. The customers got better service, and were happy. Everybody
benefitted! Unless everybody does benefit, salesmanship is not honest!
But not many salesmen know that, or the secret of intelligent and
practical salesmanship!
Important Job Offered
Next I went to Forrest Geneva, then advertising manager of both the Des Moines
Register and the Evening Tribune. He had worked in want ads on the
Register at the same time I did on the Capital, and we were old
friends.
The Des Moines Register was rated (I think still is) one of the ten
really great newspapers of the United States. It has a state-wide circulation,
and is delivered in nearly all parts of the state early the same morning of
publication.
But the Register was not getting the big
department store advertising in Des Moines. This is the biggest part of the
advertising revenue of any newspaper. It actually meant multiple millions of
dollars to the Register to be able to carry the big-space store
advertising.
“Forrest,” I said, “the one most important thing in this world to the
Register is to be able to crack through the barrier and carry the department
store business—and all the other larger stores. I can
do the job for you. I can crack down that stone wall and get you the
big-store business.”
After I had explained in detail the method of the surveys, and how I proposed a
state-wide survey, to show how the Des Moines stores already were drawing a
tremendous volume of trade from local stores in other smaller towns and cities
all over the state, and how a campaign in the Register, with its
stater-wide circulation, which was tremendous,
would greatly increase their out-of-town business as well as the Des Moines
business, Mr. Geneva expressed his confidence that my method would accomplish
the result. Only one dominant morning newspaper, as I remember, in all U.S.
major cities, was carrying the local department store advertising. That was the
Chicago Tribune.
“Herb,” he said, “I believe you have the idea that will do the job. Give me a
few days to take this up with the officers higher up. I’m really enthusiastic
over the idea.”
A few days later I returned.
“We want you,” said Mr. Geneva. “But we have run into a certain situation. As
you know, I am advertising manager over both papers. We also have an advertising
manager for each paper, under me. Right now we have no advertising manager for
the Register. I cannot get the management to approve the addition at this
time of both a new advertising manager and you as a special expert. They want
you to fill both jobs.”
“But Forrest,” I protested, “I would be tied down with the executive job of
managing the work of your eight advertising solicitors on the Register,
besides all the specialized work of the survey.”
“Right,” we agreed.
“But that will kill everything. I am not an executive. I can’t manage the work
of others. I’m like a lone wolf. I have to do my own work in my own way. I often
work in streaks. When I’m ‘on’ I know I’m good. But on the ‘off’
days I couldn’t sell genuine gold bricks for a dime. I’d have daily reports to
make out, and that’s one thing I just never have been able to do. I’d get way
behind on the reports.”
“Look, Herb,” he came back. “I know you will make good on the executive
job. I won’t let you fail. If you run into a lapse, or your reports are
not in, I’ll stay down myself evenings and do that part of your work for you. No
one will ever know.”
But I had no confidence in my ability to direct the work of eight men, and make
out daily reports. So I turned down the offer to become advertising manager of a
great newspaper.
I was to learn much later, beginning with 1947 when Ambassador College was
founded, that I could become an executive and direct the operations and work of
many hundreds of employees, besides doing about seven men’s jobs myself. And
long before that I learned to overcome lapses and streaks. But, had I taken that
job I might be there today—an employee on a newspaper, instead of directing the
most important activity on earth. We might have averted several following years
of financial hardship. But I know now, in the light of events—“the
fruits,” that I was being prepared for this Work
and was being brought down to the depths of defeat and frustration until I would
give up the false god of seeking status out of vanity.
We Migrate to Oregon
The remainder of that summer, and through the following winter, I put on a
survey for a local weekly paper in Indianola, and worked part time writing
advertising for local merchants. But most of the time was devoted to working
with my brother-in-law on his oratory. We wrote a new oration for the following
year, which involved many experiences, although, having won, he was not eligible
to enter again at Simpson College.
I was beginning to bog down in the mire. My wife was worried. We were in a rut.
I didn’t seem to be selling more surveys to daily newspapers. Mrs. Armstrong
knew we needed some change to jolt us out of the rut. My parents were living in
Salem, Oregon. A complete change of environment might get me started again.
In the late winter of 1923-24, she began to suggest the idea of a summer trip to
visit my parents and family in Oregon. “But, Loma,” I protested, “we can’t
afford a vacation trip like that.”
But, she had it all planned. We would go in Walter’s Model T Ford. We would take
a tent and camp out nights. We would prepare our own food, avoiding restaurant
costs. She would ask her sister Bertha to go along, paying her share, thus
helping enough with expenses to make the trip possible. Bertha was teaching
school, and had a regular income. I had earned some money and we still had a
little. Along the way, I would contact newspapers and line up surveys for the
future—thus getting a foundation laid for a future business.
My wife knew I liked to travel. I had been over most of the United States, but
never yet as far west as the Rocky Mountains. A trip to the coast—seeing my
parents and family again—was really intriguing.
Walter and Bertha were swayed by her persuasion.
In the meantime, about March 1, 1923, my father-in-law had moved from the farm
he was renting from a brother-in-law, sold his stock, and bought a small-town
general store at Sandyville, only a few miles distant.
I began to make preparations for our trip. On the second floor above my
father-in-law’s store was a sort of cabinet-making shop. I had taken manual
training in high school. So I began to work out a design and to make folding
wooden cots and canvas tops for our trip. Later we purchased a used tent of the
type that fastened over the top of the car, so that the car formed one end of
the tent. We procured a secondhand portable gasoline stove.
“D”-Day Arrives
The morning of June 16, 1924, we piled the two seats of the Model T high with
bedding. We put our suitcases between the front fenders and the hood. The folded
tent, boxes of food, the rest of the bedding, the folded cots, the portable
stove, and all the rest of our earthly belongings were piled on a rack on the
left running board high up on the side of the car. There were no trunks on the
rear of Model T’s.
How we piled all this stuff on that little car I can’t conceive now, but we
did—and an extra spare tire or two besides!
I had said to a friend of my wife, previously, “We’ll be back in the fall.” But
when I wasn’t listening, my wife told her: “That’s what he thinks—but we
are not coming back!”
So, “D-Day” had arrived, the morning of June 16, 1924! (”D” for Departure.)
Walter cranked up the Model T, and we were off for Oregon. One thing we had on
the car was air-conditioning. Except for the luggage piled high up the left
side, it was all air—open air. The closed cars, except for very expensive
limousines, had not yet come out of Detroit. But we had side curtains to button
up in case of rain.
In case of rain, did I say?
Yes, as, unhappily, we were to experience that very night! We had reached
Greenwood, Iowa, the first day out, and pitched our tent beside the car—with
Mrs. Armstrong and me, our two little daughters—Beverly, age 6, and Dorothy
Jane, age almost 4—Walter and Bertha Dillon—all trying to sleep on those flimsy,
swaying folding cots I had made.
And then the rains came! We soon discovered the tent leaked! Hurriedly we
arose from our rickety cots, delved into the food and utensil box, procured our
one wash pan and a fry pan and a stew pan, to catch the leaking drips. There was
little sleep. In Iowa, you know, there are sharp and blinding flashes of
lightning, followed by deafening claps of thunder when it rains.
For three days and three nights we were marooned there. In those days there were
no cross-country paved highways. We were traveling on Iowa mud roads.
Tent Cities—No Motels
Finally, we decided to make a try over the still muddy roads. A try is
what we made. Just outside town the car skidded in the mud, and two wheels
bogged down hub-deep. Walter and I started out slogging through the mud to the
nearest farm house. An obliging farmer hitched up a team and pulled us out.
We managed to keep chugging along until we reached Silver City, Iowa, near
Council Bluffs. Later, as we proceeded farther west, we found roads more gravel
than mud. Once on dry roads we were able to amble along at a steady gait of
between 18 and 20 miles per hour—when we were not stopped by some new trouble,
which was much of the time.
Most days we awoke by 5 a.m., breakfasted, the women made sandwiches for noon
lunch—there could be no stopping through the day—we packed everything back on
the car, and climbed up on those bedding-covered seats with the car cranked up
by 6 a.m.
Most days we drove until nearly dark—allowing time to get the tent pitched and
staked, cots and bedding arranged, and dinner cooked before it became too dark
to see. We did carry a kerosene lantern. Walter and I took turns driving. We
generally managed to negotiate about 200 miles in a twelve or fourteen hour day
of driving.
At night we stopped at camp grounds, provided at every town in those days. That
was before the days of motels or trailer-camps. Tourists all carried their own
tents and camping equipment. Every town along the way had its tent city which
usually filled up by sundown. These camps provided water and sanitary
facilities—of a kind. As we journeyed farther west a few cabins began to appear
at some of the camp grounds. These were bare one-room, unpainted board cabins.
Some had rickety old beds and metal springs—but not mattresses or bedding or
linen, and little, if any furniture. There might have been an old wooden chair.
Our first stop after leaving Greenwood was Silver City, Iowa. My wife’s uncle,
Tom Talboy, owned a drugstore in Silver City. We drove to the store.
Visiting Relatives
“I don’t know which one you are,” said her Uncle Tom approaching my wife, “but I
do know you’re a Talboy!”
Mrs. Armstrong’s mother was Isabelle Talboy before marriage. There are definite
“Talboy” characteristics, and Mrs. Armstrong has them written all over her face.
The Talboy family came from England. My wife’s great-grandfather, Thomas Talboy,
came to the United States from England somewhere near the middle of the 19th
century, and started the first woolen mill in the Middle West—at least west of
the Mississippi—in Palmyra, Iowa. At that time Palmyra was larger than Des
Moines. There was no Des Moines—except Ft. Des Moines. The woolen mill grew and
the town grew with it. But today there is no Palmyra—except a few farmhouses.
My wife’s grandfather, Benjamin Talboy, was a lad of 18 when he came from
England with his father, Thomas. He and his wife, Martha, whom my wife as a
little girl called “little curly-haired Grandma,” reared a sizeable and
successful family of nine, of whom Isabelle was one of three daughters. “Uncle
Tom,” the druggist, as my wife called him, was named for his grandfather Thomas.
We visited the “Uncle Tom” family for a day. Grandpa Benjamin Talboy was living
there, age 93. “Little curly-haired Grandma” had died at 84. She had always
warned my wife against Grandpa Benjamin. He, she affirmed solemnly, was an
atheist. My wife warned me against listening to him. But later we learned that
he had dared to look into the Bible for himself, and, discovering these
teachings diametrically contrary to the accepted popular version of
“Christianity,” had rejected the “Christianity.” Later we learned that he was
probably more of a true Christian, in belief if not in deeds, than his
well-meaning little wife!
Our Troubles Continue!
We continued our journey westward from Silver City.
At Fremont, Nebraska, I took out time to contact the daily newspaper office.
Another survey was tentatively lined up for the fall, on our return. But this
newspaper call consumed a half day, and we decided not to take out any more time
for newspaper calls along the way. Everybody aboard was anxious to reach Oregon.
It was at about this juncture that our tire troubles began. These tire troubles
seemed to multiply, the farther we traveled. They were an excellent training in
patience! We had puncture after puncture—blowout after blowout. There were eight
of them within one mile on one occasion! We carried a repair kit and patched our
own inner tubes. We carried along a few “boots” to plug up blowout holes in
casings. Many hours were spent along the drab, dusty roadsides, one wheel jacked
up, kneeling beside it, fixing tires.
We bought several used tires—we could not afford new ones—and these usually blew
out about five miles out of town—just too far to go back and express our minds
to the dealer who sold them!
We made an overnight stop in Central City, Nebraska, at the home of my uncle
Rollin R. Wright. His son, John, was one of the two cousins (on my mother’s side
of the family) I had visited so often as a boy. The Wrights had then lived at
Carlisle, Iowa, where my uncle Rollin was an insurance agent. He is the one who
gave me and “Johnny” a good sound spanking that time when he caught us shooting
off a .22 revolver. John was, within a day, one year younger than I. Now the
Wrights were operating a dairy in Central City. It is always somewhat exciting
to visit relatives you have not seen for several years. Next morning I went on
the milk route with John. Today he is a minister in the Friends Church and has
visited us a few times in Pasadena.
It seems we got as far as Grand Island, Nebraska, before our next vexation. We
had made a temporary stop under shade trees because of the intense heat. Little
Dorothy Jane, almost four, took off one of her shoes and laid it on the right
running board, from where it fell to the ground. The loss was not discovered
until we had traveled too far to return to search for it. The child had to
travel the remaining days of our journey with only one shoe. To buy new shoes on
this trip was not within our means.
We made an overnight stop in Ogalalla, where I had intended to visit the other
of these two cousins I had grown up with—Bert Morrow. He had been running some
tourist cabins there, but had moved before our arrival.
It was somewhere along western Nebraska that we encountered something worse than
a rainstorm. A driving sandstorm came up. The road became so clouded we could
not see to drive. We had to pull over to the side of the road, button up the
curtains on the Model-T, cover our heads with bedding to keep sand out of our
hair, and remain marooned there until the storm subsided.
Chapter 15
“Launching a New Business”
I shall never forget my first view of the Rocky Mountains from a distance. While
I had traveled the Alleghenies and the Blue Mountains in the east, I had never
seen any really high mountains. I had always wondered what they would look like.
They seemed very lofty and awe-inspiring to me.
We drove several miles out of our way in order to dip down into the state of
Colorado, before we entered Wyoming. We wanted to be able to say we had been in
that state. At Cheyenne we drove up hill to the north end of town to the largest
camp we had seen.
But by this time all my hand-made wooden folding cots had broken down, and the
canvas tops had split down the middle. We threw them away. From Cheyenne on, we
slept on the ground.
In the higher altitudes the nights became so cold we were forced to spread the
bed covers on the ground inside the tent, making one long bed. All six of us
lined up side by side in that one bed on the ground, to keep each other warm.
At Evanston, Wyoming, the car broke down. We were detained there 11/2 days while
it was fixed in a garage.
During our journey across Wyoming, Dorothy’s arm was bitten by a spider. It
swelled up, and she was taken to a doctor. It must have been about this time
that we had to telegraph my father to wire us additional funds. We had run out
of food, gasoline, and money. Dorothy’s arm had to be soaked in hot Epsom-salts
water, and held high continually. Mrs. Armstrong, Bertha, and I had to take
turns, on one day’s driving, holding that arm, lest it hang down.
We stopped off one full day in Salt Lake City. Walter and I played some tennis
on public courts near the camping grounds—we were carrying our tennis rackets
with us. We took the guided tour around the Mormon grounds and through the
Tabernacle.
Premonition of Danger
At Weiser, Idaho, we visited a day and a half with the families of two of my
wife’s uncles, Benjamin and Walter Talboy. Walter later held a high government
position in Idaho, and once ran for governor.
Leaving Weiser in the late afternoon, we were winding around the “figure eight”
sharp curves of the highway following the course of the Snake River. Suddenly,
my wife cried out:
“I’m afraid to go further! For the past hour I’ve been having a terrible
premonition of danger! I can’t explain it—but I just can’t keep it to myself any
longer.”
“That’s strange,” exclaimed Walter. “I didn’t want to say anything—but I’ve been
fighting off the same feeling.”
That was enough for all of us. It seemed foolish, in a way. Yet we were afraid
to go on. We turned back toward Weiser.
“I’m simply too nervous to drive any further,” explained Walt. I took over the
wheel. Just before entering Weiser, on a short down-hill slope, I made the
horrifying discovery that our brakes had gone out! There were no brakes. There
was no reverse! I drove the car into a garage. We were kept one more night at
the Talboy relatives in Weiser. Had we not heeded those premonitions, we might
have been killed crashing down steep mountain grades around sharp curves without
brakes. Later we learned that at the precise hour my wife and Walter had been
having their premonitions, my mother in Salem, Oregon, was also disturbed by a
terrible premonition concerning our safety. It had grown so strong on her she
was forced to remove her hands from the dishwater, and go to a bedroom to pray
for our safety! I do not try to explain this. I am merely recording what
actually happened!
At Last—We Arrive
Finally, July 3, we made our last homestretch lap from Pendleton, Oregon. That
was a long day’s drive in a Model T. But that night, after dark, we arrived at
my father’s home in Salem, Oregon, on the eve of July 4.
We had been 18 days on the way. It was fast traveling compared to the covered
wagon days. Yet, today you can travel from New York to Los Angeles—coast to
coast—in 41/2 hours, by scheduled passenger jet plane! Allowing for the time
difference, if I leave New York at 5 in the evening, after a full day of
business conferences with radio stations and our overseas advertising agents, I
can arrive in Los Angeles about 6:30 the same evening!
Few people realize the rapid pace at which this world is traveling today—toward
its own destruction! It is time we slow down to
realize how far this machine age—atomic
age—space age has plummeted us in these few short years since 1924!
My Father Had Grown Up!
I had not seen my father, my youngest brother Dwight, or my sister Mary, for
twelve years! Dwight and his twin sister Mary had been eight years old when they
moved to the west. Now they were twenty.
But the biggest change of all was in my father. In 1912, when I was only twenty,
I had felt rather sorry for my father. At that time I knew so much more than he!
But I was simply amazed at how much my father had learned in those 12 years. It
seems most young men know more than Dad, but they grow out of it later. I could
see, now, that he knew more than I! Now I had to look up to my father with
respect!
He had a nice home which he had planned and built. It was paid for. He didn’t
owe any man a cent. He had a comfortable salary as a heating engineer. When we
found ourselves out of money on the way out—buying extra tires and such
things—he had immediately wired me $200.
How many young men, getting to “know it all” from age 16 to 20, have to wait
until in their middle thirties to learn how much they ought to respect their
fathers! And my father was a good man. He never
smoked. He never drank, never used profanity. He never took advantage of another
man! I honor and respect his memory. He died in April, 1933, in his 70th year.
After a few weeks’ visit with my folks, we drove to Portland to visit my wife’s
“Uncle Dick” Talboy, an attorney. Our elder son, Richard David, was named after
him. He was an Oregon pioneer, having migrated from Iowa first in 1905. He
attended Stanford University in California in 1906 and 1907. He returned to Des
Moines to finish his law course at Drake University in 1907, returning to Oregon
in 1913. It has been his home ever since.
The very next day Mr. Talboy had to transact some legal business at the
courthouse in Vancouver, Washington—just across the interstate bridge from
Portland. He invited me to go along. I had not yet been in the state of
Washington, and was anxious to add one more state to my list.
Just as we emerged from the bridge, in Vancouver, I saw the plant of the local
daily newspaper, The Columbian.
Another Survey
I asked if I might not hop out right there and contact the newspaper regarding a
survey while Mr. Talboy went on to the Court House.
The owner and editor was on a vacation at Seaside, but the Business Manager,
Samuel T. Hopkins—who was later to become a business partner of mine—was in.
Enthusiastic over the survey idea, he felt sure Mr. Herbert Campbell, the owner,
would be interested on his return. I said I would call back the following week.
We were welcome to remain and visit at the home of my wife’s uncle. The
following week, I found Mr. Campbell as interested in the survey idea as Mr.
Hopkins.
“I have only one objection,” he said. “I believe it is going to take a man of
your specialized merchandising and advertising experience to follow it up and
make it pay. We have no such man here. Now what I want to know is, can a
newspaper of our size afford to employ a man of your experience and ability
permanently?”
Here was a ludicrous paradox.
Here I was, down and out financially, my clothes now threadbare. And here was a
newspaper publisher asking if he could afford to employ me! Yet I had had
a training and specialized experience such as comes to few men. I had taken a
severe beating by the Chicago debacle, but I still had the cocky and confident
manner. I spoke with a tone of knowing what I was talking about. Evidently this
impressed Mr. Campbell sufficiently that did not notice my rather run-down
appearance.
The answer came like a flash.
“No, you cannot!” I said positively.
This was a challenge. Herbert Campbell was cocky,
“Well, I think we CAN! How much is it going to cost us?”
I had to think fast. Was I going to turn down a survey, because I felt too
important to take a permanent job on a small city newspaper? I made a quick
compromise proposition.
“Tell you what I’ll do,” I shot back. “I’ll put on the survey for a flat fee of
$500. That will take a week or ten days. Then I will stay on your staff as a
merchandising specialist for six months only, at a salary of $100 per
week. Take it or leave it!”
“O.K. I’ll take it,” he snapped. I had my wife’s uncle draw up a legal contract,
which he signed a day or so later.
I rented a house in Vancouver, and started on the survey.
Pulling a Clothier Out of the Red
About the time we started on the survey in Vancouver, Walter and Bertha Dillon,
my wife’s brother and sister started in the Model T their return trip to Iowa;
Walter to enter his Junior year at Simpson College, and Bertha for another year
of school teaching.
This time Mrs. Armstrong took part in the survey, and proved very adept at
eliciting confidential information from housewives of their attitudes and
feelings toward Vancouver stores.
The survey soon was completed, together with a complete typed summary of all
data, interviews, and tabulations of statistics, as well as an analysis of
conditions and recommendations.
With this data, I began counselling with merchants about individual
merchandising problems.
One clothing store, for example, was running in the red. The owner asked if I
could help him. I insisted on full access to his books and all information.
Finally he consented.
The survey had uncovered special facts about customer attitude toward this
store. One line this store carried was Hart Schaffner & Marx clothes. I knew
that this firm was prepared to extend considerable dealer-help. At my request
they sent a qualified representative to counsel with me and this merchant.
A new policy was inaugurated. Certain changes were made. Until now this store
had not carried the more snappy styles young men liked. The owner, past
middle age, had bought the older men’s styles of his personal liking. I induced
him to trust the Hart Schaffner & Marx representative fully with selections in
ordering.
Also I recommended that he stock in addition snappiest young men’s styles in a
less expensive line.
Then we began a big-space advertising campaign in the Columbian. I wrote
and laid out all his ads. I induced him to spend 7% of sales in this advertising
campaign.
“But,” he protested, “You have shown me that Harvard Bureau of Business Research
figures show that no retail clothing store ought to spend more than 4% for
advertising.”
“That’s right,” I explained, “but this big-space advertising will quickly build
up your volume. The amount, in dollars, spent in advertising will remain the
same. But, as sales volume increases, the advertising expenditure will become an
increasingly smaller percentage of sales.” Also I explained to him it
might take six months before his total expenditures would go below his total
income, and his books would get out of the red.
It took a lot of courage. But it was a matter of accept my program or go
bankrupt. He finally agreed.
It did take about six months. Twice before that time he lost his nerve and
wanted to quit. Twice more I talked him into staying with it. At the end of six
months his business was showing a profit. The sales continued to increase. So
did his merchandising turnover. And likewise his profits. Finally he was able to
sell his store at a substantial profit.
Discovering a New Business Potential
Soon I became virtually advertising manager for a leading hardware store, the
largest department-drug store, a furniture store, a jewelry store, a dry-goods
store, and others.
But my most important client turned out to be the local laundry. The general
survey had brought out some startling facts about the laundry situation. I
wanted more facts. So a further separate survey was made to get the facts and
more definitely learn customer-attitude toward laundries.
I found that very few housewives entrusted their family wash to the laundry. We
unearthed many suspicions. Many women assured me that laundries use harsh acids
and chemicals which ruin clothes. This, I soon found, was not true.
“They shrink clothes,” said scores and scores of women.
“They fade colored things,” women assured me.
“How do you know?” both Mrs. Armstrong and I began asking women we
interviewed. “Has the laundry ruined your things—have your colored
clothes been faded or your woolens shrunk?”
“Oh mercy, no!” they would reply. “Why, I would
never think of sending my things to the laundry.”
“Then how do you know the laundry mistreats things in this manner?” we
would ask.
“Oh, I just know! Why, everybody knows how terrible laundries are
on clothes,” would come the confident answer.
Scores of women said laundries would lose things and refuse to make good
the losses. “The laundries will never make an adjustment or settle a
claim,” women assured us.
We found dozens of things wrong with the laundries—in the public mind.
Then I investigated conditions at the Vancouver Laundry, owned by a man of my
name, J. J. C. Armstrong, no relation. Actually, I found that conditions were
precisely the opposite of the general public conception.
The laundry washed clothes with a neutral chip soap—I think that particular
laundry used Palmolive, a gentle facial soap. To add alkaline strength, without
injury to clothes, they used an expensive soap builder—a controlled alkali,
which could not harm a baby’s tenderest skin, could not injure sheerest silks or
finest table linens, and yet possessed the strength to get greasiest overalls
spotlessly clean. This harmless but effective soap builder was not available to
consumers on the retail market. It was sold only in barrel quantities direct to
laundries. It was the result of then recent and specialized scientific research,
manufactured by one of the largest corporations in the laundry industry, a
subsidiary of the Aluminum Corporation of America (ALCOA).
Through Mr. J. J. C. Armstrong I met a laundry chemist, Robert H. Hughes, a
special technical representative of this company, the Cowles Detergent Company
of Cleveland, Ohio. Mr. Hughes explained to me the chemistry of laundering—why
we use soap to wash our hands, faces, or
clothes.
How Soap Cleans
It’s a very fascinating story. Did you ever wonder what causes particles of dirt
to cling to clothes—why clothes become soiled? Did you ever wonder how
soap removes dirt?
I don’t believe the truth will bore you. Briefly, this is the story:
Naturally, dirt would fall off clothes instead of attaching itself to cloth,
were it nor for the fact that an acid, or oil or grease, even in
slightest amount, is present. This acid holds the dirt to the cloth. Laundries
did not use acids, as so many people seemed to believe. There is acid
already present on the clothes, else they would not become soiled.
Chemically, matter is either acid, alkali or neutral. These are chemical
opposites.
Soap is made from two substances—fatty acid (oil or fat), and alkali. But
alkali, if used alone, would injure and rot cloth. So in the soap factory the
two substances, fatty acid and alkali, are mixed by a process called
saponification. This converts the two into a new substance, which is
neither acid nor alkali, but which we call soap.
If the soap be completely pure—a prominent soap used for faces and even babies
is advertised as 99 and 44/100% pure—there is no free alkali in it. All the
alkali has combined with the oil, tallow, or fat, and has been converted
into soap. The alkaline content is now utterly harmless. Yet it has an alkaline
action that will dissolve the acid that glues dirt to your skin or your clothes,
so that the dirt is flushed off in the rinsing.
But a pure facial soap is not sufficiently alkaline to loosen the acid on badly
soiled clothes. Therefore soap makers at the time of this story put a certain
excess amount of alkali in the laundry soaps sold in stores to housewives. This
excess alkali was called free alkali. It was not controlled, or neutralized, in
the soap. Alkali is chemically a crystalline substance. In other words, it
dilutes into and becomes part of the water. In clothes-washing, it soaks into
the fiber meshes of the garment. Rinsing cannot remove it—it merely dilutes it.
The soap and the dirt are flushed away in the rinsing—but the free
alkali remains inside the fiber of the cloth. In the drying process it tends to
eat or rot the cloth. It would even destroy shoe leather!
Now why does not a pure soap injure the cloth?
The answer is that, chemically, soap is a colloidal substance. In solution, or
emulsion, it breaks up into thousands of tiny particles. But it does not become
part of the water. Its thousands of minute particles discolor the water, float
around in the water. In the agitation or rubbing of clothes-washing, the
tiny soap particles are flushed in between the fiber meshes of the
garment or cloth, but never soak into the fibers. They dissolve the acid,
thus loosening the dirt. The agitation breaks up the dirt into tiny particles,
loosened from the cloth. The tiny colloidal soap particles have a chemical
affinity for the tiny dirt particles, which means the dirt particles cling to
the soap particles. The rinsing flushes them away. Even if all the soap were not
rinsed off, the alkali is not free but controlled by the soap, and could not eat
or rot or harm the cloth.
This scientific soap builder sold by the Cowles Detergent Company contained
great alkaline strength, but it was chemically in colloidal form, not
crystalline, and the alkali was as completely controlled as in a 100% pure soap.
Therefore it could not harm silks, woolens, or the sheerest, daintiest fabrics,
although, it had the strength to wash clean the greasiest overalls. Also it
restored colors, brought them out newer and sharper than before.
Since those days, however, there has been a complete revolution in the
manufacture of clothes-washing detergents sold to housewives. Whether our
big-space advertising of the dangers of the free-alkali laundry soaps to
clothes then sold for home washing machines had bearing on it, I do not know.
But the chemists on the staffs of leading soap and detergent manufacturers have
developed new synthetic detergents. Few housewives, if any, use soap in their
home washing machines today. The first household synthetic detergent on the
market was Dreft, produced by Proctor & Gamble, in 1933. Colgate came out with
Vel later in the 30’s. Since, there have been many developments in the field of
synthetic detergents. They are not yet perfect or foolproof, but chemists have
not yet exhausted the possibilities of improvement.
Our campaigns were in the early days of the home washing machine. These home
washers were crude, compared to today’s product. In our ads, and in special
booklets, we “figured it out” and convinced many housewives it was less costly
to send the family wash to the laundry.
A New Business Launched
I began to write big-space ads for this laundry. Armed with complete information
of customer attitude and complete factual and scientific information about
laundry processes, I was able to assure housewives that their sheerest,
daintiest fabrics were actually safer at the laundry than in their own hands at
home.
Soon these ads became an item of conversation among Vancouver women. It took
time to dispel suspicions and build confidence. But gradually the laundry
business began to increase.
Before this campaign, laundry business had consisted mainly of men’s shirts, and
hotel business. But now the family bundle business gradually began coming to the
laundry.
I found that the laundry industry was twelfth in size among American
industries—yet, in aggressive methods, and advertising and merchandising, it was
the least “alive,” and the most backward and undeveloped. I sensed, here, a
tremendous field for a new advertising business.
I began to develop plans for a personalized, yet syndicated advertising service
for leading laundries—one client in each city.
I learned that not all laundries were using as advanced methods as this
Vancouver Laundry. Some laundries were still using as a soap builder plain
caustic soda—free alkali. Some lacked efficiency methods of operation. Many
were guilty of haggling with customers over claims of losses or injury, and
of refusing to make losses good.
I had become closely acquainted with R. H. Hughes and his reputation among
laundry owners as the leading laundry chemist and expert on production methods
on the West Coast.
So, Mr. Hughes and I formed a partnership. As soon as my six months’ tenure with
the Vancouver Columbian expired, we set out to establish a new business
as a merchandising and advertising service for leading laundries.
I moved my family to Portland.
I would start off every campaign with a local merchandising survey, to determine
the local customer attitude. We would accept no client unless the laundry
owner would give Mr. Hughes complete latitude and authority within his plant, to
install the latest scientific methods and equipment, eliminate lost motion, and
speed up efficiency.
I had to be able to make big claims in the advertising. The client had to be
able to deliver what the ads promised. The client had to agree to settle every
claim without a question—the customer was always
to be right in any complaint.
And Then ... BANG!
The general appeal of the ads was syndicated—the same for all laundries. Yet
certain factors peculiar to each local laundry were altered to comply with that
particular client’s conditions. We ran two large-space ads each week for each
client.
The new business started with great promise. Soon we had as clients leading
laundries in Eugene, Corvallis, Albany, Salem, McMinnville, Oregon City, and
Portland, Oregon; and in Seattle, Spokane, Tacoma, Ellensburg, Walla Walla,
Olympia, Centralia, Chehalis, and Vancouver, Washington.
In six months the business volume of some of these laundries doubled. Our
advertising and merchandising service was winning big results for clients.
No matter how many clients we should acquire, I had only one general advertising
idea to think up and write for the entire
number. The new business promised to grow to be a national, universally used
service.
This would mean, in another two or three years, an income larger than I had ever
before contemplated. Already our fees were grossing close to $1,000 a month.
They appeared to promise to rise between $50,000 and $100,000 per month within
two or three more years. I began to see visions of a personal net income of
$300,000 to a half million dollars a year!
And then—the bottom fell out!
And through no fault or cause of our making. There was one unusual condition
peculiar to the laundry industry. They were highly organized in their
Laundryowners National Association.
Some bright advertising man, in an advertising agency in Indianapolis, Indiana,
put over on the Laundryowners National Association a $5,000,000 advertising
campaign for the entire industry—the entire amount to be spent by this agency in
the big-circulation national women’s magazines, such as Ladies’ Home Journal,
McCall’s, Good Housekeeping, etc. The campaign was to run three or more
years. The Association was to pay for it by assessing each laundry-owner member
within 1/2 of 1% of the maximum percent of sales volume a laundry could safely
spend in advertising.
Every one of our customers was taxed by this campaign up to the limit they could
safely spend. They had no alternative except to cancel out all their own private
local advertising. Our field was literally swept out from under our feet.
In Chicago I had built a publishers’ representative business that brought me an
income equivalent to well more than $50,000 a year or more before I was thirty.
The flash depression of 1920 had swept away all my major clients, and with them
my business.
Now, with a new business of much greater promise, all my clients were suddenly
removed from possibility of access, through powers and forces entirely outside
of my control.
It seemed, indeed, as if some invisible and
mysterious hand were causing the earth to simply
swallow up whatever business I started.
Reduced to Going Hungry
Soon every laundry client had been forced to drop all local advertising except
one. I still had the account of one of the two largest laundries in Portland,
running one ad a week in the Portland Oregonian. This supplied an income
of $50 per month.
But $50 per month was not enough to pay house rent, and provide food and
clothing for our family. We began to buy beans and such food as would provide
maximum bulk and nourishment on minimum cost.
One time, a couple days before my monthly $50 check was due, we were behind in
our rent, completely out of groceries except for some macaroni—we did not even
have a grain of salt in the house; our gas and electricity had been shut off. We
had a small heating stove in the living room, and nothing but old magazines for
fuel.
My morale was fast descending to subbasement. I was not so cocky or
self-confident now. It seemed almost as if I was being “softened” for a
knock-out blow of some kind.
Religious Controversy Enters
Some little time prior to this, we had been visiting my parents in Salem. My
wife had become acquainted with an elderly neighbor lady, Mrs. Ora Runcorn. Mrs.
Runcorn was an avid student of the Bible.
Before our marriage my wife had been quite interested in Bible study. She had
been for years an active Methodist.
After marriage, although she had not lost her interest in the Christian life and
the Bible, she had not had the same opportunity to express it, or participate in
religious fellowship with others. While we lived in Maywood, suburb of Chicago,
we had joined the River Forest Methodist Church. The fellowship there had been
more social than spiritual or Biblical.
But all Mrs. Armstrong’s active interest in things Biblical was reawakened when
she became acquainted with Mrs. Runcorn. One day Mrs. Runcorn gave her a Bible
study. She asked my wife to turn to a certain passage and read it. Then a
second, then a third, and so on for about an hour. Mrs. Runcorn made no
comment—gave no explanation or argument—just asked my wife to read aloud a
series of Biblical passages.
“Why!” exclaimed Mrs. Armstrong in amazement, “do all these Scriptures say that
I’ve been keeping the wrong day as the Sabbath all my life?”
“Well, do they?” asked Mrs. Runcorn. “Don’t ask me whether you
have been wrong—you shouldn’t believe what any person tells you, but only
what God tells you through the Bible. What does
He tell you, there? What do you see there with your own eyes?”
“Why, it’s as plain as anything could be!” exclaimed Mrs. Armstrong. “Why, this
is a wonderful discovery. I must rush back to tell my husband the good
news. I know he’ll be overjoyed!”
A minute or so later, Mrs. Armstrong came running into my parents’ home, with
the “good news.”
My jaw dropped!
This was the worst news I had ever heard! My wife gone into religious
fanaticism!
“Have you gone crazy?” I asked, incredulously.
“Of course not! I was never more sure of anything in my life,” responded my wife
with enthusiasm.
Indeed, I wondered if she really had lost her mind! Deciding to “keep
Saturday for Sunday!” Why, that seemed like rank
fanaticism! And my wife had always had such a sound mind! There was
nothing shallow about her. She had always had a well-balanced mind, with depth.
But now, suddenly—this! It seemed
incredible—preposterous!
“Loma,” I said sternly, “this is simply too ridiculous to believe! I am
certainly not going to tolerate any such religious fanaticism in our family!
You’ll have to give that up right here and now!”
But she wouldn’t!
“Doesn’t the Bible say that wives must be obedient to their husbands?” I asked.
“Yes, in the Lord, but not contrary to the Lord,” she came back.
It was amazing how many logical arguments came to my mind. But always she had
the answer.
I felt I could not tolerate such humiliation. What would my friends say?
What would former business acquaintances think? Nothing had ever hit me where it
hurt so much—right smack in the heart of all my pride and vanity and conceit!
And this mortifying blow had to fall immediately on top of
confidence-crushing financial reverses!
In desperation, I said: “Loma, you can’t tell me that all these churches have
been wrong all these hundreds of years! Why, aren’t these all Christ’s
churches?”
“Then,” came back Mrs. Armstrong, “why do they all disagree on so many
doctrines? Why does each one teach differently than the others?”
“But,” I still contended, “Isn’t the Bible the very source of the teaching of
all these Christian churches? And they do all agree on observing Sunday!
I’m sure the Bible says, ‘Thou shalt keep Sunday!’”
“Well, does it?” smiled my wife, handing me a Bible. “Show it to me, if it
does—and I’ll do what it says.”
“I don’t know where to find it. You know I’m no Bible student, I could never
understand the Bible. But I know the Bible must command the observance of
Sunday, because all the churches observe Sunday, except the Seventh-Day
Adventists, and they’re regarded as fanatics. The Sabbath was the day for the
Jews.”
I even threatened divorce, if my wife refused to give up this fanaticism, though
in my heart I didn’t really mean it. In our family divorce was a thing unheard
of—and beside, I was very much in love with my wife—though at the moment I was
boiling over with anger.
“If you can prove by the Bible that Christians are commanded to observe Sunday,
then of course I’ll do what I see in the Bible!”
This was her challenge.
“O.K.,” I answered, “I’ll make you this proposition: I don’t know much about the
Bible—I just never could seem to understand it. But I do have an analytical
mind. I’ve become experienced in research into business problems, getting the
facts and analyzing them. Now I’ll make a complete and thorough study of this
question in the Bible. All these churches can’t be wrong. I’ll prove to you in
the Bible that you are mistaken!”
This was in the autumn of 1926. My business was gone—all but the one laundry
account in Portland, where we were living at the time. This one advertising
account required only about 30 minutes a week of my time. I had
time on my hands for this challenge.
And so it was that in the fall of 1926—crushed in spirit from business reverses
not of my making—humiliated by what I regarded as wifely religious fanaticism,
that I entered into an in-depth study of the Bible for the first time in my
life.
Chapter 16
“Researching the Bible and Darwin”
We had moved to the Pacific Northwest in the summer of 1924. My wife’s brother,
Walter Dillon, and her sister Bertha, had driven Walter’s Model T Ford back to
Iowa in August. Walter finished his junior year at Simpson College in Indianola,
1924-1925 school year, and Bertha continued teaching at the same school where
she had taught before the Oregon trip.
During that third college year at Simpson, Walter had married a blonde girl of
German background whose name was Hertha. In June, 1925, Walter and his young
wife, together with Bertha and my wife’s father, had returned to Oregon. With a
new bride to support, it was necessary for Walter to go back to teaching school,
as he had done before entering Simpson. Both he and Bertha obtained teaching
jobs, and my father-in-law bought a small-town store.
During the following years, Walter attended summer sessions at the University of
Oregon, and managed also to take, part of the time, some night extension courses
at the university, in Portland. Walter kept this schedule, while teaching, until
he earned his B.A. at the university, and later his M.A. He soon moved up to a
principalship, and finally became principal at the largest grade school in
Oregon, outside of Portland.
Walter’s wife had been indoctrinated with the theory of evolution in college.
One day she and I became engaged in a discussion. The evolutionary doctrine came
into the conversation. I mentioned that I was not convinced of its validity.
Accused of Being Ignorant
“Herbert Armstrong, you are simply ignorant!”
accused Hertha. Her words stabbed deeply into what was left of my ego. “One is
uneducated, and ignorant, unless he believes in evolution. All educated people
now believe it.”
That accusation came hot on the heels of this Sabbath challenge from my wife. Of
course, Hertha was only about 19, and had had but her freshman year in college.
She was yet immature enough to be a bit oversold on what had been presented to
her as a mark of intellectual distinction. Nevertheless, her manner was cutting,
and a bit sarcastic, and I accepted it as a challenge.
“Hertha,” I responded, “I am just starting a study of the Bible. I intend to
include in this research a thorough study of the Biblical account of creation.
Since it is admittedly one of the two—evolution or special creation—I
will include an in-depth study of evolution. I feel sure that a thorough study
into both sides will show that it is you who are ignorant, and that you
merely studied one side of a two-sided question in freshman biology, and
accepted what was funnelled into your mind without question. And if and when I
do, I’m going to make you EAT those words!”
And so it developed that I now had a double challenge to go to work on—a
dual subject involving both the Biblical claims for special creation, and
also a more in-depth study than before into texts on biology, geology,
paleontology, and the various works on the theory of evolution.
Actually, this is simply the study into the two
possibilities of origins. It threw me directly into an in-depth research of what
is perhaps the most basic of all knowledge—the
very starting point in the acquisition of knowledge—the search for the
correct concept through which to view all
facts.
The two subjects—or, rather, the two sides of the same subject of origins—should
be unprejudicially and objectively studied together, yet seldom are!
Most believers in the Bible and in the existence of God have probably just grown
up believing it, because they were reared in an atmosphere where it was
believed. But perhaps few ever studied into it deeply enough to obtain
irrefutable proof.
Likewise, the educated, who have gone on through college or university, have, in
the main, been taught the theory of evolution as a belief. They have accepted
it, in all probability, without having given any serious or thorough study of
the Biblical claims.
I had come to the point where I wanted the truth!
I now had the time on my hands. I was willing to pay the price of thorough and
in-depth research to be sure!
The reader is reminded that I had chosen, instead of the university, the process
of self-education, selecting my own courses of study. I had studied diligently,
after leaving high school at age 18, and continuously up to this incident in
1926. But I was now entering on a field of research in which previous study had
been minimal.
I began this intensified study by obtaining everything I could find in the way
of books, pamphlets and other literature both for and against what was often
called “the Jewish Sabbath.” I wanted, not only everything I could lay hands on,
on the case for Sunday, and against the 7th-day Sabbath. I wanted, also,
the arguments or proponents for it, which I hoped to be able honestly to
refute.
At the same time, I found, in the Portland Public Library, many scientific works
either directly on evolution, or as a teaching in textbooks on biology,
paleontology and geology. Also I found books by scientists and doctors of
philosophy puncturing many holes in the evolutionary hypothesis. Strangely, even
the critics of evolution, being themselves scientific men, paradoxically
accepted the very theory they so ably refuted.
But, reading first the works of Darwin, Haeckel, Spencer, Huxley, Vogt, and more
recent and modern authorities, the evolutionary postulate began to become very
convincing.
It became apparent early that the real and thorough-going evolutionists
universally agreed that evolution excluded the possibility of the existence of
God! While some of the lesser lights professed a
sort of fence-straddling theistic evolution, I soon learned that the real
dyed-in-the-wool evolutionists all were atheists. Evolution could not
honestly be reconciled with the first chapter of Genesis!
Does God Exist?
And so it came about that, very early in this study of evolution and of the
Bible, actual doubts came into my mind as to the existence of God!
In a very real sense, this was a good thing. I had always assumed the
existence of God because I had been taught it from childhood. I had grown up in
Sunday school. I simply took it for granted.
Now, suddenly, I realized I had never proved
whether there is a God. Since the existence of God is the very first
basis for religious belief and authority—and
since the inspiration of the Bible by such a God as His revelation to
mankind is the secondary and companion basis for faith and practice, I realized
that the place to start was to prove whether God
exists and whether the Holy Bible is His revelation of knowledge and information
for mankind.
I had nothing but time on my hands. I rose early
and studied. Most mornings I was standing at the
front entrance of the Public Library when its doors were opened. Most evenings I
left the Library at 9 p.m., closing time. Most nights I continued study at home
until my wife, at 1 a.m. or later, would waken from her sleep and urge me to
break off and get to bed.
I delved into science. I learned the facts about radioactive elements. I learned
how radioactivity proves there has been no past eternity of matter. There was a
time when matter did not exist. Then there came a time when matter came into
existence. This was creation, one of several
proofs of God.
By the laws of science, including the law of bio-genesis, that only
life can beget life—that dead matter cannot
produce life—that the living cannot come from the not-living, by these laws came
proof that God exists. In the Bible I found one
quoted, saying in the first person, “I am God.”
This God was quoted directly in Scriptures, proved to have been written
hundreds of years before Christ, pronouncing the future fates of every
major city and nation in the ancient world. I delved into
history. I learned that these prophecies, in
every instance (except in prophecies pertaining to a time yet future), had come
to pass precisely as written!
Refuting Evolution
I studied the creation account in the Bible. It is not all in Genesis 1.
I studied it all! I studied evolution. At first the evolutionary theory seemed
very convincing—just as it does to freshmen students in most colleges and
universities.
I noted evidences of comparative anatomy. But these evidences were not, in
themselves, proof. They merely tended to make
the theory appear more reasonable if proved. I noted tests and discoveries of
embryology. These, too, were not proof, but only
supporting evidence if evolution were proved.
I noticed that Lamarck’s original theory of use and disuse, once accepted as
science, had been laughed out of school. I learned that the once scientific
spiral-nebular theory of the earth’s existence had become the present-day
laughing stock, supplanted by (in 1926) Professor Chamberlin’s planetesimal
hypothesis. I sought out the facts of Darwin’s life. I learned the facts about
his continual sickness—about his preconceived theory and inductive process of
reasoning in searching for such facts and arguments as would sustain his theory.
I researched the facts about his tour on the good ship Beagle. I read of
how he admitted there were perplexing problems in his theories and in what he
had written, but that he nevertheless continued to promulgate evolution. I
learned how his colleagues glossed over these perplexing problems and
propagandized his theory into scientific acceptance.
Then I came to the matter of the human mind. As far back as 1926 I was concerned
about the vast gulf between animal brain and
human mind. Could that gulf have been bridged by evolution? It appeared that,
even if the evolutionary process were possible, in reality the
time required to bridge this gulf in
intellectual development would have been millions of times longer than what
geology and paleontology would indicate.
But, most important, I knew that I, with my mind, am superior to anything my
mind can devise, and that I can make. Likewise, it became axiomatic that nothing
less than the intelligence of my mind could have produced something
superior to itself—my mind! Of necessity, the
very presence of human intellect necessitates a superior and greater Intellect
to have designed, devised, and produced the human mind! It could not have been
produced by natural causes, and resident forces, as evolution
presupposes. Unintelligence could not produce intelligence superior to itself!
Rational common sense demanded a Creator of superior mind!
I came to see that there was only one possible proof of evolution as a fact.
That was the assumption that, in the study of paleontology, the most simple
fossils were always in the oldest strata, laid down first; while, as we
progress into strata of later deposition, the fossils found in them become
gradually more complex, tending toward advancing intelligence.
That one claim, I finally determined, was the trunk
of the tree of evolution. If the trunk stood, the theory appeared proved. If I
could chop down the trunk, the entire tree would fall with it.
I began a search to learn how these scientists
determined the age of strata. I was months finding it. None of the texts I
searched seemed to explain anything about it. This
trunk of the tree was carelessly assumed—without proof.
Were the oldest strata always on the bottom—the next oldest next to the bottom,
the most recent on the top? Finally I found it in a recognized text on geology
authored by Prof. Thomas Chrowder Chamberlin. No, sometimes the most recent were
actually below the most ancient strata. The age of strata was not
determined by stages of depth. The depth of strata varied in different parts of
the world.
How, then, was the age of strata determined? Why, I finally discovered in this
very reputable authority, their age was determined by the fossils found in them.
Since the geologists “knew” their evolutionary theory was true, and since
they had estimated how many millions of years ago a certain fossil specimen
might have lived, that age determined the age of the strata!
In other words, they assumed the age of the
strata by the supposition that their theory of evolution was true. And they “proved”
their theory was true by the supposition of the progressive ages of the
strata in which fossil remains had been found! This was arguing in a circle!
The trunk of the evolutionary tree was chopped
down. There was no proof!
I wrote a short paper on this discovery. I showed it to the head librarian of
the technical and science department of a very large library.
“Mr. Armstrong,” she said, “you have an uncanny knack of getting right to the
crux of a problem. Yes, I have to admit you have chopped down the trunk of the
tree. You have robbed me of proof! But, Mr.
Armstrong, I still have to go on believing in evolution. I have done
graduate work at Columbia, at the University of Chicago, and other top-level
institutions. I have spent my life in the atmosphere of science and in the
company of scientific people. I am so steeped in it that I could not root it
from my mind!”
What a pitiful confession, from one so steeped in “the wisdom of this world.”
The Creation MEMORIAL
I had disproved the theory of evolution. I had found
proof of creation—
proof of the existence of God—proof of
the divine inspiration of the Bible.
Now I had a basis for belief. Now
I had a solid foundation on which to build. The
Bible had proved itself to contain
authority. I had now studied far enough to know
that I must live by it, and that I shall finally
be judged by it—not by men, nor by man’s church
denominations, theories, theologies, tenets, doctrines, or pronouncements. I
would be judged by Almighty God finally, and
according to the Bible!
So now I began to study further into this Sabbath question.
Of course I had procured all the pamphlets, books and booklets I could find in
defense of Sunday observance, and purporting to refute the “Jewish Sabbath.”
Especially I sought out eagerly everything claiming apostolic observance of
Sunday as “the Christian Sabbath.” Early in my study, I learned about the many
Bible helps—the concordances, which list alphabetically all the words used in
the Bible, showing where they are used, and what Greek, Hebrew or Aramaic word
was originally written—the Bible Dictionaries, the Bible encyclopedias, the
commentaries, etc., etc.
From the exhaustive concordances I soon learned that the command I sought, “Thou
shalt keep Sunday,” was nowhere to be found in the Bible. In fact the word
“Sunday” was not used in the Bible. That surprised me.
I really became excited, however, when I learned that there are eight places in
the New Testament where the phrase “first day of the week” appears. And I read
eagerly arguments in tracts or booklets claiming that these established that the
original apostles were holding their weekly worship services on “the first day
of the week”—which is Sunday.
But I became painfully disappointed on learning by more careful study, that
there was not a single instance of a religious service being held on the hours
we call Sunday—Saturday midnight to Sunday midnight. The Apostle Paul, after
spending a “Saturday” Sabbath with the church at Troas, preached to them
Saturday night until midnight. But although, in the Biblical manner of ending
each day and beginning the next at sunset, that was—Biblically speaking—on “the
first day of the week,” it was not Sunday, but Saturday night, lasting
until Sunday began at midnight.
I was further disappointed in this case, when I discovered on careful study,
that on that Sunday Paul indulged in the labor of walking some 19 miles
to Assos. The others of Paul’s company had sailed, beginning sunset when the
Sabbath ended, around the peninsula, some 65 miles to Assos. By walking the 19
miles straight across, on Sunday, Paul had gained the extra time to continue
speaking to the people Saturday night.
So my effort to find a command to observe Sunday met with disappointment.
I found there is no command to observe Sunday. Sunday is nowhere called holy
time, but to my chagrin, I found this “Jewish Sabbath” is, and is said to
be holy to God. There was not even a single example of any religious meeting
having been held on the hours called Sunday!
On the other hand, I had to learn, like it or not, that Jesus kept the Sabbath
day “as His custom was,” and the Apostle Paul kept it “as his manner was.” Also
Paul spent many Sabbath days preaching and holding weekly services, and in one
instance the Gentiles waited a whole week in order to be able to come and hear
Paul preach the same words on the following Sabbath!
I learned that creation is the very
proof of God! A heathen comes along, pointing to
an idol made by man’s hands out of wood, stone or marble or gold.
“This idol is the real god,” he says. “How can you prove your God is superior to
this idol that I worship?”
“Why,” I answer, “My God is the creator. He
created the wood, stone, marble or gold that your god is made of. He created
man, and man, a created being,
made that idol. Therefore my God is greater than
your idol because it is only a particle of what my God
made!”
Another comes along and says, “I worship the sun.
We get our light from the sun. It warms the earth and makes vegetation grow. I
think the sun is God.”
“But,” I reply, “the true God created the sun.
He created light. He created force, energy, and life. He makes the sun shine on
the earth. He controls the sun, because He
controls all the forces of His creation. He is supreme
ruler over His universe.”
Then I began to see that on the very seventh day of creation week, God set that
day aside from other days. On that day He rested
from all He had created by work. On that day he
created the Sabbath, not by work, but by rest,
putting His divine presence in it! He made it holy time.
No man has authority to make future time holy. No group of men—no church! Only God
is holy! Only God can make things
holy. The Sabbath is a constantly recurring
space of time, marked off by the setting of the sun. God made every recurring
Sabbath holy and commanded man (Exodus 20) to keep it holy.
Why did He do it? Why
does it make any difference?
I found it in the special Sabbath
covenant in Exodus 31:12-18. He made it the sign
between Him and His people. A sign is a mark of
identity. First, it is a sign that God is the Creator,
because it is a memorial of creation—the
creation is the proof of God—it identifies Him.
No other space of time could be a memorial of creation.
Thus God chose that very space of time for man to assemble for worship which
keeps man in the knowledge of the true identity of God
as the Creator. Every nation which has not
kept the Sabbath has worshipped the created rather than the Creator. It
is a sign that identifies God’s own people, because it is they who
obey God in this commandment, while this is the
very commandment which everyone else regards as the
least of the commandments—which they rebel
against obeying!
God is the one you
obey. The word Lord means Master—the one
you obey! This is the one point on which the
largest number of people refuse to obey the true God,
thus proving they are not His people!
Law and Grace
I studied carefully everything I could obtain which attempted to refute
the Sabbath. I wanted, more than anything on earth, to refute it—to prove that Sunday
was the true Christian Sabbath, or “Lord’s Day.”
I read the arguments about “law or grace.”
I was pointed to, and read, Romans 3:20: “Therefore by the deeds of the law
there shall no flesh be justified in His sight.”
But I looked into the Bible, and found the
pamphlet had left out the rest of the verse which says: “for by the law is the
knowledge of sin.” That is true, because I read in I John 3:4 that the Bible
definition of sin is
not man’s conscience, or his church “don’ts,”
but “Sin is the transgression of the law.” Naturally, then, the
knowledge of sin comes by the
law.
And I discovered the pamphlet forgot to quote the 31st verse:
“Do we then make void the law through faith? God forbid: yea, we establish
the law.”
I read in a pamphlet, “...the law worketh wrath”
(Rom. 4:15).
I turned to my Bible and read the rest of the same verse: “for where no law is,
there is no transgression.” Of course! Because the law
defines sin. Sin is disobedience of the law!
I read in one of the pamphlets that the law was an evil thing, contrary to our
best interests. But then I read in Romans 7: “Is the law sin? God forbid!
Nay, I had not known sin, but by the law: for I had not known lust, except the
law had said ‘Thou shalt not covet.’” And “Wherefore the law is
holy, and the commandment holy, and just, and
good.” And again, “For we know that the law is spiritual” (verses
7,12,14).
I learned that grace is
pardon, through the blood of Christ, for having transgressed the
law. But if a human judge pardons a man for breaking a civil or criminal law,
that pardon does not repeal the law. The man is pardoned so that he may now
obey the law. And God
pardons only after we repent of sin!
The Bitter Pill
But do not suppose I quickly or easily came to admit my wife had been right, or
to accept the seventh-day Sabbath as the truth of the Bible.
I spent a solid six months of virtual
night-and-day, seven-day-a-week study and
research, in a determined effort to find just the opposite.
I searched in vain for any authority in the
Bible to establish Sunday as the day for
Christian worship. I even studied Greek sufficiently to run down every possible
questionable text in the original Greek.
I studied the Commentaries. I studied the Lexicons and Robertsons’s Grammar
of the Greek New Testament. Then I studied history.
I delved into encyclopedias—the Britannica, the Americana, and
several religious encyclopedias. I searched the Jewish Encyclopedia, and
the Catholic Encyclopedia. I read Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the
Roman Empire, especially his chapter 15 dealing with the religious history
of the first four hundred years after Christ. And one of the most convincing
evidences against Sunday was in the history of how and when it began.
I left no stone unturned.
I found clever arguments. I will confess that, so eager was I to overthrow this
Sabbath belief of my wife, at one point in this intensive study I believed I
might possibly have been able to use arguments to confuse and upset my wife on
the Sabbath question. But there was no temptation to try to do it. I knew
these arguments were not honest! I could not deliberately try to
deceive my wife with dishonest arguments. The thought was immediately pushed
aside. I know now she could not have been deceived.
Finally, after six months, the truth had become
crystal clear. At last I knew what was the
truth. Once again, God had taken me to a
licking!
It had been bewildering—utterly frustrating! It seemed as if some mysterious,
invisible hand was disintegrating every business I started!
That was precisely what was happening! The hand of God was taking away
every activity on which my heart had been set—the business success before whose
shrine I had worshipped. This zeal to become important in the business world had
become an idol. God was destroying the idol. He was knocking me down—again and
again! He was puncturing the ego, deflating the vanity.
Midas in Reverse
At age 16 ambition had been aroused. I began to study constantly—to work at
self-improvement—to prod and drive myself on and on. I had sought the jobs which
would provide training and experience for the future. This had led to travel, to
contacts with big and important men, multimillionaire executives.
At twenty-eight a publishers’ representative business had been built in Chicago
which produced an income equivalent to some $35,000 a year measured by today’s
dollar value. The flash depression of 1920 had swept it away. At age thirty,
discouraged, broken in spirit, I was removed from it entirely.
Then, in Oregon, had come the advertising service for laundries. It was growing
and multiplying rapidly. After one year, in the fall of 1926, the fees were
grossing close to $1,000 per month. I saw visions of a personal net income
mounting to from $300,000 to a half million a year with expansion to national
proportions. Then an action by the Laundryowners National Association swept the
laundry advertising business out from under my feet.
It seemed that I was King Midas in reverse. Every material money-making
enterprise I started promised gold, but turned to nothing!
They vanished like mirages on a desert.
Yes, God Almighty the Creator, was knocking me down—again and again. As often as
I got back to my feet to fight, on starting another business or enterprise,
another blow of utter and bitter defeat seemed to strike me from behind by an
unseen hand. I was being “softened” for the final knock-out of material
ambition.
Now came the greatest inner battle of my life.
To accept this truth meant—so I supposed—to cut me off from all former
friends, acquaintances and business associates. I had come to meet some of
the independent “Sabbath-keepers” down around Salem and the Willamette Valley.
Some of them were what I then, in my pride and conceit, regarded as backwoods
“hillbillies.” None were of the financial and social position of those I had
associated with.
My associations and pride had led me to “look down upon” this class of people. I
had been ambitious to hobnob with the wealthy and the cultural.
I saw plainly what a decision was before me. To accept this truth meant to throw
in my lot for life with a class of people I had always looked on as inferior. I
learned later that God looks on the heart, and these humble people were
the real salt of the earth. But I was then still looking on the outward
appearance. It meant being cut off completely and forever from all to which I
had aspired. It meant a total crushing of vanity. It meant a total change of
life!
I counted the cost!
But then, I had been beaten down. I had been humiliated. I had been broken in
spirit, frustrated. I had come to look on this formerly esteemed self as a
failure. I now took another good look at myself.
And I acknowledged: “I’m nothing but a burned-out old hunk of junk.”
I realized I had been a swellheaded egotistical jackass.
Finally, in desperation, I threw myself on God’s mercy. I said to God that I
knew, now, that I was nothing but a burned-out hunk of junk. My life was worth
nothing more to me. I said to God that I knew
now I had nothing to offer Him—but if He would
forgive me—if He could have any use whatsoever for such a worthless dreg of
humanity, that He could have my life; I knew it was worthless, but if He could
do anything with it, He could have it—I was willing to give this worthless self
to Him—I wanted to accept Jesus Christ as
personal Saviour!
I meant it! It was the toughest battle I ever fought. It was a battle for
life. I lost that battle, as I had been recently
losing all battles. I realized Jesus Christ had bought and paid for my life. I
gave in. I surrendered, unconditionally. I told Christ He could have what was
left of me! I didn’t think I was worth saving!
Jesus said, “Whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose
his life for my sake shall find it.” I then and there gave up my life—not
knowing that this was the only way to really
find it!
It was humiliating to have to admit my wife had been right, and I had been
wrong. It was disillusioning to learn, on studying the Bible for the first time,
that what I had been taught in Sunday school was, in so many basic instances,
the very opposite of what the Bible plainly states. It was shocking to learn
that “all these churches were wrong” after all!
But I did, later, have one satisfaction. I wrote up a long manuscript about the
Sabbath, finally tying it up with evolution, and proving evolution false. I gave
it to my sister-in-law, Mrs. Dillon. She read it unsuspectingly. Before she
realized what she was reading, she had accepted the evidence and
proof that evolution was false.
“You tricked me!” she exclaimed.
But she did have to “eat those words”!
Chapter 17
“At the Crossroads-and a Momentous Decision”
It was humiliating to have to admit my wife had been right, and I had been
wrong, in the most serious argument that ever came between us.
Disillusionment
But to my utter disappointed astonishment, I found that much of the popular
church teachings and practices were not based on the Bible. They had
originated, as research in history had revealed, in paganism. Numerous Bible
prophecies foretold it. The amazing, unbelievable truth was, the
source of these popular beliefs and practices of
professing Christianity was, quite largely, paganism and human reasoning and
custom, NOT the Bible!
I had first doubted, then searched for evidence, and found
proof that God exists—that the Holy Bible is,
literally, His divinely inspired revelation and instruction to mankind. I had
learned that one’s God is what a person obeys.
The word Lord means master—the one you
obey! Most people, I had discovered, are obeying
false gods, rebelling against the one true Creator
who is the supreme Ruler of the universe.
The argument was over a point of obedience to God.
The opening of my eyes to the truth brought me
to the crossroads of my life. To accept it meant to throw in my lot with a class
of humble and unpretentious people I had always looked upon as inferior. It
meant being cut off from the high and the mighty and the wealthy of this world,
to which I had aspired. It meant the final crushing of
vanity. It meant a total change of life!
Life and Death Struggle
It meant real repentance, for now I saw that I
had been breaking God’s Law. I had been rebelling against God. It meant turning
around and going the way of God—the
way of His Bible—living according to every word
in the Bible, instead of according to the ways of society or the desires of the
flesh and of vanity.
It was a matter of which way I would travel for
the remainder of my life. I had certainly reached the
crossroads!
But I had been beaten down. God had brought that about—though I didn’t realize
it then. Repeated business reverses, failure after failure, had destroyed
self-confidence. I was broken in spirit. The self in me didn’t want to die. It
wanted to try to get up from ignominious defeat and try once again to tread the
broad and popular way of vanity and of this
world. But now I knew that way was wrong!
I knew its ultimate penalty was death. But I
didn’t want to die now!
It was truly a battle for life—a life and death
struggle. In the end, I lost that battle, as I had been losing all worldly
battles in recent years.
In final desperation, I threw myself on His mercy. If He could use my life, I
would give it to Him—not in physical suicide, but as a living
sacrifice, to use as He willed. It was worth nothing to me any longer.
Jesus Christ had bought and paid for my life by His death. It really belonged
to Him, and now I told Him He could have it!
From then on, this defeated no-good life of mine was God’s. I didn’t see how it
could be worth anything to Him. But it was His to use as His instrument, if He
thought He could use it.
JOY in Defeat
This surrender to God—this repentance—this
giving up of the world, of friends and
associates, and of everything—was the most bitter pill I ever swallowed. Yet it
was the only medicine in all my life that ever brought a healing!
For I actually began to realize that I was finding joy beyond words to describe
in this total defeat. I had actually found joy
in the study of the Bible—in the discovery of new
truths, heretofore hidden from my consciousness. And in surrendering to God
in complete repentance, I found unspeakable joy
in accepting Jesus Christ as personal Saviour
and my present High Priest.
I began to see everything in a new and different light. Why should it
have been a difficult and painful experience to surrender to my Maker and my
God? Why was it painful to surrender to obey God’s right ways?
Why? Now, I came to a new outlook on life.
Somehow I began to realize a new fellowship and
friendship had come into my life. I began to be conscious of a contact and
fellowship with Christ, and with God the Father.
When I read and studied the Bible, God was talking to me, and now I loved
to listen! I began to pray, and knew that in prayer I was talking with God. I
was not yet very well acquainted with God. But one gets to be better
acquainted with another by constant contact and continuous conversation.
A Doctrine at a Time
So I continued the study of the Bible. I began to write, in article form, the
things I was learning. I did not then suppose these articles would ever be
published. I wrote them for my own satisfaction. It was one way to learn more by
the study.
I had been reared of Quaker stock. The Quakers do not believe in water baptism.
But now I wanted to prove, by the Bible, whether
I ought to be baptized. So I began to study about baptism—and receiving the Holy
Spirit.
As this study of the Bible continued, I was forced to come out of the fog of
religious babylon a single doctrine at a time. It was years later before
I came to see the whole picture—to understand
God’s purpose being worked out here below, and why, and how, He is working it
out. Like a jigsaw puzzle, the many single doctrinal parts ultimately fit
together, and then, for the first time, the whole
picture burst joyfully into view.
It was like being so close to one tree at a time I could not see the forest. I
had to examine every doctrinal tree in the religious forest. Many, as I had been
brought up to believe them, were felled on close examination
in the Bible. New doctrinal trees came into
view. But finally, after years, I was able to see the whole forest of
truth, with dead doctrinal trees removed.
That is why students at Ambassador College today are able to learn the
truth much more rapidly than I could. That is
why the readers of The Plain Truth, the regular listeners of The World
Tomorrow program, and the students of the Ambassador College Correspondence
Course are able to come to mature knowledge of the truth so quickly. The pioneer
work has been done. The weeds have been removed. The very trunks of the
trees of false doctrines have been chopped down and uprooted.
But I myself had to check carefully and test every doctrine, one at a time.
And so next, after repentance and surrender to God, came an intensive study of
water baptism.
Disillusioned About Preachers
During my initial six months’ study, I had studied not only the Bible, but every
book, booklet or tract I could get on the religious subjects under study. On the
Sabbath question, I had sought out eagerly and studied avidly everything I could
find against the Sabbath and supporting Sunday as the “Lord’s Day.” But I
had tried to be fair, and searched also the literature on the other side of the
question. But always the Bible was the sole
authority. Thus I became quite familiar with Seventh-Day Adventist literature.
Never, however, did I attend any Seventh-Day Adventist church service.
Also I checked over carefully the literature of the Church of God, with
headquarters at Stanberry, Missouri.
Upon surrender to God, I had lost all sense of animosity toward Mrs. O. J.
Runcorn, the elderly lady who had started my wife on the religious “fanaticism”
which proved to be God’s truth. We even came to call her and her husband our
spiritual parents. Mrs. Armstrong and I visited with her frequently when in
Salem at the home of my parents. Through her and her husband we became
acquainted with a small group of “Church of God people” in Salem and near
Jefferson, Oregon.
One day when we were in Salem we learned that a preacher of this Church of God
had just arrived from Texas, an Elder Unzicker. He and his wife were staying at
the home of a neighbor, member of the Church of God. Mrs. Armstrong and I walked
across the street to this neighbor’s house to see him. I wanted to ask him
questions about water baptism.
Questioning Other Ministers
Next I went to a Baptist minister in Portland, to learn why Baptists
believe in baptism. He was courteous and patient, glad to explain his church’s
teachings.
I went to a Seventh-Day Adventist minister. He, too, was courteous and glad to
explain his belief, according to the Bible.
Then, finally, I went to see a minister of the Friends Church.
I asked him why the Quakers did not believe in
water baptism. He explained the Quaker belief. They believe in spiritual,
not water, baptism.
“Well, Herbert,” he said finally, “I’ll have to confess I can’t honestly justify
our church position by the Bible. This very thing bothered me a great deal when
I first felt called into the ministry. At first, I felt I could not consistently
become a minister in the Friends Church because this stand on water baptism
really bothered me. But then, I looked at some of the great preachers of the
church (naming several, including my own great-uncle Thomas Armstrong), and they
all seemed to be holy men of God. And so I decided that if such great and holy
men could preach against water baptism, so could I.”
To me, this was disillusioning and discouraging. It showed me that ministers are
human, like other people, after all. As a boy, I had somehow come to assume that
ministers of religion are different from other people. Preachers were
holy. Other people were sinners. Other people
had human nature. But preachers were above the temptation and weaknesses
of mortal humans. They were a sort of special species, about half way between
ordinary humans and God. I had looked on ministers of religion with a sort of
embarrassed awe. I think many people think of the clergy in similar manner.
Of course I was not a minister, and at that time did not ever expect to be. In
my Bible study up to this point I had become painfully aware that “the heart
[human] is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked” (Jeremiah 17:9).
This is true of every human, and I had to realize it included me. But I had to
come to see that clergymen are human also—and perhaps have even a harder fight
against temptation than laymen.
My Experience Utterly Unique
Actually, though I didn’t realize it then, I was, myself, being literally thrust
into the Ministry of Christ, though not at all of my own seeking. And I know now
that my experience was, in all probability, utterly
unique! Most certainly the manner in which I was put into it was unlike
any other I had heard of.
How does the average minister come to enter the clergy? I’m sure most choose the
ministry in the same manner that other young men choose medicine, law,
architecture or science as a life profession. So, naturally, they enter into
whatever course of preparation is provided by their particular religion, church
or denomination. Probably they enter a theological seminary. There they are
taught the doctrines of their particular religious organization.
But I did not belong to any particular religion, church or sect. I did not
choose the clergy as a profession. Actually,
that would have been the very last choice in my case. But, though it was
not yet realized, the profession I had chosen, after thorough
self-analysis and survey of professions and occupations—journalism and
advertising—provided the very background, training and experience to fit me for
what I was now being drawn into.
I did not enter the course of study of some particular religion or church. I was
not being taught by man! I had entered on the
in-depth study of the Bible to prove my wife was wrong in a new religious
belief. Being challenged also on the theory of evolution, my research led me to
question even the existence of God and the authority of the Bible. And I had
accepted the reality of the existence of God, and the authority of the Bible,
only after finding incontrovertible
proof.
How do most people come to believe what they do? The philosopher C. E. Ayres
commented that few indeed ever stop to inquire in retrospect
how they come to believe what they do, or
why they believe it. Most people believe
whatever they have been taught, or what they have read, or heard, or whatever
their particular group, religion, church, political party, or area of the world
believes. They simply “go along.” They carelessly assume because others do.
Our system of education encourages this. It fails abysmally to teach growing
children to think for themselves, to question, to seek
proof before believing. In school and college
students are taught to accept and memorize whatever is in the textbook, or given
in the lecture. They are graded on how well they have accepted and memorized
what has been thus funnelled into their unsuspecting minds. And I know of no
seminary that departs from this process, or encourages students to thoroughly
question whether their sectarian doctrines are true.
Of course, too, people usually believe what they want
to believe. That is to say, they refuse to believe what they don’t want
to believe. But in my case I was forced, on thorough examination and research,
to believe what, prior to that research, I had definitely and vigorously not
wanted to believe. I was forced, to accept, on proof,
that which I had started out to prove false. I
was forced to admit, under most humiliating circumstances, on proof, what I had
hoped to disprove.
And what I was forced, on proof, to accept was
probably the most unpopular belief, and the hardest for most
people to accept. But I had, against my wishes, found it to be true, and once
proved true. I did finally come to embrace it
with gladness and joy!
In no other manner, I believe, could the mind of anyone have been opened to see
the most basic, vital truths of the revealed
Message of God to mankind—the most important knowledge of all—utterly overlooked
and unrealized by this world’s religions, churches and sects.
It was in this unique manner that I was brought
to discover the missing dimension in education—the
truth as to why humanity was put on this earth—the true
purpose of human life—the cause of all
the world’s unhappiness, unsolvable problems and evils—the difference between
the true values and the false—the
way that can be the only CAUSE of
peace between nations, groups and
individuals—the only cause of true success in life with happiness, peace,
prosperity and abundance.
No, I know of no one who was thrust into the Ministry of Jesus Christ, untaught
by man, but by the living Christ through His
written Word, in the manner in which I was. I didn’t realize it yet, but I was
being brought into His Ministry by the living Christ in a manner
utterly unique, and totally unlike any other of
which I know!
But back, now, to my study in regard to baptism.
Begotten of God
Finally the study of the subject of baptism was completed. There was no longer
doubt. Peter had said: “repent, and be baptized
every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye
shall receive the gift of the Holy Spirit” (Acts 2:38). To Cornelius and his
house, who already had received the Holy Spirit, Peter said: “Can any man forbid
water, that these should not be baptized,
which have received the Holy Spirit as well as we? And he commanded them to
be baptized in the name of the Lord” (Acts 10:47-48).
It was a command. There was no promise of receiving the Holy Spirit until after
being baptized—although Cornelius, the exception to the rule, had been begotten
by the Holy Spirit prior to baptism. Yet even he was commanded to be
baptized in water. What I had learned in this
study on baptism is recounted in our free booklet All About Water Baptism.
And so I was baptized forthwith and without delay.
Immediately upon coming up out of the water, I definitely experienced a
change in attitude and in mind generally. I had already repented and
surrendered to God’s rule over my life. The natural carnal hostility to God and
His Law already had gone.
Yet, now, for the first time, I felt clean! I
knew, now, that the terribly heavy load of sin had been taken off my
shoulders. Christ had paid the penalty for me. All past sins were now blotted
out by His blood. My conscience was clean and clear.
For the first time in my life I experienced real inner PEACE of mind!
I realized, as never before, how futile and useless and foolish are the ways of
this world, on which most people set so much store. There was a quiet, wonderful
happiness of mind in the sure knowledge that now I was actually a begotten son
of God! I could really call God
Father!
There were no excitable physical sensations or exhilarating
feelings running up and down the spine. Nothing
of the nervous system. That is physical—not spiritual. Nothing of the
senses—nothing sensual, as some people, diabolically misled and deceived
claim to experience. But there was a knowing!
There was an unmistakable renewing of the mind (Romans 12:2).
For six months I had struggled night and day, with a carnal mind, to learn the
truth about one single doctrine in the Bible. Prior to that my wife and I had
read the Bible clear through—but I had not understood a WORD of it! Most
of the time I asked my wife to do the reading, because she could read faster. We
got through quicker. But it was like reading or listening to a foreign language.
I simply could not UNDERSTAND the BIBLE!
But now, from this point of baptism on, a strange, wonderful, delightful new
thing took place. I could read the Bible and understand
what I read! Of course I could not understand the whole
Bible in five or ten minutes. I still had to study it a doctrine at a time. But
it was understandable! It made sense! Even
though it took time, I was now getting some place. But I was comprehending and
learning so much faster than during that initial six months’ study!
It was like a miracle! And indeed, it WAS a
miracle! The very Holy Spirit of God had come into and renewed my
mind. I had been baptized by the Holy Spirit into the true Body of
Christ, the Church of God—but I did not realize that fact literally. I was still
to search earnestly to find the one and only true Church which Jesus
founded, before recognizing fully He had already placed me in it!
Chapter 18
“Learning Whether God Answers Prayers”
Where is the one true Church today? That
is the question that still haunted my mind in the late spring and the summer of
1927.
During that six months’ diligent research, I had run the gamut of
disillusionment, doubt, confusion, frustration—and finally, the sure knowledge,
proved, that God exists, and that the
Holy Bible is His revealed Word.
Finally, sadly disillusioned about believing “all these churches couldn’t be
wrong,” I began to ask, “where is the one true Church today?” I read in
Matthew 16:18 where Jesus said: “I will build my Church.”
Therefore I knew He did build it. He said the gates of the grave would
never prevail against it. It had to be in existence still. But
where? Which church could it be?
I had been astounded to learn that the Bible
teaches truths diametrically opposite to the teachings of the large and popular
churches and denominations today. I saw in the Bible the real
mission of God’s true Church. But these
churches, today, were not carrying on the real work and mission of
Christ.
The source of their beliefs and practice was
not the Bible, but paganism! There was no recognizable comparison between
them and the original true Church I found
described in Acts and other New Testament books. Yet somewhere there had to
exist today that spiritual organism in which Christ actually dwelt—a church
empowered by His Spirit—acting as His instrument—carrying out His Commission.
But where?
I was to be some years in finding the answer.
I still had to sift out the real truth a doctrine at a time!
Mrs. Armstrong and I began to attend many different churches. I wanted to check
on each—compare it with the Bible. I continued almost daily study at the
Portland Public Library.
Getting Relatives “Saved”
One must not assume, from what has been written about my surrender to God, and
the change that came with God’s Spirit, that I had reached spiritual
maturity and perfection at one quick bound. No one ever does. A human baby must
creep before it learns to walk. It must learn to walk before it can run. And it
stumbles and falls many times. But it does not become discouraged and give up.
The newly converted are mere babes in Christ. I had not learned much, as yet.
Vanity was far from being eradicated.
Upon surrendering to accept God’s truth—as far
as I had then come to see it—my first impulse was to share it with my family and
relatives. Once the natural-born hostility to God and His Law had been crushed,
the Bible truth appeared as a glorious light—the
most wonderful thing I had ever known. I was
suddenly filled with zeal to get this precious knowledge to all who were close
to my wife and me. I wanted to get them converted.
Suddenly I began to feel so unselfish in this new Christian experience
that I felt my own final fate was not important, if only I could get those
related by blood or marriage ties into God’s Kingdom.
But sad disillusionment followed every overture. I had absolutely no success
whatsoever trying to cram “my religion” down their throats.
Facing the Tobacco Question
Then, immediately I was baptized, the matter of smoking had to be settled.
Of course the Quaker church, in which I had been reared as a boy, taught that
smoking was a sin. But I had been unhappily disillusioned to see that in so many
basic points the Bible teaching is the very opposite of what I had absorbed in
Sunday school.
“I’ve got to see the answer to the tobacco question in
the Bible!” I said to myself.
Until I found the answer in the Bible, I decided I would continue
as before—smoking mildly.
I had continued to smoke lightly, averaging three or four cigarettes a day, or
one cigar a day. I had never been a heavy smoker.
Now I had to face the question: Is smoking a sin?
I wanted the Bible answer, for I had learned by
this time that Christ had said we must live by every
word of God. The Bible is our Instruction
Book on right living. We must find a Bible
reason for everything we do.
I knew, of course, there is no specific command, “Thou shalt not smoke.” But
the absence of a detailed prohibition did not mean God’s approval.
I had learned that God’s Law is His
way of life. It is a basic philosophy of life.
The whole Law is summed up in the one word love.
I knew that love is the opposite of lust. Lust is self-desire—pleasing
the self only. Love means loving others. Its direction is not
inward toward self alone, but outgoing, toward others. I knew the
Bible teaches that “lust of the flesh” is the way of
sin.
So now I began to apply the principle of God’s Law.
I asked myself, “Why do I smoke?” To please
others—to help others—to serve or minister to or express love toward others—or
only to satisfy and gratify a desire of the flesh within my own self?
The answer was instantaneously obvious. I had to be honest with it. My only
reason for smoking was lust of the flesh, and
lust of the flesh is, according to the BIBLE, sin!
I stopped smoking immediately. This beginning of overcoming was not too
difficult, for it had not been a “big habit” with me. Once weaned, I was able to
see it as it is—a dirty, filthy habit. And today we know it is a serious and
major contributing cause of lung cancer!
God designed and created the human body. He designed the lungs to take in
fresh air to fire and oxidize the blood, and at
the same time to filter out of the blood the impurities and waste matter the
blood has picked up throughout the body. Befouled smoke, containing the poisons
of nicotine and tars, reduces the efficiency of the operation of this vital
organ.
The physical human body is, God says, the very temple
of His Holy Spirit. If we defile this temple—this
physical body—God says He will destroy us! God intended us, if we
are to be complete, to live happy, healthy and
abundant lives, and to gain eternal life, to take in His
Spirit—not poisonous foreign substances like tobacco.
Mrs. Armstrong Stricken
I was now beginning to grow in Christ’s knowledge and in His
grace. His Holy Spirit had renewed my mind. I
could now understand God’s
Truth as I studied His Word.
I had come to understand, the hard way, the truth about Law and Grace. I
had come to understand the Bible teaching about water baptism. I had come to see
that I could not help others unless I, myself, were obedient and practicing what
I preached. I had come to see the truth about tobacco. Now God saw fit to teach
my wife and me another most important and useful truth. He let us learn it
through severe experience, coupled with Bible study.
Along about early August, 1927, a series of physical illnesses and injuries
attacked Mrs. Armstrong.
First, she was bitten on the left arm by a dog. Before this healed over, she was
driven to bed with tonsillitis. She got up from this too soon, and was stricken
violently with a “backset.” But meanwhile she had contracted blood poisoning as
a result of being stuck with a rose thorn on the index finger of her right hand.
For two or three days her sister and I had to take turns, day and night, soaking
her right hand in almost blistering hot Epsom salts water, and covering her
wrist and forearm with hot towels, always holding her right arm high.
The backset from the tonsillitis developed into quinsy. Her throat was swollen
shut. It locked her jaw. For three days and three nights she was unable to
swallow a drop of water or a morsel of food. More serious, for three days and
three nights she was unable to sleep a wink. She was nearing exhaustion. The red
line of the blood poisoning, in spite of our constant hot Epsom salts efforts,
was streaking up her right arm, and had reached her shoulder on the way to the
heart.
The doctor had told me privately that she could not last another twenty-four
hours. This third sleepless, foodless and waterless day was a scorching hot
summer day in early August.
Does God HEAL Today?
On this late morning, a neighbor lady came over to see my wife.
“Mr. Armstrong,” she asked, out of hearing of my wife, “would you object if I
ask a man and his wife to come and anoint and pray for your wife’s healing?”
That sounded a little fanatical to me. Yet, somehow, I felt too embarrassed to
object.
“Well, no, I suppose not,” I replied, hesitantly.
About two hours later she returned, and said they would come at about seven in
the evening.
I began to have misgivings, I began to regret having given consent.
“What if these people are some of these wild-fire shouters,” I thought to
myself. “Suppose they begin to shout and yell and scream like these ‘holy
roller’ or ‘pentecostal’ fanatics do? Oh my! What would our neighbors
think?”
Quickly I gathered courage to go to our neighbor who had asked them to come. I
told her I had been thinking it over, and felt it better that these people did
not come. She was very nice about it. She would start immediately, and ask them
not to come. Then I learned she would have to walk over a mile to contact them.
They were living in some rooms in the former Billy Sunday tabernacle that had
been built for Billy Sunday’s Portland campaign some years earlier. This
tabernacle was out beyond 82nd Street, near Sandy Boulevard.
It was now in the heat of the day—the hottest day of the year. I began to feel
quite ashamed to impose on this woman, by asking her to make a second long walk
on that sweltering afternoon.
“I do hate to ask you to make a second trip out there,” I said apologetically.
“I didn’t realize it was so far. But I was afraid these people might yell and
shout, and create a neighborhood disturbance.”
“Oh, they are very quiet people,” she hastened to assure me. “They won’t shout.”
After that I decided not to impose on this neighbor who was only trying to help
us.
“Let’s let them come, then,” I concluded.
The Meaning of FAITH
That evening this man and his wife came, about seven. He was rather tall. They
were plain people, obviously not of high education, yet intelligent appearing.
“This is all rather new to me,” I began, when they were seated beside my wife’s
bed. “Would you mind if I ask you a few questions, before you pray for my wife?”
He welcomed the questions. He had a Bible in his hands, and one by one he
answered my every question and doubt by turning to a passage in his Bible and
giving me the Bible answer.
By this time I had become sufficiently familiar with the Bible to recognize
every passage he read—only I had never thought of these Biblical statements and
promises and admonitions in this particular light before.
As these answers continued coming from the Bible, I began to understand, and to
believe—and I knew the same assurance was
forming in Mrs. Armstrong’s mind.
Finally I was satisfied. I had the answer from the Bible. I believed. My wife
believed. We knelt in prayer beside her bed. As he anointed my wife with oil
from a vial he carried, he uttered a quiet, positive, very earnest and believing
prayer which was utterly different from any prayer I had ever heard.
This man actually dared to talk directly to God, and to tell God what He had
promised to do! He quoted the promises of
God to heal. He applied them to my wife. He literally held God to what he had
promised! It was not because we, as mortal humans, deserved what he asked,
but through the merits of Jesus Christ, and according to God’s great mercy.
He merely claimed God’s promise to heal. He
asked God to heal her completely, from the top of her head to the bottom of her
feet.
“You have promised,” he said to God, “and you have given us the right to hold
you to your promise to heal by the power of your mighty Holy Spirit. I
hold you to that promise! We expect to have the answer!”
Never had I heard anyone talk like that to God!
It was not a long prayer—perhaps a minute or two. But as he spoke I knew
that as sure as there is a God in heaven, my wife had to be healed! Any
other result would have made God out a liar. Any other result would have
nullified the authority of the Scriptures. Complete assurance seized me—and also
my wife. We simply knew that she was released from everything that had
gripped her—she was freed from the sickness—she was healed! To
have doubted would have been to doubt God—to doubt the Bible. It simply never
occurred to us to doubt. We believed! We knew!
As we rose, the man’s wife laid a hand on Mrs. Armstrong’s shoulder. “You’ll
sleep soundly tonight,” she smiled quietly.
I thanked them gratefully. As soon as they had left, Mrs. Armstrong asked me to
bring her a robe. She arose, put it on, and I walked slowly with her out to the
street sidewalk and back, my arm around her. Neither of us spoke a word. There
was no need. We both understood. It was too solemn a moment to speak. We were
too choked with gratitude.
She slept soundly until 11:00 a.m. next day. Then she arose and dressed as if
she had never been ill. She had been healed of everything, including some
long-standing internal maladjustments.
We had learned a new lesson in the meaning of faith. Faith is not only the
evidence of that which we do not see or feel—it is not only the
assurance of what we hope for—it is definite
knowing that God will do whatever He has promised. Faith is
based on God’s written
promises. The Bible is filled with thousands of God’s promises. They are
there for us to claim. They are sure. God can’t
lie.
If there is any one attribute to God’s character that is more outstanding than
any other, it is God’s faithfulness—the fact that His Word is good!
Think how hopeless we would be if God’s word were not good! And if a
man’s word is not to be trusted, all his other good points go for naught—he is
utterly lacking in right character.
A Dumbfounded Doctor
Shortly before Mrs. Armstrong had been confined to bed in this illness, she had
taken our elder daughter Beverly to the doctor with a felon on her finger. It
had not been bandaged for some days.
The morning after her miraculous healing, my wife arose about eleven, ate a
breakfast, and then took Beverly to the doctor’s office to have the bandage
removed. Incidentally this was the last time we have ever called a doctor for
any illness in our family.
“What are you doing here!”
exclaimed the doctor, looking as if he had seen a ghost.
“Well,” answered my wife, “do you believe in divine healing?”
“I don’t believe Mary Baker Eddy has any more ‘pull’ with God Almighty than I
have!” asserted the physician.
“But I don’t mean that,” Mrs. Armstrong explained, “I mean miraculous healing
direct by God as a result of prayer.”
“Well—yes—I—do!” replied the astonished doctor, slowly, incredulously.
“But I never did before.”
Studying a New Subject
This awe-inspiring experience brought a totally new subject before me for study.
And remember, I had plenty of time on my hands for Bible study. Only one laundry
client remained. We were now reduced to real poverty. Although I had been beaten
down and had made a complete surrender to God, giving myself to Him, yet without
realizing it much of the self-pride and vanity remained. Of course God knew
this. He was yet to bring me down much lower. I was yet to be humiliated
repeatedly and thoroughly chastened before God could use me.
In those days we were constantly behind with our house rent. When we had a
little money for food we bought beans and such food as would provide the most
bulk for the least money. Often we went hungry. Yet, looking back over those
days, Mrs. Armstrong was remarking just the day before this was written that we
were finding happiness despite the economic plight—and we did not complain or
grumble. But we did suffer.
From the time of my conversion Mrs. Armstrong has always studied with me. We
didn’t realize it then, but God was calling us together. We were always a
team, working together in unity.
And now came a new subject to study, and new enlightenment. We entered into it
with vigor and joy. We searched out everything we could find in the Bible on the
subject of physical healing. We discovered that God revealed Himself to ancient
Israel, even before they reached Mt. Sinai, under His name “Yahweh-Ropha” which
means “The Eternal our Healer,” or “Our God healer,”
or, as translated in the Authorized Version, “The Lord
that healeth thee.”
He revealed Himself as Healer through David: “Who forgiveth all thine
iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases”
(Psalm 103:3). And again: “Fools because of their transgression, and because of
their iniquities, are afflicted. Their soul abhorreth all manner of food; they
draw near unto the gates of death. Then they cry unto the Eternal in their
trouble, and...He sendeth His word, and healeth
them” (Psalm 107:17-20).
Then I made a discovery I had not read in any of the tracts and literature we
had been sending for and gathering on this subject. Healing is actually the
forgiveness of transgressed physical laws just as salvation comes
through forgiveness of transgressed spiritual law. It is the forgiveness
of physical sin. God forgives the physical sin
because Jesus paid the penalty we are suffering
in our stead. He was beaten with stripes
before He was nailed to the cross.
Experience of the Crooked Spine
After we had made some little progress in gaining Biblical understanding of this
subject of healing, Aimee Semple McPherson came to Portland.
She held an evangelistic campaign in the Portland Auditorium. My wife and I
attended once, and then I went alone another time. We were “checking up” on many
religious teachings and groups. Unable to gain entrance, because of packed
attendance, I was told by an usher that I might be able to slip in at the rear
stage door if I would hurry around. Walking, or running, around the block to the
rear, I came upon a sorry spectacle.
A woman and child were trying to get a terribly crippled elderly man out of a
car near the stage entrance. I went over to help them. The man had a badly
twisted spine—whether from arthritis, or deformity from birth, or other disease
I do not now remember. He was utterly helpless and a pitiful sight to look upon.
We managed to get him to the stage door. Actually, I should never have been
admitted, had I not been helping to carry this cripple in. He had come to be
healed by the famous lady evangelist.
We were unable to gain contact with Mrs. McPherson before the service. And we
were equally unable, after the service. I helped get the disappointed cripple
back into their car.
“If you really want to be healed,” I said before they drove off, “I would be
glad to come to your home and pray for you. Mrs. McPherson has no power within
herself to heal anybody. I have none. Only God
can heal. But I do know what He has promised to do, and I believe God will hear
me just as willingly as He will Mrs. McPherson—if only you will
believe in what God
has promised, and put your faith in Him and not
in the person who prays for you.”
They gave me their address, just south of Foster Road. The next day I borrowed
my brother Russell’s car and drove out.
I had learned, in this study, that there are two conditions which God imposes.
1) we must keep His commandments, and do those things that are pleasing
in His sight (I John 3:22); and 2) we must really
believe (Matt. 9:29).
Of course I realized that many people might not have come into the understanding
about keeping all of God’s Commandments—he does look on the heart. It is
the spirit, and willingness to obey. And therefore some who really
believe are healed, even though they are not
strictly “commandment keepers.” But once the knowledge of the truth
comes, they must obey. In this case I felt sure
that God wanted me to open the minds of these people about His Commandments, and
that sin is the transgression of God’s
law.
Consequently, I first read the two scriptures quoted above, and then explained
what I had been six months learning about God’s Law—and particularly about God’s
Sabbath. I wanted to know whether this cripple and his wife had a spirit of
willingness to obey God.
They did not.
I found they were “pentecostal.” They attended church for the “good time” they
had there. They talked a good deal about the “good time” they enjoyed at church.
They scoffed and sneered about having to obey God. I told them that, since they
were unwilling to obey God and comply with God’s written conditions for healing,
I could not pray for him.
Was This an Angel?
This case had weighed heavily on my mind. I had been touched with deep
compassion for this poor fellow. Yet his mind was not impaired, and I knew that
God does not compromise with sin.
Some weeks later I had borrowed my brother’s car again, and happened to be
driving out Foster Road. Actually at the time my mind was filled with another
mission, and this deformed cripple was not on my mind at all. I was deep in
thought about another matter.
Coming to the intersection of the street on which the cripple lived, however, I
was reminded of him. Instantly the thought came as to whether I ought to pay
them one more call—but at the same instant reason ruled it out. They had made
light of, and actually ridiculed the idea of surrendering to obey God.
Immediately I put them out of mind, and again was deep in thought about the
present mission I was on.
Then a strange thing happened.
At the next intersection, the steering wheel of the car automatically turned to
the right. I felt the wheel turning. I resisted it. It kept turning right.
Instantly I applied all my strength to counteract it, and keep steering straight
ahead. My strength was of no avail. Some unseen force was turning that steering
wheel against all my strength. The car had turned to the right into the
street one block east of the home of the cripple.
I was frightened. Never before had I experienced anything like this. I stopped
the car by the curb. I didn’t know what to make of it.
It was too late to back into traffic-heavy Foster Road.
“Well,” I thought, “I’ll drive to the end of this block and turn left, and then
back onto Foster Road.”
But, a long block south on this street, it turned right only. There was
no street turning east. In getting back onto Foster Road I was now compelled to
drive past the home of the cripple.
“Could it possibly be that an angel forced the steering wheel to turn me
in here?” I wondered, somewhat shaken by the experience. I decided I had better
stop in at the cripple’s home a moment, to be sure.
I found him stricken with blood poisoning. The red line was nearing his heart.
I told them what had happened.
“I know, now,” I said, “that God sent an angel to turn me in here. I believe
that God wants me to pray for you—that He will heal you of this blood poisoning
to show you His power, and then give you one more chance to repent and be
willing to obey Him. And if you will do that, then He will straighten out your
twisted spine and heal you completely.
“So now, if you want me to do so, I will pray for you and ask God to heal you of
this blood poisoning. But I will not ask God to heal your spine unless
and until you repent and show willingness to obey whatever you yourself see God
commands.”
They were now desperate. He probably had about twelve hours to live. They were
not joking and jesting lightly about the “good times” at “pentecostal meetin’.”
They wanted me to pray.
I was not an ordained minister, so I did not anoint with oil. I had never yet in
my life prayed aloud before others. I explained this to them, and said I would
simply lay hands on the man and pray silently, as I did not want any
self-consciousness of praying aloud for the first time to interfere with real
earnestness and faith. I did have absolute faith he would be healed of the blood
poisoning.
He was.
I returned the next day. The blood poisoning had left him immediately when I
prayed. But, to my very great sorrow and disappointment, they were once again
filled with levity, and sarcasm about God’s Law. Again they were jestingly
talking about having a “good time” at church.
There was no more I could do. It was one of the great disappointments of my
life. I never saw or heard from any of them again.
Chapter 19
“Trying to Convert Relatives”
In all my experience since conversion one oft-repeated incident has brought
sorrow and regret. Many times a certain individual has been used to bring us
light, or truth, or help, or certain advancement or stimulus to the Work of God,
only to lose out spiritually and be discarded, once his usefulness was over.
Resurrection Not on Sunday
It was about this time, summer, 1927, my wife and I had learned an exciting,
shocking truth. The resurrection of Christ did not occur on Sunday morning!
The crucifixion was not on so-called “Good Friday.” These I had found to be mere
traditions, totally unsupported by any evidence, and completely refuted by the
sole historic record—the Bible.
I had learned—and found completely proved—that
Jesus was in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathaea three days and three nights.
Jesus Himself said so (Matthew 12:40). It was the only SIGN He gave as a
miraculous proof of Messiahship.
The usual argument employed to discredit Jesus’ statement, that this was an
idiomatic expression in the original Greek meaning only three parts of
days, or either a day or night, did not stand up. We had the same three
days and three nights duration expressed in Jonah, inspired in Hebrew which
knows no such idiomatic twist—or idiotic twist. Also many other passages
verified the full 72-hour duration.
The crucifixion was on Wednesday. The resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead
was late Sabbath afternoon, prior to sunset. This is proved conclusively, not
only by all the scriptures on the subject, which are many, but also by
astronomy, and by the Hebrew calendar. In the year in which Jesus was
crucified—A.D. 31—the Passover was on a Wednesday, not a Friday.
The reader, if not already familiar with this truth, is invited to write for the
booklet titled The Resurrection Was Not On Sunday, and also, to learn the
true origin and full truth about Easter, ask for the booklet titled The Plain
Truth About Easter. Both are free, of course.
From the beginning of the new Spirit-led life, I wrote, in article form the
thrilling new truths being unfolded in this continuous almost night-and-day
study. This discovery of the true dates of the crucifixion and resurrection was
written in an article captioned Foundation for Sunday Sacredness Crumbles.
I had found that opponents of God’s Sabbath can invent some fifty-seven
varieties of arguments to explain why they don’t keep the Sabbath. But
they have only one argument for observing Sunday—the supposition of a
Sunday morning resurrection.
Of course no scripture anywhere tells us to observe the day of the resurrection.
That, too, is a man-made argument.
Actually, there is absolutely NO Bible authority for Sunday
observance. The only authority for it is that of the Roman Catholic
Church—a fact I believe any Catholic priest will confirm. Protestants, whether
knowingly or not, acknowledge the authority of the Roman Catholic Church
in observing Sunday.
With a Sunday resurrection illusion shattered, the last supposed
foundation for Sunday observance had crumbled.
Disheartening Disappointment
This article, Foundation for Sunday Sacredness Crumbles, I believe, was
never published. I did not write the articles, in those days, with the intention
or expectation of having them published. I had been a trained advertising-copy
and magazine-article writer. It simply came naturally to put into article form
these intriguing, fascinating truths for my personal enjoyment and record.
But, exciting as these new truths were to me, I realized fully I was new
in the truth—a novice spiritually—a “babe in Christ.” I deemed it wise to have
this newly discovered truth about the day of the resurrection verified by others
more experienced in Biblical understanding than I.
It was but natural to look upon the man whose prayer God had so miraculously
answered in healing my wife as a “man of God.” So, even though I felt sure this
truth was proved, I wanted to be doubly sure. Also I sincerely wanted to share
this wonderful truth with the man whom God had used in sparing my wife’s life.
So I walked down to the old Billy Sunday tabernacle, out past 82nd Street, where
this man was caretaker, one evening, very shortly after my wife’s healing.
This “man of God” promised he would study my article and give me his opinion.
Then a few nights later I returned to his living quarters in a corner of the
giant tabernacle.
For several minutes other subjects occupied the conversation.
“But did you study into my article about the day of the resurrection?” I asked,
since he avoided mentioning it.
“Well, yes, Brother,” he replied, “I took it to our pastor and we went over it
together.”
“Well, did you find any error in what I wrote?” I persisted.
“Well, no, Brother,” he admitted, “we couldn’t find anything wrong with it. It
does seem to be according to the Scriptures, but Brother, we feel that studying
into that kind of subject is likely to be dangerous. It might get
you all mixed up. We feel it would be better for you to just forget all about
that—just get your mind clear off of that. There are more important
things for you to think about and study into. It’s best to just keep your mind
on Christ.”
“But,” I rejoined, suddenly disillusioned, “if the resurrection was on the
Sabbath, and not on Sunday, the only reason anyone has for Sunday observance is
gone. Don’t you think we might be breaking the commands of God and sinning, if
we ignore such a truth?”
“Well, now, Brother,” he tried to reassure me, “that’s just the trouble. You see
how it could get you all upset. All the churches observe Sunday. We can’t start
to fight all the churches. Now we are saved by grace,
not of works. We think there are more important things in salvation than
which day Christ rose on, or which day we keep. This could just
get you all mixed up. It could be dangerous. Better just get your mind
off of such things.”
I walked back to our home on Klickitat Street in Portland, grieved and
sorrowfully disillusioned. I had had a lot of confidence in this man. Now here
he was, admitting I had brought him a new truth,
proved by the Bible, yet rejecting this light—and,
more, advising a newly converted man who had confidence in him to reject the Word
of God!
Arriving home, I happened to turn to Hosea 4:6, where God says that because we
have rejected His knowledge, He will reject us.
TRUTH, or Consequences
A week or two later I walked back out past 82nd Street to the huge old Billy
Sunday tabernacle. This thing had weighed heavily on my mind. This tall,
uneducated, plain and simple man had been an instrument in God’s hands not only
in saving my wife’s life, but also in opening our eyes to the truth of God’s
healing power. I felt deeply grateful. I hoped that even yet I might help rescue
this man from the consequences of rejecting God’s revealed knowledge.
I found him in the big auditorium. He appeared dejected, downcast, worried.
“Brother,” he said, on looking up and seeing me, “Brother, something terrible
has come over me. God has left me. He doesn’t answer my prayers any more.
I don’t understand what has happened.”
Poor man! I understood what had happened.
He had been a trusting and deeply sincere, if simple, man. God had used this
man. God used him to bring my wife and me the knowledge that God actually
performs miracles for those who trust Him—He heals—if we obey and
believe. And how many other people God had helped through this man’s prayers
I did not know.
Evidently, until God used me to test him by bringing to him a new truth,
he had not deliberately rejected truth nor disobeyed God’s commands
knowingly. God looks on the heart, and until this man followed his
preacher in deliberately rejecting light and truth from God which he
acknowledged to be truth and which led to willful disobedience, his heart was
honest and sincere in his simple way.
But he had rejected God’s knowledge. And now God had rejected him!
His prayers were no longer answered.
He was now guilty of disobedience of God’s Law. And God reveals through
John that “whatsoever we ask, we receive of him, because we keep his
commandments, and do those things that are
pleasing in his sight” (I John 3:22).
This man no longer complied with the divine conditions. Yet, if ever I met a man
who had the “gift of healing” spoken of in I Corinthians 12:9, this man had had
it.
God had used him to bring to us a truth. We accepted it, and began to walk
in it. Then God used me to take to him a truth. He acknowledged that it was the
truth. He had seen it proved. Yet he rejected it, and walked in
disobedience instead of in the light! God used this man no more.
Of course he had much to learn, had he continued
as an instrument in God’s hands. True Christians must continually overcome,
and grow in grace and the knowledge of
Jesus Christ.
The servant of God cannot stand still. Either he advances, and grows
spiritually against opposition and obstacles, or he falls by the wayside to be
rejected. It is not an easy road.
This incident just described is but one of many of its kind. Later I was to
encounter many more whom God used to help me and His Work, only to see them
endure but a while, and fall aside. Several of these have been among our closest
and most loved personal friends. These experiences have provided our greatest
suffering in God’s service. They were pictured by Jesus’ parable of the sower
and the seed. It seems the majority who start out on this straight and narrow
road of opposition, persecution, trial and test, self-restraint, continuous
attitude of repentance, overcoming, growing, fail to endure until the end.
It has grieved Mrs. Armstrong and me deeply to see so many for whom we were
grateful—who had helped us and God’s Work—whom we learned to love so much, turn
aside finally and drop out of the race for eternal life.
“Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed, lest he fall!” How about
YOU?
Don’t YOU Make THIS Mistake!
That year 1927 was a very eventful year in my life.
As soon as I swallowed my bitterest pill of rebellion, surrendered to obey
and trust fully in the Mighty God through faith in the living Jesus Christ, this
new Christian way became the most happy, joyful
experience of my life. Studying the Bible became a passion and a joy. I plunged
into it with concentrated zeal.
The all-day sessions at the Portland Public Library did not stop with my
capitulation to the truth following the six months’ angered study to end my
wife’s “fanaticism. “
No longer was it an intensive study driven by anger and determination to have my
own way. Now it was an enthusiastic study of eager anticipation, literally
thrilling to every new discovery of spiritual “light” and basic knowledge.
Now a passion swept over me to “get our families converted.”
With the best intentions in the world, I set out on a vigorous campaign. To me,
it was the loving and intense desire to share the wonders and glories of
Bible knowledge with those we felt we loved most. But to most of them, it was an
unwanted effort to “cram my crazy religion down their throats.”
I did succeed, apparently, in talking one sister-in-law into a certain start. I
had to learn later it was a false start. She was baptized, either when I was, or
very shortly afterward. But, as too often happens when a high-pressure salesman
talks one into something he doesn’t really want, she turned against it all
shortly afterward.
I had to learn, however, that, even though I had believed I was a pretty good
salesman in my earlier business experience, I was unable utterly to “cram my
religion down my relatives’ throats.” My efforts only aroused hostility. They
said I was “crazy.”
This is a universal mistake committed by the newly converted. Especially is this
true where a husband or wife yields to God’s truth without the other.
It actually threatened to break up our marriage—even though Mrs. Armstrong did
not attempt to inject her new religious belief
into me. In our case the marriage was saved because I accepted the challenge to
study into it myself, confident I could prove she was wrong.
But most mates will not study into it. Most unconverted mates, especially if the
converted one tries to talk the other into his or her religion, will break up
the home instead.
In all the years since my conversion, I have known of many marriages that have
ended in divorce because the newly converted mate tried to talk the
unconverted one into it. I have never heard of a case where the unconverted
mate was talked into accepting it.
Of all things evil and harmful a newly converted Christian can do, the very
worst is to try to talk your husband or wife
into your religion. Whatever else you do, let me
plead with every such reader, NEVER commit this tragic sin. If you
love your husband or wife, don’t do it!! If you love your Saviour who
died for you, and now lives for you, DON’T DO IT!!!
Learning the Lesson
Remember these scriptures: “No man can come to me,” said Jesus, “except the
Father which hath sent me draw him” (John 6:44, 45). Again, Jesus said: “Think
not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but
a sword. For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the
daughter against her mother...and a man’s foes shall be they of his own
household....He that loveth father or mother”...(or wife or husband)...”more
than me is not worthy of me.... And he that taketh not his cross and followeth
after me is not worthy of me” (Matt. 10:34-38).
God made every human a free moral agent. Thank God!—no one has power to force on
you any unwanted religion.
Every individual makes his own decision. A religious difference between
husband and wife is a serious handicap. The Bible forbids a converted
person from marrying an unconverted.
But if such difference already exists, do not make matters worse by talking
religion to your mate. Do all your talking to God in prayer. Let your
mate see your happy, pleasant, cheerful, joyful, loving
way of life—not hear your arguments or
nagging! Allow your mate complete religious latitude and freedom—whether to be
converted, religious, irreligious, or atheistic!
I am glad I learned that lesson early. I have had to maintain certain business
connections with many people, since being plunged into God’s Work. I must
maintain contacts with radio men, publishers, professional men. I get along
splendidly with them. A big reason is that I never talk religion to them.
I never try to talk anyone into accepting Bible truth or being converted.
I go to the world over the air, and in print, and everyone is free to
listen, or read—or to dial out or not read. No one gets our literature unless he
personally requests it. We try never to force God’s precious truth on anyone.
That’s God’s way!!
How NOT to “Witness for Christ”
Do you know how the Apostle Paul won individuals to Christ? Not the way people
attempt to do it today. He said “I am made all things to all men, that I might
by all means save some.” When he talked to an unconverted Jew, do you
suppose he spoke as a Christian thinking he is “witnessing for Christ” would do
today? Do you suppose Paul said to the unconverted Jew: “Have you received
Christ as your personal Saviour?”
No, that is not the way Paul spoke to unconverted Jews. Paul said: “Unto the
Jews I became as a Jew” (I Cor. 9:22, 20). Paul spoke to others from
their point of view! He talked to a Jew just like another Jew—from
the Jewish viewpoint—showing sympathy and understanding of the Jews’
way of looking at Christianity. Paul did not arouse hostility—he put it down, so
that they were sympathetic toward him, not hostile. He became as a Jew,
“that I might gain the Jews.” Even so he gained only a small minority, yet it
was a large number.
Perhaps you have had your eyes opened to the fact that sin is transgression of
God’s Law. Most professing Christians have been taught, and consequently
sincerely believe, that “the Law is done away.” Paul was inspired to write that
the carnal mind is hostile to God and to God’s Law; “it is not subject to the
law of God, neither indeed can be” (Rom. 8:7). If you say to your unconverted
mate who is hostile to God’s Law, “You’re just a rebellious sinner, and
your church is just one of these false worldly churches,” you have not only
aroused hostility, you have yourself been hostile, and you probably have
broken up your marriage.
How did Paul talk to such people? Listen: “To them that are without law, as
without law, that I might gain them that are without law.”
First Principle in Influencing Others
One of the first principles of successful advertising I learned early in my
career is that to get results you must first learn the attitude of your
reading audience toward whatever product or service you are advertising. You
must not antagonize those whom you expect to persuade. You must approach them
from their point of view—not from yours, especially if your
viewpoint is contrary to theirs. To win them to your point of view, you
must approach them from their viewpoint. Otherwise you only arouse
hostility.
I know that these words are addressed to a very large number who have made this
terrible mistake. That is why I have devoted so much space to this point.
If you believe God’s truth, and your husband or wife does not,
never talk religion to him or her. If your mate
normally thinks and speaks only of material and worldly things, then you must
speak of material things to your spouse.
If the World Tomorrow broadcast has, probably because of your own
aggressiveness in trying to get your mate to listen, become a sore spot, go off
to some private room to hear the program. Keep the volume turned down. Make
every effort NOT to antagonize your husband or wife.
And again, when you talk about it, talk to God in prayer. Let your mate
see your good conduct, in a manner that he or she will naturally approve.
Avoid every hostility. Be pleasant. Keep cheerful. Be happy.
Radiate joy! Give love
and warm affection! Do everything to cause your husband or wife to like
you! THAT IS THE CHRISTIAN WAY!
Chapter 20
“The First Sermon”
This chapter of the Autobiography is being written in Rome. It dawns in my mind
that there is intriguing significance in the fact that I should be here at the
very time when this chapter must be written.
The Apostle Paul wrote some of the books of the Bible here in Rome. It was then
the seat of the ancient pagan Roman Empire. It was world headquarters of the
pagan religion.
Today it is world headquarters for the largest and most powerful professing
Christian church.
We come now to the time, in recounting my life experiences, where I had been
sadly disillusioned about organized traditional “Christianity.” As earlier
chapters have explained, my wife, in early fall of 1926, had begun to observe
the seventh-day Sabbath. To me that was the most disgraceful fanaticism she
could have embraced. But six months’ intensive and determined night-and-day
study of the Bible had failed to find the authority for Sunday observance I had
felt confident it contained.
“All these churches can’t be wrong,” I had contended. I felt certain that all
their teachings whether Catholic or Protestant, had come directly from the
Bible. I did not then realize that the Roman Catholic Church makes no such
claim, but claims that church itself is the sole official and infallible
authority. The various denominations, I supposed—just as millions still
suppose—were just so many different parts of the one true Christian church.
Disillusioned—Perplexed
I have already told you repeatedly how rudely I was disillusioned. I had seen,
with my own eyes, that the plain teachings of Christ—of Paul—of the Bible—were
not the teachings of the traditional “Christianity” of our time. Nothing
had ever been more shocking to discover. Incredible as it seemed, the beliefs
and practices of the churches today, I found, were far astray from the
teachings and customs of the true Church as
Christ organized it. In fact, in most essentials, the very antithesis!
This emphatically was not what I wanted to believe.
It had left my head swimming. I was stunned, perplexed!
I began to ask, “where, then, is the real true
Church which Christ founded?”
The True GOSPEL
My shocking, disappointing, eye-opening discovery, upon looking into the Bible
for myself, had revealed in stark plainness that the teachings of traditional
Christianity were, in most basic points, the very opposite of the
teachings of Christ, of Paul, and of the original true Church!
Could the original and only true Church have disintegrated and
disappeared? Could it have ceased to exist? No, for I read where Jesus said the
gates of the grave would never prevail against it. Also He had said to His
disciples who formed His Church, “Lo, I am with you always.”
Then I saw that the very purpose of the Church
was to preach Christ’s GOSPEL! It is His body—His
instrument by which He carries on God’s
Work!
I looked carefully at that Gospel as Christ Himself preached it, and taught it
to His first ministers. It is recorded in the four books of Matthew, Mark, Luke
and John. At almost every point of teaching that Jesus enunciated, the teachings
of traditional Christian bodies today are just the opposite.
They were not preaching the same gospel at all, but a
totally opposite message! This was shocking—incredible—unbelievable! Yet
I was compelled to see it was true!
Jesus began the work of preaching the very Gospel which God
the Father had sent to mankind through Him. He commissioned His disciples—His
Church—to carry this same Gospel to all the world. And He had said He would
never drop the Work He had begun! But where was
it going on today?
Seeking an Obedient Church
I knew now that when I found the one and only true Church, I would find a
Church obedient to God—keeping His commandments—having the testimony of
Jesus Christ, which is the truth of the
Scriptures.
I had been much impressed by a description of the true Church, as it is to be
found in our time—just before the second coming of Christ. It is found in
Revelation 12. It is the time when Satan is filled with wrath against God’s
Church, “because he knoweth that he hath but a short time” (Rev. 12:12). Satan
is making war with “the remnant of her seed.” The “remnant” means
the very last generation in this age. The Church is definitely described. It is
those “which keep the commandments of God, and have the testimony of
Jesus Christ” (Rev. 12:17)
My intensive study had revealed one thing plainly: “the commandments of God”
mean “Sabbath keeping” to most traditional denominations. They say, “The
commandments are done away!” They reject “the commandments of God.”
That automatically ruled out all churches observing Sunday. So far as I could
learn, it reduced the search to three small groups—the Seventh-Day Adventists,
the Seventh-Day Baptists, and a little, almost unheard-of church called the
Church of God, which maintained a small publishing-house headquarters at
Stanberry, Missouri.
So I examined Seventh-Day Adventist teachings—just as I did those of many other
denominations. I obtained their magazines, their booklets and pamphlets, their
large book of Bible readings, or Bible “home instructor.”
The true Church is the one which lives by every word of
God—the words of the Bible!
Never an Adventist
It seems necessary to add here that I have never been a member of the
Seventh-Day Adventist denomination. False statements have appeared in various
church or religious magazines, pamphlets or tracts that I am a former
Seventh-Day Adventist. I did obtain much of their literature, to compare with
the Bible. I did examine and study it with an open mind, and without
prejudice. I was happy to find that, like most denominations, they do have
certain points of truth. None is 100% in error.
But my familiarity with Adventist doctrines has come entirely through their
published literature. I have never attended a regular Sabbath church service
of that denomination!
Next, I looked into the teaching of the Seventh-Day Baptists. I found it to be
virtually identical, except for observing a different day of the week, with
other Protestant denominations—especially the Baptists.
But of these three churches to which the search had been narrowed, only one
had the right name for the true Church. This was
the small, little-heard-of Church of God whose headquarters were at Stanberry,
Missouri.
The True NAME
Twelve times in the New Testament, I found the name
of the Church which Christ established plainly stated as “The
Church of God.”
I looked into this word “church.” It is the English word translated from the
Greek word ekklesia. It merely means a congregation, an assembly, or
group or crowd of people. I found that the word, by itself, had no divine or
spiritual connotation whatever. For example, the name “Lutheran Church” or, as
it might be otherwise stated “Church of Luther,” means simply, Luther’s
congregation, or assembly of people. A name like “Wesleyan Church,” means,
simply, Wesley’s group or congregation, without any religious or spiritual or
holy implication whatever.
In Acts 19:23-41 is an account of an angry and hostile uprising against the
Apostle Paul instigated by Gentile pagans who profited in business from the sale
of silver shrines to the goddess Diana. Three times in this passage the original
inspired Greek language called this angry crowd of citizens an “ekklesia.” It is
here translated into the English word “assembly.” In verse 39 it actually refers
to a “legal assembly” (Moffatt translation) in a courtroom. It certainly was not
a Christian church assembled for worship—nor was
it holy.
The only thing that adds sacredness to the word “church” is the true name
“Church of God.” That is not any man’s
church—but God’s congregation—those owned,
and governed by God whom they worship and follow.
In Ephesians 3:15, speaking of the Father of our
Lord Jesus Christ (verse 14), we read: “...of whom the whole family in heaven
and earth is named.”
Jesus Christ is the Head of the Church, but it is named after God
the Father. Although Jesus is Head of the Church, “the head of Christ is God”
(I Cor. 11:3).
In His last prayer for His Church, before being seized to be crucified, Jesus
prayed: “I have manifested THY NAME unto the men which thou gavest me out
of the world: thine they were, and thou gavest them me; and they have kept
thy word...Holy Father, keep through thine own name those whom thou
hast given me, that they may be one, as we are...While I was with them in the
world, I kept them in THY NAME” (John 17:6-12).
Those in the true Church are begotten children of God. They become the
affianced Bride of Christ. Christ is the Son of God. It is a
family. The family, is, properly, named after
its Father. The 12 passages, aside from these Scriptures here quoted, which
plainly call the true Church “The Church of God,” or, collectively as local
congregations, “The Churches of God,” establish the true
name.
Could GOD’S Church Be Fruitless?
The only Church I had so far found which “kept the commandments of God, and the
testimony of Jesus Christ,” and at the same time bore the
name of the original true Church, was this
almost unknown little Church of God with its small publishing house in
Stanberry, Missouri.
But this left me quite confused. For this was a little Church, especially
compared to the Roman Catholic, the Methodist, the Baptist, the Presbyterian,
the Lutheran, or other large churches numbering millions of members. Then I saw
where Jesus called His Church the “little flock.”
But still I was not completely satisfied. I was deeply concerned. I prayed a
great deal over it. For here was a church, which, compared to the large-scale
activities of the Catholic and big Protestant bodies, was ineffective. I could
see that it was imperfect. It wielded no great power. Jesus had said: “All
power is given unto me, in heaven and earth” (Matt. 28:18). I read how
Jesus Christ was to be IN His Church! He guides it! He directs it! He
empowers it! He said His Church was to
receive power (Acts 1:8).
No person is even a member of the true Church unless he has received, and is
filled and led by, the Holy Spirit—and the Holy Spirit is the Spirit of
power! This little church seemed to be
powerless—comparatively impotent! I failed to see where it was bearing much if
any fruit! Could a fruitless church be the one and only true Church of God
on earth?
I was deeply perplexed. Here was a little church, with scattered members
probably numbering less than 2,000—mostly in rural areas. Apparently, as nearly
as I could learn, it had only a very limited number of local churches, none as
large as 100 members. As I began to come in contact with some of its leaders,
they seemed to be men of little education—no college degrees—its ministry could
hardly be described as an educated ministry. Their preaching had a certain fire,
yet seemed totally to lack the power that attracts sizable audiences, that
moves people, stirs hearts, and changes lives. I could see no visible
results.
Could this be God’s one and only true Church on earth? The very question
seemed preposterous!
...But, Where Else?
And yet—
Yes, and yet, small, powerless, resultless, impotent though it appeared to be,
here was a church with the right name, “keeping the commandments of God and the
testimony of Jesus Christ,” and closer, in its doctrines and teachings,
to what God had been opening my eyes to see plainly in His Word than any other
church of which I knew! Small and impotent though it appeared, it had more
Bible TRUTH than any church I could find!
At this time, God was opening my understanding to some Biblical
truths which this church did not accept; and
also to some errors, even though minor, which it did embrace. Plainly, it
was not perfect. It merely appeared to be more nearly so, and less
imperfect, in its beliefs and practice, than any other.
Could such a church—imperfect, fruitless,
feeble, lacking in any sizable accomplishment, be the
true Church of God? Could this be Christ’s
instrument through whom He worked, in carrying
on God’s Work on earth? Jesus said, “By their
fruits ye shall know them.” Its fruits were not evil—it simply did not seem to
produce fruit!
I was bewildered. I was unable to come to the answer then—or until many years
later. The real answer to this perplexing question will come out in this
Autobiography later, at the account of the time when I myself found the true
answer. I will state here, however, that I did learn later that it was merely
the remnant of a church that had been more alive many years before.
Meanwhile, what was I to do? I was not at all convinced this was the one and
only true Church. Yet, if it was not, which one was? This one came
closer to the Bible qualifications than any I knew.
Therefore, I began to fellowship with their scattered and few members in Oregon,
while at the same time refraining from acknowledging membership.
We were living in Portland, Oregon, at the time. I knew of no members of this
church in Portland, but there was a sprinkling of them through the Willamette
Valley between Salem and Eugene, in Oregon—mostly farmers or truck gardeners.
They welcomed the fellowship of myself and Mrs. Armstrong.
We found them to be simple, plain and humble people, hard working and
industrious, and loving the Bible truth—as much
as they had—willing to suffer persecution for it.
And so it was, in this detached fellowship, that Mrs. Armstrong and I continued
the first three and a half years of my ceaseless night-and-day
study of the Bible—of history, especially as
connected with Biblical history and prophecy—and of pertinent allied subjects.
These, too, were years of much and earnest prayer. Much of the Bible study done
at home was done on my knees, combining study with prayer. Much time was
spent during these years, as it had been that first six months, at the public
library. I delved into intensive research in the commentaries, Bible
encyclopedias, Bible dictionaries, comparing various translations of the Bible,
examining Greek and Hebrew texts of doubtful or questionable passages, checking
with lexicons and Robertson’s Grammar of the Greek New Testament. I made
an intensive study of ancient history in connection with Biblical history and
prophecy.
But, as mentioned before, all this study and research had to be approached a
single doctrine at a time. I was to be some years in getting to the very
trunk of the tree of the very
purpose of which mankind was placed on earth,
and getting clearly straightened out with a right understanding of God’s
plan.
Nevertheless, as I’ve mentioned, having been a trained magazine and advertising
copywriter, the results of these studies were written up, purely for my own
benefit, in article form. My wife began showing these articles to some women
members of this Church of God who lived in Salem. Soon they began to urge me to
preach before them. But becoming a preacher was the very last thing I had
ever wanted to do. I felt an instinctive aversion to the idea.
Meanwhile, on their urging, a few of these articles had been mailed in to The
Bible Advocate in Stanberry, Missouri. These articles began appearing on the
front page.
The Dual Test
Early in this three-and-a-half-year period, between 1927 and 1930, I decided to
try a dual test to help settle the question of whether this was, in actual fact,
the true Church of God.
The Church is merely the sum total of its members. By the one Spirit of God we
are each baptized, or put into, the true Church (I Cor. 12:13). Jesus
promised that when we receive the Holy Spirit, His Spirit shall guide us into
all truth—not merely part of it (John 16:13).
But no person can receive all truth
instantaneously. The human mind receives knowledge gradually. The child of God
must grow in the knowledge of our Lord (II Peter
3:18). Also he must have the spirit of repentance,
always ready and willing to acknowledge error and to turn from it. The
Scriptures are profitable for reproof and
correction, as well as
instruction in knowledge new to us. And God
corrects every son He loves (Heb. 12:6).
Now it was a simple truism that if each individual member of the Church must be
growing in the knowledge of God, constantly
overcoming, being corrected, and eliminating
error, then all the members together, which form the
church, must also be constantly willing to
confess error and eliminate it, and to accept that which is “new light” from
God’s Word to the Church.
I knew of no church or sect or denomination that had ever publicly confessed
error or embraced new truth. Yet, plainly, this would be a test of the
true Church.
So, as the first step in this test, I wrote up an exposition of some 16
typewritten pages proving clearly, plainly, and beyond contradiction that a
certain minor point of doctrine proclaimed by this church, based on an erroneous
interpretation of a certain verse of Scripture, was in error. This was mailed to
the Stanberry, Missouri, headquarters to see whether their leaders would confess
error and change.
The answer came back from their head man, editor of their paper and president of
their “General Conference.” He was forced to admit, in plain words, that their
teaching on this point was false and in error. But, he explained, he feared that
if any attempt was made to correct this false doctrine and publicly confess the
truth, many of their members, especially those of older standing and heavy tithe
payers, would be unable to accept it. He feared they would lose confidence in
the Church if they found it had been in error on any point. He said he feared
many would withdraw their financial support, and it might divide the Church. And
therefore he felt the Church could do nothing but continue to teach and preach
this doctrine which he admitted in writing to be false.
Naturally, this shook my confidence considerably. This church leader, if not the
church itself, was looking to people as the
source of belief, instead of to God! Yet, here was the only Church
holding to the one greatest basic truth of the Commandments of God and the faith
of Jesus, kept in the name of God, and in spite
of this and a few other erroneous teachings, nevertheless being closer to
the whole truth than any church I had found.
If this was not the true Church of God, then where was it?
The Second Test
A little later I tried the second test. After exhaustive study and research, I
had found it proved that the so-called “Lost Ten
Tribes” of Israel had migrated to western Europe, the British Isles, and later
the United States—that the British were the descendants of Ephraim, younger son
of Joseph, and the United States modern-day Manasseh, elder son of Joseph—and
that we possessed the national wealth and resources of the Birthright which God
had promised to Abraham through Isaac, Jacob and Joseph.
This truth was written in a lengthy manuscript of close to 300 typed pages, and
mailed to this editor and leader of this church. I explained that although this
new truth seemed to be proved beyond doubt, yet I was still comparatively new in
Christ and Scriptural knowledge, and wished the judgment of one more mature and
experienced in things Biblical.
I think it was some six months before the reply came. It was written on a train
late at night. This church leader stated in his letter (which I still have) that
I was most certainly right—that this was a wonderful new truth revealed
by God, and that God surely had a special reason for revealing this new truth to
me. However, he stated he did not know what use, if any, he could make of it at
that time, but was sure I would hear more of it later.
Did this Church accept and proclaim this vital new truth—the
key that unlocks the doors to all
prophecy? Here was the
key to understanding of one third of the whole Bible. But this Church
refused then to accept it or preach it or publish it though their leader frankly
confessed it was truth and a revelation from God!
Yet here was the Church which appeared to have more truth, and less
error than any other. It did “profess” the commandments of God, and have
“the testimony of Jesus Christ.” It did have the true
name of the Church Christ built. Its members
did love what truth they had and sacrificed for it! In spite of the fact
this Church did not appear to be dynamically alive spiritually—in spite
of its little or no accomplishment—still it came closer to the Biblical
characteristics of Christ’s true Church than any I knew!
Truly, this was bewildering!
My earnest and prayerful study continued. After some time, I made a discovery in
the 31st chapter of Exodus. At least I had found nothing in the published
literature of this Church of God or of the Seventh-Day Adventists about it. It
became very plain that in Exodus 31:12-18 was the account of a completely
different and distinctive covenant God made
with His people on earth. This covenant established God’s Sabbath as binding
forever! It was entirely separate and apart from
the “Old Covenant” made with Israel at Mt. Sinai.
My First “Sermon”
This was “new light” which I felt impelled to present before these church
brethren we had come to know and love down in the Willamette Valley. Repeatedly
they had urged me to preach for them. But preaching was the last thing I felt I
wanted to do. I had continually refused.
Now, however, I was overcome with an urge to get this new knowledge before them.
I was unable to refuse any longer to speak. It was arranged for me to speak, I
believe, on the following Sabbath.
The meeting was held in a country store building, but we drove first, for lunch,
to the farm home of one of the members south of Salem, near Jefferson. We were
taken down by the Runcorns of Salem, who we now had begun to look upon as sort
of “second parents.” It was Mrs. Runcorn who had opened my wife’s eyes to the
truth of the Sabbath. I remember they drove a large Studebaker “President.”
In the car, en route from Salem to the place of meeting, consternation suddenly
seized me. We were to arrive by noon, and all were to have lunch outdoors under
a large tree. The preaching service was to be held in the afternoon. Suddenly
the terrifying realization dawned in my mind that I might be called upon to give
thanks over the food at the luncheon. I realized it would be customary to call
on a visiting guest. I had never prayed aloud before others. The thought of
doing so frightened me!
But by this time I had gone far enough in my Christian experience and study of
the Bible to know what to do. I began praying silently, as we rode along, that,
if called upon, God would put the words into my mouth and give me the help that
I needed. The fear loosened its grip. I had been learning the lesson of faith. I
knew that Christ would be with me and not forsake me, and all embarrassment over
the anticipation left.
Sure enough, I was called on to ask the blessing over the food. I did have the
help I needed. I don’t believe that any there, except Mrs. Armstrong, knew that
this was my first audible prayer in the presence of others—until I told some of
them afterward.
The meeting was held in a vacant country store building, nearby. It was known as
the old Dever Store. This meeting, I believe, was in the summer of 1928.
If that talk I gave, explaining this Sabbath covenant, could be called a sermon,
it was my first. Mrs. Armstrong assured me it was far from being a powerful
sermon. Yet it was enthusiastically received. I did have a message, and a
sincere, earnest urge to present it.
I remember that one towering member, six feet four inches tall, who had moved to
this Oregon Valley from Texas, and was somewhat of a leader among the members,
rose to his feet after I concluded and said, “Brethren, I just want to say that
I have heard nearly all of the leading ministers in the Church of God, but I
have heard this afternoon the best sermon I ever heard in my life.” This didn’t
quite coincide with my wife’s evaluation, who said that the delivery was
extremely amateurish and inexperienced—but, I suppose, the fact that the message
was new to them, and that I was enthusiastic and in earnest about this
new “discovery” of truth, caused it to be so well received.
I was asked to speak before them again.
Opposition Begins
It has been related in previous chapters how my wife had been miraculously and
astonishingly healed in the summer of 1927. Following this, I had plunged into a
thorough study of the subject of healing in the Bible.
Consequently when, about a month later, I spoke again at a meeting of these
people, at this same vacant Dever Store, my message was about God’s power and
promises to heal.
Apparently the ministers of this church had heard of my previous speaking to
these people, and of their request for this second appearance before them. So
this time one of the older ministers of the church in Idaho had been sent to
Oregon to be on hand to counteract any influence I might have.
I had spoken first. When he followed, he devoted a good portion of his sermon to
an effort to refute everything I had said. He warned the brethren that if they
relied on God for healing, Christ would say to them, “Depart from me, ye workers
of iniquity—I never knew you.”
That was the beginning of years of continuous opposition from ministers. This
also brings me to a stage in this history of events and experiences in my life
which I have long dreaded to write.
It is simply the fact that from this point on—from the very second “sermon”—if
those early talks could be called that—opposition from other ministers, both
within this church and without, was met at every turn continually.
I Shall Not Hide the FACTS!
So I say candidly that I shall relate these events. I shall try to record
truthfully what happened, without feeling of rancor—and I certainly harbor no
resentment or bitterness against these ministers, whatever their intentions. I
believe that, as these incidents and happenings are related in the coming
several chapters, they will truly open the eyes of many who never knew the full
truth about my contacts with, and efforts to work with and cooperate with, the
ministers of that church.
For some little time, now, my articles had been appearing on the front page of
The Bible Advocate, published by this Church of God in Stanberry,
Missouri.
Up until this time, now 1928, there had been no minister of this church in
Oregon, except for occasional visits by the minister from Idaho, and the one
from Texas of whom I had inquired about water baptism during his visit to Oregon
in 1927. But there were at that time perhaps 50 or 60 members of the church in
Oregon, from Salem to Eugene.
And, with the beginning of my speaking before these people in Oregon—and with my
articles being featured in their church paper—no time was lost in sending a
minister to Oregon to take charge. He was a young man—I believe about 28 or
younger—who, I believe, had come from Arkansas or Missouri. He came to see me in
Portland. His attitude appeared cordial and friendly. But very soon after his
arrival publication of my articles in the Bible Advocate was stopped.
Soon I learned the reason. Probably the most influential member in the state at
the time was elderly G. A. Hobbs, of Oregon City. He was past 80 years of age,
but very alert, aggressive and active. He had received a letter from the editor
in Stanberry, Missouri, explaining that my articles were being discontinued at
the request of the young minister newly arrived in Oregon. The grounds were that
I was not a member of the Church and it was dangerous to give me this much
standing and prestige before the brethren there. I might gain influence and
become their leader and lead them astray.
This had aroused the fiery indignation of Mr. Hobbs. Immediately he sent a
scorching letter back to Stanberry, a copy of which he let me read. It resulted
in reinstating my articles for publication.
First Regular Preaching
As soon as I had heard of this Mr. Hobbs, and the little group at Oregon City, I
had visited him a few days after my first “sermon.” I found a very small group
of brethren who met together in a little church building at the top of the hill,
on the Molalla road, in Oregon City.
There were only around 8 to 12 of them, but they habitually met on Sabbath
afternoons to study the “Sabbath-school lesson,” using the “quarterlies” from
the Stanberry publishing house.
On discovering this little group, I began going to Oregon City to meet with them
regularly. Almost immediately they asked me to be their leader in the study of
the lesson. And soon I was delivering them a “sermon” every Sabbath.
These were days of extreme financial hardship in our home. We often went hungry.
Several times there was not enough carfare for my wife and family to accompany
me to Oregon City—in fact it was seldom that they were able to go. At least
three times, during the next couple of years or so, I had barely enough for
carfare to Oregon City on the electric line—with no carfare to return home. I
even lacked bus fare from downtown Oregon City out to the little church house at
the top of the hill on the outskirts of town. It was probably two or three miles
up a steep hill all the way, but I walked it, carrying my briefcase with Bibles,
concordance, etc.
But in every instance when I had come without carfare to return home, someone
would “happen” to hand me a dollar or two of tithe money. And, strangely, no one
ever handed me any money on those Sabbaths when I had enough to get back to
Portland. And, of course, I never made the need known. But God always had a way
of supplying every need!
My First Son!
I believe I have recounted in earlier chapters that, following the birth of our
second daughter, three doctors—one an eminent obstetrician of international
reputation—had warned Mrs. Armstrong and me that she could never bear another
child. They had said a pregnancy would mean the certain death of both mother and
unborn child.
It is natural for every man to desire a son. Before the birth of our first
child, neither Mrs. Armstrong nor I had cared whether it was a boy or a girl.
Our second child was another daughter. When I was told we could never have
another, I was terribly disappointed!
And now seven years had gone by—by 1927—without expectations of ever having a
son.
But when, in the summer of 1927, Mrs. Armstrong had been miraculously healed of
several things at once—and when we remembered that the man who had anointed and
prayed for her had asked God to heal her completely of everything
from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet, we had faith that whatever
had made another childbirth impossible had also been healed. We planned,
consequently, to have a son. And I had faith that God would at last give me a
son.
And God DID!!
Our first son, named Richard David, was born October 13th, 1928. That day, I
said then and for years afterward, was the happiest day of my life. I was simply
filled to overflowing with gratitude to a merciful, loving God who so richly
lavishes on us His grace and blessings
completely beyond all we can anticipate or hope for—if
we yield our lives to Him and do those things that are pleasing in His sight—if
we seek first God’s Kingdom and His righteousness!
We dedicated that son to God for His service.
During his college career, here at Ambassador College in Pasadena, California,
which God was later to use me in founding in 1947, our son Dick, as we called
him, was converted—his life changed—and he, himself, gave his life to
God.
From that time it was used in God’s service, with continually growing usefulness
and accomplishment, until his sudden death in an auto accident in 1958. Dick
worked hard on his own self, overcoming faults and weaknesses and habits which
he freely confessed, repented of, and strove to overcome. He reached the high
point of his spiritual growth and development, of overcoming and
usefulness—having established the branch office of God’s Work in London and
becoming Director of all overseas operations.
God later gave us still another son, Garner Ted, only a year and four months
younger than his brother Dick.
Chapter 21
“The "Million Dollar" Clay Business”
Even in 1928, the lean years were to continue quite a while longer. But
if these were the lean years financially, they were the fat years
spiritually—years of coming into the true riches. Yet, I still had many
lessons to learn. Jesus had said, regarding economic prosperity, “Seek ye
first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these [physical]
things shall be added unto you”! But God doesn’t always add the material
prosperity until after humans have been tried, tested and proved faithful.
Not only was there much more truth to be
discovered and dug out of God’s spiritual gold mine—the Holy Bible—but
there was much character to be developed through hard, cruel experience,
the dearest teacher of all.
I should not have thought so at the time—but God knew that I needed much
more humbling—much more chastening at the hands of God!
I had been humbled! O yes! And still, I know now that had God allowed me to have
prospered financially at that stage of spiritual experience, self-pride once
more would have seized me and the humility would have fled! The lessons so far
received by all this chastening would have been lost! I was to have to suffer
much more—and my family to suffer it with me! The material blessings were
withheld 28 years!
But do not infer from this that the material riches were my goal. No such idea
even entered my mind. I had given up all idea and expectation of material
prosperity.
At this time, during 1928, we were living on Klickitat Street in Portland,
Oregon. We were falling dangerously behind in paying the rent. The real estate
agent who collected the rent came very frequently to the front door. To others
he was probably a kind and pleasant-looking man. He taught a Sunday-school
class. But to us, he was a dark, foreboding, frightening, almost
devilish-appearing man, when, of evenings, he so frequently stood at our front
door, demanding in a deep, bass, stern tone: “Can I have the rent?”
We simply didn’t have the rent! Whenever he came, we knew just how a
whipped dog feels when his tail is between his legs. Actually, this man, who
appeared to us almost as an enemy, was kind enough to pay our rent a number of
times out of his own pocket.
At one time we were in darkness nights of involuntary necessity. The electricity
was shut off because we were delinquent. My wife did her cooking on a small gas
plate, and our gas was shut off. Only the water was left running. We were out of
food, and out of fuel. Our heating stove was one my father had made, shaped
something like an old covered wagon—with rounded top.
Uneatable Macaroni
The children were crying with hunger. My stomach gnawed with pain. Like old
Mother Hubbard’s, our cupboard was bare, save for a little macaroni. But there
was no cheese or any of the ingredients used in baking macaroni. There was not
even a grain of salt. And, there was no money to buy any.
I decided to try to cook some macaroni, even without the accompanying
ingredients. Without gas there was no oven to bake it in; so I boiled it.
Patiently I tore up and crumpled pages of magazines, so I could set a fire in
the rounded-top heating stove for heat. I balanced a pan of water and macaroni
on top of the stove, and kept throwing in more crumpled magazine pages to keep
the fire going.
I offered this “delicacy” to my wife and daughters. We all tried it.
That is all we did. We did not swallow it. We tried, but the slick, slithery,
tasteless mess simply would not go down! You may laugh. I don’t know why
some Hollywood scenario writer never thought of this as a comedy idea. People
love to laugh at the discomfiture of others in the movies. Movie actors pretend
to suffer things like this to give audiences big amusement.
But to us it was not a bit funny!
It was about this time, while still living on Klickitat Street, that I learned
what the Apostle Paul meant when he wrote to the Corinthians of how God “also
hath made us able ministers of the new testament; not of the letter, but of the
spirit” (II Cor. 3:6).
The SPlRIT of the Law
Most people, I had noticed, thought that the “letter” was done away, and that
the ministration of the spirit did away with the law and all obligation
for obedience to God.
I have told this many times in sermons, and on the air. But this experience
occurred at this time, and I believe it belongs in this account.
Our eldest daughter, Beverly, then ten, had been in the habit of bringing books
home from the school library. I had noticed they were always fiction. She was an
inveterate “bookworm,” and a rapid reader. We had noticed that she was beginning
to have a little trouble with her eyes, and we attributed it, at least in part,
to excessive reading habits. Besides, I had noticed that the constant reading of
these fictitious, ready-made daydreams—which is precisely what fiction is—was
causing her mind to drift and wander, rather than to think actively.
“Beverly,” I said one day after my wife and I had discussed it, “Mother and I
want you to stop taking these fiction books out of the library. You are injuring
your eyes with too much reading.”
Two days later, I observed Beverly in her usual slumped-over position in a
chair, with a book opened near the middle.
“Let me see that book, Beverly,” I demanded. “Isn’t this another fiction story?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she replied, handing it to me. Already she had read it half
through.
“Beverly,” I said sternly, “didn’t I tell you to stop bringing these books home
and rest your eyes?”
“Well, yes, Daddy,” came the innocent reply, “but I didn’t get this book at the
library. I borrowed it from Helen.”
Beverly actually obeyed the literal letter of the law, but she
completely disobeyed the spirit of what I had
told her! The spirit of the law goes much further than the mere letter.
It includes the letter, but also its obvious meaning, or intent.
That is the way we must obey God—not only
the “letter,” but the spirit or intended
meaning of the law as well! Jesus explained this
in His sermon on the Mount (Matt. 5:17-28—especially verses 21-22, and 27-28).
My First Personal Healing
It was also while living here, during 1928, that I had perhaps my first
experience in applying God’s miraculous power of healing, as a personal
experience in my own body.
For fuel we burned wood—when we were able to have it. One day in chopping wood,
the axe slipped, and struck my left thumb in mid-air. It cut clear to the bone.
I had to pull the sharpened axe out of the bone. It had cut quite a deep gash.
Instantly I prayed, asking God to prevent pain, and to heal it over rapidly, as
I ran into the house to wrap and bandage it. At first such a cut often benumbs
the nerves, as it did this time—but normally the pain soon follows. This time I
felt no pain at all.
I made one slight mistake later, else I am convinced I should never have had so
much as a scar. I left the bandage on for some three days. But I became
over-anxious to look at it. When we trust God for healing, we need to keep our
eyes and our minds on Christ—not on the physical
part. I unwrapped it too soon. I experienced the only pain at any time from that
severe cut in removing the wrapping to look at it, and pulling off a scab that
had formed.
The result was that there is, to this day, just the slightest trace of a scar
across the length of my left thumb. But, even so, it is so slight that one would
never notice it unless pointed out. The cut was directly across the knuckle. I
believe it could have robbed me of the use of the thumb. As it is, there is no
impairment whatsoever.
Advertising Job—Rejected
It must also have been during this year of 1928 that another advertising job was
offered me.
I mentioned, in connection with the advertising service for laundries, the soap
builder used by laundries manufactured by the Cowles Detergent Company, of
Cleveland, Ohio. This company was a subsidiary of the Aluminum Corporation of
America. They manufactured an unusual product, unique and exclusive, so far as I
know, in the laundry industry. I understood that this company was the largest
operation in the laundry industry.
The Cowles Detergent Company had become familiar with the advertising I was
writing and designing for laundry clients. Also they were familiar with the
astonishing results. These ads had been building the volume of business of my
clients in unprecedented fashion.
And so it was that, about this time, the sales manager of the Cowles company, a
Mr. Fellows, came to Portland to interview me and offer the post of advertising
manager of their company. Actually the job was to organize and establish a new
advertising department! Up to that time, they had delegated all advertising
preparation and placing to their advertising agency.
Bear in mind, I was not yet a minister. Although I had given a few talks that
might by a stretch of the imagination have been called preaching, and had been
speaking almost every Sabbath before the little group in Oregon City, I most
assuredly did not think of myself as a minister. Nor did I expect, at this time,
ever to be.
The laundries of the nation, through their national association, had gone into
their five million dollar national campaign. This had pulled right out from
under me—like a rug being jerked out from beneath one’s feet—all my laundry
clients, save one. I still had the account of the National Laundry, second
largest in Portland. But, as I have mentioned before, this required only about
30 minutes a week of my time. It was our sole income—$50 per month. It was not
enough to pay house rent, and keep us fed and alive.
If you will remember, in 1924 I was offered the job of advertising manager of
the Des Moines Register—rated by many as one of the ten great newspapers
of the United States. I had turned it down because I believed that I was not an
executive. I believed I could not direct and supervise the work of others. I
found it so distasteful to make out reports and keep records—which would have
been a regular routine on such a job—that I felt I was simply not fitted for
such an office.
I explained all this to Mr. Fellows. I told him frankly that one of my faults
was that I worked in spurts. I felt I was moderately talented in certain
directions, but this was offset by serious faults I had not yet been able to
master and overcome. At times my performance would be brilliant. Results would
be outstanding. But then I might go into a slump for a week or a month, during
which I would accomplish little or nothing. What I did not tell him was that my
wife and I had talked it over, and decided that in order to obey God and keep
His Sabbath, I must reject the offer.
Lest any suspect that I went into the ministry to make money (and I suppose most
could not realize one could have any other motive), I was rejecting a very
flattering offer.
Mr. Fellows thanked me sincerely for my honesty in telling him of these
shortcomings. He returned to Cleveland. I never heard whether he found the man
he needed, and started his new advertising department.
Actually there may have been some providential guidance in my supposition that I
could not become an executive. Had I accepted this job, which, as I remember,
would have paid a salary of $8,000 a year in 1928 to start—the equivalent of a
much larger figure in today’s dollar value—and about $12,000 if I made good, I
would have been snatched away from the calling God was drawing me into. I would
probably be back in the world today.
Actually I was mistaken about not being able to become an executive. When God
later began to build His Work around me, and the Work began to grow steadily and
continuously at the rate of about a 30% increase each year over the year
before—which rate of growth continued for 35 years—I had to become an
executive! And with God’s help and power, it was achieved, and the working in
spurts was long ago overcome. For many years, now, I have had to work at the
same steady pace day in and day out.
Cash Position Desperate!
Also it was about this time, late in 1928, that our position was so desperate
that I prayed earnestly and asked God to open a door for some income that very
day.
Having asked in faith, in the morning, I took the streetcar to downtown
Portland, seeking the “open door” to a job, or something with some cash in it.
All the circumstances have dimmed somewhat in my memory, but I believe that we
had to have a certain amount of money by 5:30 that evening, or be evicted from
our home. But I knew that if I did my part, God would provide the need.
All day long I sought open doors—but every door was closed and apparently locked
tight. My faith was being tried. Then 5:00 p.m. came. Time had almost run out.
But I still relied on God.
At that moment it came to my mind to stop up at the office of a Mr. Davidson,
manager of the Merchandising Service Department of the Portland Oregonian.
“Say,” he exclaimed, “you’re just the man I’ve been looking for. The advertising
agency for the Bissell carpet sweeper people want a survey made in Portland on
the relative opinions of women between the carpet sweeper and the vacuum
cleaner. You are the only man I know with the experience to conduct such a
survey. Can you take time to do it?”
I most certainly could!
It was going to pay just the exact amount I needed by 5:30 that evening to
prevent being evicted. But the check would not be forthcoming until about 30
days, after the survey was completed.
With brisk step, after having been briefed on what the Bissell company wanted in
the survey, I walked rapidly over to the offices of the mortgage company where
the house payment had to be made, arriving right on the deadline, 5:30 p.m.!
I explained about the survey to be made immediately. I offered to simply endorse
the check and hand it over for our house rent when it came, if the company would
accept it some 30 days later. My word was good with them. Since it was
definitely sure, they agreed to accept this check 30 days My word was good with
them. Since it was definitely sure, they agreed to accept this check 30 days
later, on my promise to endorse it over.
And Now—1929!
1928 ended. It had been a year of great progress in my life. Spiritually, that
is—certainly not financially.
It had been a year of outstanding world events. Trotsky, Zinoviev and other
Communists were exiled from Russia January 16th that year. The first all-talking
motion picture was shown in New York that year on July 6th. This was preparing
the way for our filming The World Tomorrow for television, beginning
1955. October 13th of that year God had blessed us with the birth of our first
son, Richard David.
In the spring of 1929 we moved to a house on 75th Street, north of Sandy
Boulevard. 1929 was to be a year of struggle, spiritual growth, and miraculous
answers to prayer.
In world events, too, 1929 was an epochal year! The notorious “St. Valentine’s
Day massacre” in Chicago occurred February 14th. On June 7th that year, the
Papal State, extinct since 1870, was revived as a state, or nation. The Kellogg
Peace Treaty, known also as the Pact of Paris, outlawing war, was signed July
24th. Albert B. Fall, Secretary of the Interior, came to his terrific
fall November 1, when he was sentenced for
accepting a $100,000 bribe. Commander Richard E. Byrd made the first flight over
the south pole November 28. And, biggest event of all, the New York Stock Market
crash occurred October 29th. 16,000,000 shares changed hands. The decline in
value of stocks was estimated at 15 billion dollars by end of 1929. And stock
losses, by 1931, were estimated at 50 billion, affecting directly 25 million
people. It plunged America into its worst depression. It prevented me from
making a million dollars!
Incident of the Mystery Woman
1929 not only ended as a depression year for us—as it did for millions of
others—it began as just another of the lean years! For us, it was
another year of desperation to keep ourselves alive.
Very shortly after moving into the house on 75th Street, we had reached another
crisis of hunger and desperate need. Again I prayed earnestly for God to either
send us some money or provide a way for me to earn it.
An hour or two later, a strange woman knocked on our front door. Mrs. Armstrong
opened the door. There was something mysterious about the woman’s appearance.
Who was she? She did not introduce herself. She gave no inkling of her identity.
“If your husband isn’t too proud to do it,” she said in a low, quiet voice,
“there are two truckloads of wood he can throw in at this address. Jot it down.”
My wife jotted down the street and number.
The mysterious woman walked quickly away and disappeared.
People in Portland used wood for fuel. Portland is in the heart of the
Oregon-Washington lumber country. Throwing wood into the woodshed, garage, or
basement, was an oddjob customarily reserved for the bums who came along. Very
few men in Portland threw in their own wood. To be seen doing it was to appear
as a down-and-out bum.
We were totally perplexed as to the identity of this strange woman. How did
she know we were in such desperate need? Who was she? We never knew.
But I did know I had just asked God to provide. And at once I recognized one
fact. This woman was like the mischievous boys playing a trick on a poor widow.
Her window had been open. She was praying aloud, asking God to send her some
bread for her children. The little boys, playing just outside the window,
overheard her prayer.
“Let’s play a trick on her,” said one of the boys. “Let’s toss a loaf of bread
through her window.”
When they did, she knelt again and gave God thanks.
“Ah-ya-ya!” jeered the boys. “God didn’t throw in that bread—we boys did.”
“Well,” answered the grateful widow, smiling, “Maybe the devil brought it, but
just the same God sent it!”
No matter who this mysterious woman was, I knew God sent her! And I
realized instantly that God was answering my prayer His
way, and not mine. I knew He was giving me a test to see whether I would accept
a humiliating job. I realized I had not yet been freed completely from ego and
pride. I knew that God was giving me a lesson in humility at the same time He
answered my prayer.
I walked immediately to the address the woman gave. It was about a mile from our
house. There was a large pile of wood in front. I went to the door, asked for,
and got the job of throwing the wood in the basement.
Realizing God was teaching me a lesson, I resolved to do it His way, which was
to do the best job I could. A thing worth doing is worth doing right! Now
that God allows me to be the employer of many men, I insist that they do their
work in the right manner—or else tear it out and do it over.
I stacked the wood up as neatly and orderly as I could. I worked rapidly, and
did it as quickly as I could. Several people walked past the house. Every time
one saw me, I winced. I knew they thought I was a down-and-out bum. Each
passerby knocked off a little more of that vanity. But I just prayed silently to
God about it, and thanked Him for the lesson, and asked Him to help me to be
humble and industrious.
When the job was finished, the woman inspected the piled wood in her basement.
“Why, you’ve done that so neatly, and so fast, I’m going to pay you double,” she
said.
The satisfaction and inspiration this gave was a far bigger reward than the
extra money.
Clay Mine a GOLD Mine?
About this time a clay mine was brought to my attention. It promised to become a
million dollar “gold mine.”
My former associate on The Vancouver Evening Columbian, who had been its
Business Manager, Samuel T. Hopkins, brought it to me. He had encountered an
elderly man who owned a farm on which a mysterious kind of clay was mined. It
was located in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, in Skamania County,
Washington.
One day this farmer had cut a bad gash on the back of his hand on a rusty barbed
wire fence. He had been digging rather deeply in the vicinity and had dug into a
semisoft grayish blue-green clay. Without thinking much about why he did
it, he reached down, scooped up a handful of the soft clay and slapped it over
the back of the hand to cover the cut. Then he proceeded with his day’s work.
The clay dried in some 20 or 30 minutes.
That evening on removing the now dried and hardened clay, he was surprised to
discover that it had coagulated the blood, drawn the skin together from the wide
gash, and virtually healed it over!
The farmer became curious. A member of his family was plagued with eczema. He
experimented. This clay was placed over the portion of skin affected, and
allowed to dry. There was noticeable improvement. A second and third application
was applied. Soon the skin disease disappeared.
The farmer knew Sam Hopkins, and told him about it. Mr. Hopkins made a few
experiments on cases of acne and eczema. Results were astonishing.
This clay contained a certain amount of fine sand and grit which proved somewhat
harsh on women’s skin. So he experimented with rubbing the clay through a very
fine copper wire screen, removing most of the sand and grit.
Astonishing the Doctors
About this time he came to me with his discovery. He thought it contained great
possibilities, but didn’t know how to market it. He offered me a 50% partnership
in whatever we might do with it. I was considerably intrigued. I took a sample
to a well-known doctor in Portland who specialized in skin diseases.
“It is certainly a coincidence,” said the doctor, “that you came at this
psychological time. I have a stubborn skin disease case which has persisted six
months. I’m not making any headway with it. I couldn’t tell my patient, but I
don’t mind admitting to you that I am desperate enough to try this clay.
Under other circumstances I’d be very reluctant to experiment with anything
new.”
I returned a week later. The doctor was very excited.
“There’s something very mysterious about that clay,” he said. “Why! a few
applications cured that skin disease completely!”
We had noticed that it was 50% heavier than water. A pound-size jar of this clay
weighed 24 ounces. He felt it might contain radium, or other radioactive
substance. He suggested I take it to another Portland physician, then president
of the Oregon-Washington Medical Association, who specialized in cancer and
radium treatment. He called this doctor on the telephone and set up the
conference for me.
I found this physician maintained a large suite of offices, or treating rooms,
like a private hospital, with eight registered nurses in constant attendance.
He made a number of experiments, and became quite excited. It cured acne,
eczema, psoriasis. One day he contacted me, requesting a large supply of the
clay. He had a patient almost completely covered and his whole body swollen with
poison oak—the most severe case he had ever seen—and the patient was in critical
condition. After the first application of the clay, the painful itching was
greatly relieved, and after the second it was stopped. This patient was kept in
his private hospital quarters, and after several days the poison was completely
gone!
This physician made a photographic test for radium—not a completely reliable or
conclusive test, but he felt it would give some indication. The film, left
overnight inside a metal case placed next to a jar of clay, had been exposed to
light when developed. This indicated radium! But the doctor would not accept it
as final, saying this was not a completely conclusive test.
Some four or five rooms down the hall his X-ray apparatus was located. He said
it was barely possible that the film had been exposed by this machine, instead
of by the clay. If this were true, I reasoned, then why were not all his X-ray
films exposed by that apparatus, so he could never use any of them? But I was
not a scientist, I discarded my reasoning as worthless.
Option on the Mine
This physician acquainted a friend of his, a leading corporation attorney, with
the facts about this clay. This attorney had connections in the east with
wealthy men and interests who had large sums to invest.
He advised us to tie up the clay mine at once on an option to buy.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said the lawyer. “You men cannot afford to pay me
the fee I would charge to handle this for you. But the doctor has told me enough
to give me confidence in this thing. I’ll make you this proposition: I’ll handle
the legal end of it, and give you whatever advice I can. I will do what I can to
get it financed. You either have a million-dollar proposition or nothing. If it
fails, you owe me nothing. If you succeed, I’ll charge you a double fee, and in
that event you’ll be amply able to pay it.”
We agreed.
He drew up an option contract, under which we were to be given exclusive
right to all of the clay for one year, at a certain price per gallon. We were
given one year to exercise the option and purchase the property. The purchase
price was set at about three times the value of the property as a farm. The
owner signed the option contract. We had one year to make our million dollars.
It was probably August or September, 1929, when we got the contract signed and
were ready to start building our million dollar fortune out of the clay mine.
With the cooperation of this doctor, I immediately sought out the leading, most
aggressive and the best-informed beauty shop operator in Portland. Many
inquiries in the field led to one certain woman. Since this clay seemed to
quickly rid women of acne, eczema, and other common skin diseases, we decided
the biggest single market possibility was through the beauty shops.
This woman made experiments. The results were the same. It cleared up splotched
faces after a reasonable number of applications. But, she discovered, it had a
drawing power too severe for many women. Applied as a face masque, or a
“mud-pack,” it seemed to hold the face in a stiff vise. Its drawing power was
exceedingly strong.
“For use as a mud-pack facial,” this beauty shop owner advised, “I recommend
cutting down the severe drawing power by mixing a certain facial oil in it. And
it must be perfumed.”
“We’d better have the advice and cooperation of a top-flight chemist,” I said. I
went to the chief chemist of the largest wholesale drug house in Portland. He
agreed to help. Between him, the beauty shop expert, and the physician, we
worked out a formula which the beautician pronounced perfect, the doctor and
chemist pronounced safe and harmless, which had the most delightful fragrance,
and which, after many tests, we found to have the same powers of eradicating
embarrassing face blotches—except that it required perhaps one or two more
treatments than before.
Selling Mud Packs
But, just as we were getting everything ready to approach one of the largest
cosmetics concerns on a deal to sell them our formula and the raw supply of the
clay—just as we were devising various other possible uses and
markets—that fateful October 29th, 1929, rolled around.
The stock market crashed. The nation was plunged into the worst economic
depression of its history.
It became utterly impossible to finance a new business, or sell a new product to
a cosmetic firm.
Once again, as if some unseen supernatural hand were taking every business
opportunity away from me, another promising business of million-dollar
possibilities was swept away by powers and forces beyond my control!
I began to call myself King Midas in reverse! Everything I touched
turned—well, this time—to clay! It was certainly
not a gold mine. It was only a clay mine, after all.
By this time I had no means of keeping my family alive, except to try to sell
this clay. I had to explain to beauty shop owners that they could not sell these
facial masques as a means of healing, or curing a facial disease. They could be
prosecuted for practicing medicine without a license if they did. But they could
recommend these treatments to customers as the finest of all facials, and
suggest that if, incidentally, they found that the acne disappeared, that would
be very nice!
I also worked out a formula for poison oak. I called it P.O.P.—Poison Oak Paste.
A certain amount of distribution for this was developed through local Portland
drug stores. All who bought it reported astonishing results.
The facial masque, or clay-pack, I named Marve. This I began to sell in
“booth-size” pound jars to beauty shops. But each jar actually weighed l1/2
pounds! Before long, many of the Portland shops were using it, and gradually
resales increased.
I found a way to dilute the clay until it became a soupy liquid. All the sand
and grit would sink to the bottom. Then I siphoned off the top. Straining it
through fine copper-wire screens did not remove all the fine grit. My new way
left it soft and utterly smooth. Our kitchen on 75th Street became virtually a
clay factory. After the siphoning process, I boiled the clay down to the
consistency I wanted it. This boiling did no harm to its curative powers, and
made it more sanitary.
“Here’s Your Breakfast!”
Shortly after we moved into the house on 75th Street, a Mr. and Mrs. Charlie
Beck moved into the corner house next door. Helen Beck was one of the most
cheerful women we ever knew. She seemed full of sunshine and good cheer within
and without. She was quite religiously inclined, even emotionally so. She
learned and accepted quite a little Biblical truth through us, but seemed unable
to see quite all of the truth. Nevertheless she appeared to walk in all
the truth she really grasped—and if I ministered to some extent to her in
spiritual matters, she ministered to us in a material way.
She learned that we often did not have enough to eat. When we did get in a
little money, we went to the markets and loaded up on beans and food that “went
the farthest and cost the leastest.”
But often when we were out of food, she would come to our back door with her
cheery “Good morning, folks, here’s your breakfast,” carrying a tray full of
steaming hot breakfast. Prior to the bust of 1920 it would have cut my pride
unbearably to have received this kind of “charity” from a next-door neighbor.
But hers was the kind spoken of in I Corinthians 13, where it says that though
you may speak with the tongues of angels, understand all knowledge, have all
faith, “and have not charity,” you are nothing!
Actually this cheerful “good morning” act of charity profited both ourselves and
Helen Beck. It is more blessed to give than to receive. She reaped that
greater blessing. But I reaped the spiritual blessing of being humbled a little
further—having to swallow more pride, and see the hand of God in it!
And so the year 1929 had come and gone. 1930 was to be another of the “lean
years”—as indeed were several others to follow. We were at rock bottom
financially. We had learned what it is to go hungry. But these were,
nevertheless, years of spiritual growth.
These were the years in which Jesus Christ, the living Head of His
Church, was instructing me in His Word, preparing me for His ministry, humbling
me, rooting out the self-confidence, the cocky conceit, the vanity and
egotism.
But he was replacing these self-trusting attributes with reliance and
dependence on God. Instead of self-confidence,
He was giving me painful but valuable lessons in faith.
He was granting us a few miraculous answers to prayer. Some far more astonishing
answers to prayer were to follow in the year 1930.
Chapter 22
“Astounding Answers to Prayer”
Never in my life have I faced a more serious problem than the situation that
confronted us at the beginning of the year 1930. Not only were we confronted
with another lean year economically—with our own personal financial
condition at rock bottom—with the whole nation plunging on down, down, DOWN,
into the depths of depression—but it seemed as if we were destitute of faith in
God as well.
We were within six weeks of the birth of our fourth child. My wife, who had been
so miraculously healed in 1927, was now in an alarming condition. She was
anemic. Her blood was lacking in iron. Her strength appeared depleted. The
doctor was definitely alarmed. He was afraid of complications at the time of
delivery, due to her weakened condition. He insisted she go to the hospital
where every emergency facility would be available in event of trouble.
The Lesson of Fasting and Prayer
But we had been in such financial depths that the hospital bill for our first
son’s birth had not been paid. The hospital would not admit my wife again until
the previous bill was paid—or else we paid in advance.
I had prayed for Mrs. Armstrong’s healing. But she had not been healed. I had
prayed again. And again! But there had been no improvement, and time was
running out. We were becoming desperate.
What was wrong? I had learned that God does heal. We had experienced almost
incredible miracles. My wife had been healed before. But why not now?
Obviously God had not changed—He is the same from eternity to eternity.
He has promised to heal, and His Word is sure!
The fault could not be with God. I knew it had to be with me. But where? I
“searched my heart.” One condition to receiving miraculous healing is that we
obey God.
“Whatsoever we ask, we receive of him because
we keep his commandments” (I John 3:22).
But I had surrendered to obey God’s commandments three years before. Faith
is the second condition. But I believed, as firmly as when God first
healed my wife.
There was no more time to lose. I had to find the answer. I knew of only
one way. Fasting and prayer! It was the last-ditch resort. I didn’t know
how one ought to fast and pray—I had never done it before. But when Jesus’
disciples were unable to cast out a demon, Jesus said such a result came only by
fasting and prayer. So I began to fast.
The fasting was begun on a Sabbath morning. That morning I ate no breakfast. Not
knowing how one ought to go about fasting and prayer, I first prayed and
asked God to show me the way—to open my understanding. Then, since God speaks to
us through His written Word, I began to search the Bible for instruction about
fasting. For one hour with the aid of a concordance I studied passages of
Scripture on the subject of fasting and praying, much of the time on my knees.
Then for one hour I sat in thought and contemplation. I turned over in my mind
the scriptures I had read. I reflected on my own life in recent months. I tried
to compare it with God’s way, as revealed in the Scriptures. Then I spent the
next hour in talking to God—in prayer.
And so I decided to continue in this order—one hour in Scripture study, one in
contemplation, and one in prayer. I did not once ask God to heal my wife—as yet.
I had been doing that for weeks, without result. I was fasting and praying, not
for the purpose of bringing pressure on God to force Him to obey my will and
give what was asked—but to find out what was wrong with me! I realized we
did not need to nag at God. NEVER fast as a means of inducing God to
answer!
I read of Elijah’s prayer, in presence of all the priests of Baal, when God
answered and the fire came down from heaven. I timed that prayer. It was very
short—only about 20 seconds. But the awe-inspiring answer came crashing from
heaven instantly! Elijah did not need to talk God into it by a long prayer, or
by repeated prayers. But I knew that Elijah at that moment was close to God—that
he had previously been spending hours in long prayers to be in
contact and close communion with His Maker! And he naturally knew His
Maker would answer!
Gradually the truth began to pierce through the fog in my mind. Gradually, as
this process of fasting and prayer continued all day, and into the afternoon of
Sunday—as I became more and more hungry—but closer and closer to God, the
realization came that I had been keeping my mind more and more fully on this
clay project.
Finding the Trouble
This experience in fasting and prayer, and the overwhelming result, has been
broadcast over the air, and probably related previously in The Plain Truth.
But it is one of the outstanding experiences in my life and properly belongs in
this present account, even though a repetition for numerous readers.
This process of self-examination, in the order of one hour of Bible study,
followed by an hour of reflection and contemplation, and then an hour of prayer,
under the unpleasant weakness of fasting, continued until the middle of Sunday
afternoon.
Suddenly I heard one of our daughters cry out: “Here comes Grandpa and Grandma!”
My father and mother were driving their Ford 2-door sedan up our driveway. At
the moment I was lying on the bed in our bedroom, in an hour of thinking and
reflecting. By this time I KNEW where the trouble had been. I realized
fully that I had gotten so wrapped up in this clay project—the development of
formulas—devising plans for marketing—and selling enough of it to beauty shops
to keep us from starving, that I had unconsciously been drifting farther from
the previously close relationship with God.
I had not stopped Bible study or prayer. I had not even realized that I had been
diminishing it. But now I realized that I had actually become closer to
this clay project than I was to God. It was fast becoming first in my
mind, my interest, and my time. And God will not play second fiddle to
anything!
I wonder, as I write, how many of my readers are more wrapped up, in their
interest, and in their hearts, in some material business, project, or other
interest, than they are in God! Probably most
of you who are reading this need what God had brought me to do.
I realized now that God had mercifully, in His wisdom and His love for me and my
family, refused to answer my prayers to force me to fast and pray and
come to see where I was unconsciously drifting.
But in a flash, as I heard my father’s car drive past the bedroom window, the
realization came that the mission of the fasting was accomplished! No need to
continue it, now! I must end it, and go out and greet my parents.
And so, in a brief prayer not much longer than Elijah’s, but in deep earnestness
and absolute faith, I now—for the first time during this fast—asked God to heal
my wife and put iron in her blood and give her needed strength. Like a flash it
came to mind that we were completely out of food—out of wood for fuel to keep
warm (in January)—so I asked Him to send us food and fuel. I asked Him to send
money for the hospital bill for the delivery of the baby. Quickly I thought of
my winter topcoat—it had a big hole at the rear of one hip, which was
embarrassing and a handicap in my work—and asked God for a new coat.
Asking God for these five things had taken less than a minute. But by now my
parents were alighting from the car, and I wanted to go out to meet them. Two
scriptures flashed to my mind:
“Your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask him”
(Matt. 6:8).
“My God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by
Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:19).
So quickly I ended my prayer, saying, “Father in heaven, you know what I need,
before I ask—and you have promised to supply every need—so I ask
you to supply whatever else I need.” Then I quickly thanked God for it, rose and
ran to greet my parents.
...and the ASTOUNDING Answers Came!
Dad was just handing Mother a big covered roaster out of the car, and then
gathering up an armload of wood. He had removed the back seat before leaving
Salem, and piled into the entire rear part of the car a large supply of wood.
We soon had a fire going in the kitchen cook stove, and Mother reheated an
entire big dinner she had brought in the roaster. Dad had managed to pile about
a week’s supply of wood into his car. So here, even as I was asking for it, was
the answer to two of my prayer requests—the immediate fuel and food.
Arising Monday morning, my wife’s cheeks were rosy red! When the doctor saw her,
he exclaimed:
“What in the world has happened to you!” He could not understand how her
anemia had so suddenly disappeared. She had her old zip and pep and strength.
(Mrs. Armstrong always was an energetic person—as recorded earlier, her brothers
had nicknamed her variously “Shebang,” and “Cyclone” as a little girl.)
The very first mail delivery after my prayer request, on that Monday morning,
brought a letter from one of my wife’s uncles in Iowa containing, most
unexpectedly, a settlement from her mother’s will, in the exact amount of the
hospital bill! My wife’s mother had died when she was twelve.
You may be sure that Mrs. Armstrong and I were overwhelmed with gratitude. Our
prayers that morning were all of thanksgiving to a God who is
real and near to every one of us—if we
will be near to Him!
But Monday was another business day in downtown Portland, and it was necessary
to make the rounds of some of the beauty parlors once again to sell more clay.
Arriving in the lobby of an office building I would remove my topcoat, and
carefully fold it so as to hide the big hole in the side, carry it on my arm,
and then enter the shops or offices where I had to call.
About eleven that morning I found myself across the street from the building of
the gas company, where my brother Russell was an information clerk. So I crossed
over. We chatted for a couple of moments.
“Herb,” exclaimed Russell suddenly, eyeing the hole in my coat, “You’ve got to
have a new overcoat. Meier & Frank are having a big sale on overcoats. Today is
January 20th. I have a charge account at Meier & Frank’s, and anything charged
beginning today is not billed until the March 1st statement, and I will have
until March 10th to pay and keep my credit good. You go over now, and select an
overcoat, and I’ll meet you over there at noon and have it charged.”
“Oh, no, Russ” I remonstrated, “I couldn’t let you do that.”
But suddenly, as I continued to protest, it seemed as if a still, small voice
within said to me: “Didn’t you ask God to give you a new overcoat? Are you
willing to receive it the way God gives it, or not?”
It is human nature to rebel against God’s way. We want to do things in a
different way than God commands. We want to live a different way
than God’s Law. I broke off the remonstrance immediately.
“O.K., Russ,” I smiled humbly, and gratefully, “I’ll go select a coat—and thanks
a million!”—as my eyes began to water.
It was humiliating to me to take this coat from my brother. I felt he could not
afford it. But I realized it was God’s answer, coming the way God had
chosen to answer my prayer. He was still humbling me. But this was good for me,
and actually, giving the coat was good for my brother. It just did not seem so,
humanly.
On Tuesday or Wednesday of that week my other brother, Dwight, drove over to our
house in his Ford.
“I got to thinking, Herb,” said Dwight, “You may have to rush Loma to the
hospital at any unexpected hour of day or night. I’ve brought my car over for
you. I’m going to leave it until you go to the hospital. And in the meantime,
just use it as if it were your own.”
I think it was on Thursday afternoon Mrs. Armstrong and I were sitting in our
living room reviewing what had happened, and thanking God. It was about three
o’clock.
“You know, I never should have thought of needing a car for a sudden emergency
trip to the hospital,” I said. “But I asked God to send whatever else we needed,
besides what I asked for specifically—and He sent it.”
“There is only one thing more that I can think of,” mused my wife. “I never
thought of this before, but I do not have a robe or slippers to wear in the
hospital. If I had those, every need would be complete.”
We dismissed it from our minds.
But that evening, my sister’s husband drove her over to our house. She seemed
highly embarrassed, and a little flustered.
“Loma,” she said, “I don’t understand this at all—and you may think I’m crazy.
But this afternoon, about three o’clock, something strange came over me—an
insistent urge to go to my bedroom and pray. And while I was praying something
put it in my mind—just like a voice saying: ‘Take your robe and slippers to
Loma! Take your robe and slippers to Loma!’ I didn’t understand it! I never had
any experience like that before. You may think I’m crazy, but I simply had
to bring these to you.”
We then explained how God had answered my prayer, and how, at that precise time
that afternoon we had been in conversation about that very remaining need—the
robe and slippers.
Truly, God does move in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform!
Garner Ted Is Born
It was just a little over two weeks later that the loan of Dwight’s car was
justified, and I rushed my wife to the hospital.
On the 9th day of February, a Sunday, my second son was born.
My wife named him Garner Ted. The name Garner had been a family name in her
family and her mother’s family for generations. Her maternal grandmother was a
Garner before marriage. Several men in the family had been given the name Garner
as a first name.
Mrs. Armstrong had known an intelligent young man in college in Iowa by the name
of Ted, whom she greatly admired. The name seemed, she said, “so short and
simple and direct.”
He was our fourth child.
For eleven years of married life I had been denied a son. After Mrs. Armstrong’s
first miraculous healing, in 1927, I knew that, despite warnings from three
doctors, we could have another child without fear of fatal consequences. God had
blessed us with our first son, Richard David, on October 13th, 1928. That day
was the happiest day of my life. I was filled to overflowing with gratitude for
a son after all those years—a gift from God.
But now, a year and four months later, God blessed us with a second son. And
Ted, too, was born as a result of an almost incredible miracle of healing only
three weeks before his birth!
Chapter 23
“Prelude to Ministry”
I have related previously how my wife nearly died of toxemia eclampsia shortly
before our second daughter was born. Three physicians had warned us that my wife
could never have another child. We did not know the reason then. It was many
years later that we learned we had the opposite RH blood factor—she being
negative, and I positive. This was unknown to the doctors who said Mrs.
Armstrong could not bear another child. It probably was not the cause. This,
however, was undoubtedly the cause of Ted having been born with yellow jaundice.
This, as nearly as we can remember now, was one of the reasons it was necessary
to supplement the new baby’s breast milk. Another reason was the fact that Mrs.
Armstrong did not have enough to eat. She simply was not able to supply
sufficient milk.
One day a few months after Ted was born—probably early summer, 1930—I arrived
home from the beauty shop rounds in midafternoon. The baby was crying lustily.
“Hurry!” exclaimed my wife, “Go to the store and get a quart of milk. The baby
has missed one feeding, and it’s a whole hour past his second feeding, and I
haven’t a bit of milk for him.”
Asking God for a Dime
“Well, I’m broke. Give me a dime,” I said. Milk was then ten cents a quart—think
of that!
“But if I had a dime, I’d have sent Beverly after the milk long ago,” she
replied. “I’ve been waiting for you—praying for God to hurry you home. I thought
you’d have at least a dime.”
The baby howled louder than ever. We had never established credit at any store.
“There’s only one thing to do,” I said. “We’re helpless, of ourselves. There’s
no human to help us. We’ll have to rely on God. He has promised to supply
all our need—and this is a need.”
Jesus said we should enter into our closet, or small room, and pray to our
Father in heaven in secret, and He will reward us openly. The only small room of
absolute privacy in our home was the bathroom. I locked the bathroom door and
knelt beside the bathtub. God had promised to supply our every need,
“according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus.” I believed Him.
But we had to have the answer immediately. I had learned that sometimes God does
not answer at once—He sometimes tries our faith in order to develop patience in
us. But right now it seemed that little Garner Ted needed his milk more urgently
than I needed patience.
I felt there was not time—or need—of a long prayer. Instantly the 70th Psalm
flashed into my mind. God by His Holy Spirit inspired David to record, as part
of the very Word of God, David’s prayer wherein he asked God to “Make haste, O
God, to deliver me; make haste to help me, O Lord...I am poor and needy:
make haste unto me...O Lord, make no tarrying.” I knew that prayer would
not be in God’s Word unless it was God’s will to answer
that same prayer for me. So I asked God boldly to make haste!
I arose, unlocked the door, and walked back toward the kitchen. Before I even
reached the kitchen, one of our girls cried out from the living-room window:
“Oh Mother, here comes the old rag and bottle man!”
“Well, quick! Beverly,” called out my wife, “run and stop him! We have a lot of
old things in the basement we can sell him!”
The only entrance to our basement, I remember, was from the outside at the rear
of the house. In eager anticipation we led the rag and bottle man down the
basement stairs. My wife showed him all kinds of things. We expected to get at
least a dollar from him.
He only shook his head.
“No. Nothing here I want,” he said, starting back up the stairs.
Our hearts sank. Halfway up the steps he stopped, glanced at a high stack of old
magazines beside the stairs. Slowly he turned and retraced his steps, examining
the stack of magazines.
“I’ll give you a dime for these,” he said. “This is all I want.”
I had asked God to send to us a dime—immediately—in haste! When God sent
it, within the very minute I asked, we tried to increase it to a dollar or more.
But the immediate need was a dime for milk. God
has not promised to supply our wants—only our
need. The need I had asked was a dime—ten cents! That is what God
sent—immediately!
We had learned another lesson!
We gratefully gave God thanks, as I ran all the way to the store and then back
with the milk.
Jesus said: “What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye
receive them, and ye shall have them!” I know
that is true. Do you?
This incident has been made public before—over the air and in The Plain Truth—but
it properly belongs here in the Autobiography, so I relate it again.
A New Job
A family by the name of Melson lived on 74th Street in Portland at this time.
Their house and ours were opposite, back to back. Some years later this family
became nationally famous. A feature article about them on “How America Lives”
appeared in one of America’s leading mass-circulation magazines. We can remember
that they had three little girls, Anna Lou, Marilyn, and Joyce. Little Dickie,
our older boy, called Anna Lou “Ah-woo.”
One evening Mr. Melson came over and asked me if I would accept a job with the
Wear-Ever Aluminum Company. He was a salesman with that company, selling to
retail stores. The job open to me was selling the heavy “New Method” utensils
direct to consumers.
The sale of the clay to beauty shops was not providing a living. This aluminum
job was the straw a drowning man would grab. We were in such down-and-out
financial circumstances we were grateful for anything that promised enough food
to eat.
I went to their office. I found this company had developed a type of
salesmanship with which I was not experienced—and they had reduced it to a
virtual science. They sold this particular line of utensils, not through stores,
but direct to consumers by a system of “demonstration dinners,” which they
called “dems.” First, to see what it was like, I attended one.
A woman was offered a valuable utensil prize if she would invite a number of
married couples to a dinner in her home. The prize was in accordance with the
number who came. They had to be couples—husbands and wives. The salesman
supplied all the food and ingredients and cooked the dinner. It had to be the
most delicious dinner the guests had ever eaten, and of natural foods—no
concoctions.
After the dinner, he gave a lecture on health, and the causes of sickness and
disease. I observed that the salesman giving this “dem” seemed to know more
about the causes of sickness and disease than the physician who was a guest with
his wife—and he kept quoting nationally known physicians and surgeons for his
statements, and then asking the local guest physician if he agreed. Of course he
did—for the statements were all medically correct, and the guest doctor would be
disagreeing with outstanding national or international authorities unless he
endorsed everything the salesman said.
Before he was through, the guests were impressed that this salesman-lecturer
knew more about the minor ailments in their families than their family doctor.
Enough of these common ailments had been mentioned—colds, fevers, constipation,
rheumatism, tooth troubles, stomach troubles, digestive disturbances, etc.,
etc., that every family present was sure to be affected. Then the salesman made
appointments to call at each home at a time when both husband and wife would be
present, in order to give private and confidential counsel about how to prevent
these ailments by proper diet and method of preparing food.
Every couple present willingly made the appointment. I could see that most of
them were actually eager to make it. They had never heard a lecture of this type
before. It had been sparkling with interest, and had opened up facts about
common ailments they never knew before.
I was intrigued. I saw that this job offered me the opportunity to make an
intensive study of the causes of sickness and disease, and of nutrition and the
part diet plays in health or illness. I had already been doing enough preaching
to have had some little experience in giving these lectures. Also, the lectures
would provide experience for more effective preaching.
One thing that appealed to me was the fact that a salesman, in this rather
unique work, could be doing a great deal of good. I learned, during the
following years, that many of these salesmen were conscientious and used their
work only for the good of the customer.
Lecturing on Health
My first “dem” was a very large cooperative one, held in a public hall in Oregon
City. Several of the men out of the Portland district headquarters participated,
a more experienced one delivering the lecture. Actual participation gave me
initial experience.
The district supervisor, a Mr. Peach, gave me a list of several books, whose
authors were nationally famous physicians and surgeons, on the subject of diet,
causes of common ailments, sickness and disease.
At the library and bookstores I searched out other books beside these he
recommended. I plunged into an intensive study in this fascinating field. Mr.
Peach also gave me mimeographed material, data, and facts which his office had
condensed from many qualified authorities—including many shocking figures and
statistics on existing national health conditions. The office also supplied me
with large charts, illustrated, showing many of these little-known facts. The
charts were used in the lectures.
I obtained pamphlets from the U.S. Department of Agriculture, showing results of
scientific government tests made, I believe, at the University of Wisconsin.
These tests showed the percentage of mineral elements and vitamins lost from
various kinds of foods by cooking at or over the boiling temperature. These
figures were astounding. They showed that excessive temperatures, in cooking,
rob foods of from 23% to 78% of these vital health elements.
I learned of what the human body is constituted—primarily 16 elements of matter,
12 of which are alkaline-reacting mineral elements, and 4 of which are
acid-reacting carbohydrates. I learned that, while the human body requires for
health that the diet be composed of a large majority of the alkaline mineral
elements, the average American meal is in fact a dietetic horror—consisting of
an overwhelming preponderance of the starches, sugars, and greases—the
carbohydrate acid-reacting elements which cause numerous ailments and diseases.
Most natural foods are rendered harmful by sauces, gravies and dressings. I
learned that leading physicians—that is, the very few who have studied foods, or
the causes of sickness and disease—estimate variously that from 85% to 95% of
all sickness and disease which is not of mental origin is caused by faulty diet,
and the small remaining percent from all other causes combined.
Soon I had an eye-opening, interest-compelling lecture outlined. Of course the
study was continued intensively—along with continued Bible study for the next
year, and the lecture progressively altered and supplemented.
The details are now dim in memory—this is being written almost 30 years
later—but it seems that I teamed with another more experienced man in the next
one or two “dems.”
Then I must have been transferred to the territory around Salem, Oregon. Also it
seems this move was influenced by the fact that I had not yet gotten
sufficiently established in this aluminum selling to have been able to pay our
house rent, and my father was having to pay it for us. Apparently he felt it
would be less burden on him for us to move back into the parental home in Salem.
Our First Automobile
About the time I was getting started in this new work, we acquired the first
automobile we ever owned. I had learned to drive a car when I was Assistant
Secretary of the Chamber of Commerce at South Bend, Indiana, when I was 23. I
had driven cars a great deal. Often I had borrowed my brother Russell’s car, and
also my brother Dwight’s. But it was impossible to hold these “dems” without a
car.
So an arrangement had been made with my father whereby I received his car—a
two-door Ford sedan—and he acquired a better car. Just what the three-cornered
deal was is too cloudy in mind to recall.
So, along about October, 1930, we left the house on 75th Street in Portland, and
once again moved in with my parents on Highland Avenue in Salem.
The religious interest did not diminish. Rather, this new study of the causes of
ill health and disease, and these “dems” with their health lectures, only
supplemented my continued study of the Bible.
I learned quite a little about fasting as a means of eliminating toxins and
poisons from the body. Always the people I visited after a “dem,” had in the
family some of these common ailments or diseases. Never before had most of them
heard any explanation of why they had these sicknesses.
Most people seemed to suppose it is natural for our bodies to get sick. But
sickness is not natural. Sickness comes only from broken physical laws
within our bodies. Most of the time it comes from excess of carbohydrates. Part
of the time from malnutrition—a lack of essential elements. Under fasting
the body naturally eliminates stored up toxins and poisons.
Many on whom I called were, by fasting followed by right diet, relieved of
rheumatism, constipation, colds, and many other chronic ailments or diseases.
Of course most doctors do not recommend fasting. Many M.D.’s refer to
fasting as a “starvation diet.” At that time some doctors seemed to feel that if
a patient missed a single meal or two he or she would starve. No matter what the
sickness or disease, if one were admitted to a hospital, one very probably was
fed, even if intravenously.
Actually, if people would fast more, as animals do by instinct when sick, and
eat more carefully, it might just be that the doctors would starve, not
the patients!
But those doctors wanted to stay in business. They did not often recommend
fasting.
On the other hand, one should not fast for more than three to five days unless
he is under the care of a physician who does understand and believe in
fasting, or someone equally experienced. And one kind of fasting is required to
rid one of constipation, and another kind is indicated for other situations.
It is regrettable that medical “science” was so narrow that it tried to make a
cure-all of one thing—medicine; or, in some cases, of surgery. One doctor
confided to his elderly mother that if all drugs were dumped into the ocean, it
would be so much better for humanity, and so much worse for the fish. But such
was the “science” of man that all too often it is, as the Word of God says
plainly, “science falsely so called.” The day will come when the whole world
will wake up to that sad fact!
I never did, on these calls, ask people if I could pray for their healing. God’s
instruction is, “Is any sick among you; let him call for the elders of
the church” (James 5:14-15). They are told to ask for
it. And I was not then an elder. I was not then ordained.
However, when the subject of God’s truth did come up—as it frequently did—if I
found the people I was visiting were believers, and they asked me to pray for
their healing, I always did. This happened a number of times, and several were
healed. But I had learned never to force religion on any one, and the approach
to the subject had to come from them. This is God’s way.
What I learned during this year of study and lecturing on sickness and disease
was actually an important part of the preparation God was taking me through for
His ministry.
The Near Fight at a Meeting
Along in November of 1930 the Runcorns, neighbors of my parents, asked me to go
with them to a business meeting of brethren of the Church of God, being held in
the home of Mrs. Ira Curtis, near Jefferson, Oregon.
Although I was a guest—I had never become a member of this church, whose
headquarters was at Stanberry, Missouri—they asked me to act as secretary and
take down the minutes of the meeting. I learned that the meeting was called for
the purpose of organizing these Oregon members into an Oregon Conference.
I sensed immediately there was a feeling of division among them. Elder A. N.
Dugger was the real leader of the church at Stanberry. He was editor of the
church’s weekly paper sent to members. He either was, or had been, president of
their General Conference. I learned that they were organized as a General
Conference, with elections of officers held biannually. Most of the Oregon
members lived in the Willamette Valley in the vicinity of Jefferson. Most of
them were in attendance at this business meeting.
About half of them were opposed to Elder Dugger. They wanted to organize a State
Conference. Some of the other states had state conferences. The purpose of this
Oregon State Conference was to hold the tithes and church funds contributed by
Oregon members in Oregon.
But actually, it was born of opposition to and dissatisfaction with the
Stanberry membership and state conference. The other half were just as verbal in
their loyalty and support of Elder Dugger and the Stanberry regime.
The dispute over Stanberry politics and Elder Dugger’s personal fitness and
integrity waxed more and more heated. One tall man who weighed considerably over
200, and was a leader, spoke of “dirty politics” and called Elder Dugger a
“ward-healer.” An equally vociferous man on the other side of the dispute rose
to defend the honor of Mr. Dugger. Words flamed hotter and hotter. Each side was
sincere and in roused earnest. Under the tense pressure tempers were flaring. I
became afraid it was going to be settled (or unsettled) by fists.
At that instant I rose, and in a loud but calm voice asked if I might say a
word. Since I was a guest, they didn’t refuse.
“Brethren,” I said, “you all know how, as recorded in the first chapter of Job,
when the sons of God came together, Satan came also. You also know how,
in the 12th chapter of Revelation we are told that the people Satan is most
angry with are those who keep the Commandments of God and have the testimony of
Jesus Christ. That means us. Satan is here. He is stirring up rage and anger in
your hearts. I am going to drop to my knees right now, and ask God Almighty to
cast Satan out of this house! All of you who wish may kneel with me and pray
silently.”
Without another word, I quickly dropped to my knees beside my chair, and began
asking God to rebuke Satan and this controversial spirit that was rousing these
men to anger, and to drive Satan from our presence, and to give us peace and
love.
When I rose there were some wet eyes, but there were no angry voices. These
people were sincere. They simply believed what they believed and had allowed
themselves to be caught off guard, and roused to anger.
Asked to Conduct Campaign
The state conference was agreed to and formed. The concept of church government
seemed to be that lay members should be in the offices of authority. Ministers
were to be employed, and under orders from the lay members. This is essentially
the concept of what we call democracy: government from the bottom up. Those
being governed dictate who shall be their rulers and how their rulers
shall rule them.
The most perplexing subject in all the Bible to me was this matter of church
government. I never did come to clear understanding of the
Bible teaching on the subject until after
Ambassador College was formed and well on its way.
I believe that elderly G. A. Hobbs of Oregon City, previously mentioned, was
made the first president of this state Conference, and that O. J. Runcorn, with
whom I had come to this meeting, was president the second year. I have in my old
files my Ministerial License Certificate, which is reproduced in this
autobiography, dated March 2,1932, and signed by O. J. Runcorn as President, and
Mrs. I. E. Curtis as Secretary. This was almost a year after I was
ordained—probably my second certificate.
At the close of this business meeting, the newly elected officers caused me
great embarrassment.
They asked me if I would hold an evangelistic campaign for them in the church
building they rented in Harrisburg. I had never preached before the public. Only
before these brethren in the Willamette Valley and at Oregon City. As I have
stated before, becoming a preacher was the very last thing I should ever
have wanted to do. I had been literally drawn into what little preaching
had been done before these few brethren. Most certainly I had never pushed
myself in.
But to hold a public evangelistic campaign! Consternation seized me! By nature,
I shrank from the idea. Yet here were these simple, Bible-loving people, looking
to me for leadership. It was as if they were sheep needing a shepherd. They
wanted to get the Gospel out. It seemed impossible to refuse. If I was severely
embarrassed at the thought of doing it, it would be even more embarrassing to
refuse. More and more I was being drawn into the ministry by some power
greater than I.
Inexperienced though I still was in the Gospel area, I had come to realize that
the success of any campaign depended more on the amount and earnestness of
prayer behind such a campaign, than on the oratory or eloquence of the
speaker. One thing I knew—if God was in it—if I
were merely an instrument and God was really
conducting the campaign, it was bound to bear fruit.
Embarrassment on the Other Foot
All these things flashed through my mind in a few seconds.
“Well, brethren,” I replied, “I have never preached before a public audience in
my life. All the revivals and evangelistic services I have attended have wound
up in altar calls. I’ll tell you the truth—I simply could not do this without a
lot of help from God. And I know that results will depend more on the
prayer back of the meetings than on my
preaching. In fact, the effectiveness of the preaching will depend on prayer and
the extent to which I can allow God to speak through me. This would really be a
very hard assignment for me. But I’ll make you brethren a proposition. If every
one of you here at this meeting will pledge yourselves right now to
devote not less than one hour every day to earnest and believing and
prevailing prayer for the success of these
meetings—for God to help me and speak through me—for God to cause the ones He is
calling and drawing to attend—and for God to convict the ones He is calling—and
if you will solemnly pledge to keep up this hour or more a day of prayer,
beginning now, and until the last night of the meetings—then I will undertake
this campaign. I could do it at the end of December. Our company does not work
from December 20th until after New Year’s day. I could start the campaign on
Sunday night, December 21st, and eleven nights right up to the end of the year.
The Wear Ever company has a convention in Seattle the first week in January and
I must be there. But I will have these eleven nights free.”
And now, it was their turn to be embarrassed. Perhaps some had been
spending an hour a day in prayer—but I was sure most of them had not. Their
tempers would not have boiled over into a near fist fight if they had. But, as I
had been too embarrassed to refuse their offer, they were too embarrassed to
refuse mine. To refuse to devote an hour a day on their knees would be very
un-Christian! Yes, that would have been more embarrassing than to go through
with it!
They agreed. They pledged themselves to this intensive prayer.
I agreed. I was brought one step closer to the ministry of Christ!
These brethren realized that the Stanberry church was not getting the Gospel to
the world with power. In this area the church was virtually impotent. The Oregon
brethren were anxious to “get the Work going.” Although I had been greatly
humbled by business reverses not of my making, and by conversion, they were
aware of my past experience in the business world.
And actually, from the time of this business meeting, the brethren in Oregon
looked to me for the leadership that would revitalize the work of the Gospel.
There had been no minister of the church resident in Oregon. But from this time
ministers were to be sent there to counteract the favor these Oregon brethren
were showing toward me. Always I was to meet opposition from the ministers.
The First Public Preaching
You may be sure that I, too, practiced what I demanded of them. In fact, I was
afraid not to. If ever I had needed the help of God it was now.
I designed a good-sized circular. This was the first time my 20 years of
advertising experience was used in God’s Work. I did not have the money to have
the handbills printed, but the new conference officials agreed to pay all
expenses for the meetings. I had the circular printed at the job printing
department of the Salem Statesman. I do not remember how they were
distributed, but I think church brethren living near Harrisburg must have
volunteered to do it. The handbills were distributed to every house in
Harrisburg and for some five miles around.
Even before conversion I had attended two or three evangelistic campaigns. A
businessman, a prosperous and successful owner of a factory in southeastern
Iowa, had conducted a big tent campaign in Indianola, Iowa, during the summer of
1923. At that time I was working with my brother-in-law, Walter Dillon, on his
college oratory, and also conducting a merchandising survey for an Indianola
weekly paper.
I had attended several of these meetings. The businessman was a vigorous
speaker, somewhat of the Billy Sunday style. He had a very effective song leader
and team—much as Billy Graham was to do later on a much larger scale. Always
there were altar calls—the traditional “sawdust trail.” Workers urged people of
the audience to go forward.
In my inexperience, I took these traditional methods for granted. In these
beginning years of my ministry I went along with many of these religious
practices—and even some doctrines—commonly accepted by the evangelical
denominations, and which I later had to UN-learn.
I had to learn one doctrine, and one truth, at a time.
The little church building in the little town of Harrisburg, then about 500
population, had seating capacity of perhaps 150. On the first Sunday night we
had about 100 or more in attendance.
I think the attendance dropped a little after the first night, but it held up
not far under a hundred. Our little group of church brethren assembled in the
church about an hour and a half early each evening, and had their hour of prayer
together in the church.
We did not have droves of hundreds or thousands “hitting the sawdust trail,” but
God did give us four who were converted in the meetings.
However, we knew that the greatest good done was the spiritual revival that took
place in the church brethren as a result of that hour a day spent in solid
prayer!
They were a changed people! They were happy. They were closer to God—and this
was evidenced by their manner, their conversation, their lives!
WHO Should Baptize?
The subject of water baptism had been the very first I had studied in the Bible,
after my original surrender to Christ. Now I had four new converts to be
baptized. One of those was my own brother, Dwight Armstrong.
But who was to baptize them? I was not an
ordained minister.
A young minister of the Church of God who had been sent out from Stanberry,
Missouri, headquarters, had been in an automobile accident in Harrisburg. He was
confined to bed with a broken leg at the time. I consulted him. It was a problem
neither of us had confronted before.
We looked at Matthew 28:19-20.
“Go ye,” said Jesus in His Great Commission, “therefore, and teach all nations,
baptizing them...” It appeared that whoever taught those who repented and
accepted Christ was to do the baptizing. Nothing was said about being ordained.
We examined Acts 2:37-41—the initial New Testament experience on the day of
Pentecost. Three thousand were baptized. It was evident that the twelve
disciples of Jesus could hardly have baptized this vast number.
In Acts 8, Philip, a deacon, and apparently not yet at that time an ordained
evangelist, baptized those to whom he preached at Samaria, and later the
Ethiopian eunuch.
We decided that I had the authority of God to baptize those converted during my
first public preaching.
I baptized them.
This brought stern criticism from “authorities” higher up in the church. There
was criticism because the Conference paid expenses when I was not even a member.
In fact, from this time I was to meet continued criticism, opposition,
persecution, and political maneuvering by ministers. But the lay members looked
more and more to me for leadership.
Chapter 24
“Ordained to Christ's Ministry”
The year 1931 dawned for Mrs. Armstrong and me, like those preceding, with dark
and overcast skies. It was one more of the economically lean years. It
was an exceedingly high-point year in my life. It was the year in which I was
ordained as a minister of Christ’s Gospel, plunged full time into the ministry.
Yet this very ordination was to foment multiplied opposition and persecution
from the Stanberry ministers.
God did not induct me into His service as an imposing figure impressing others
as a man of importance, wisdom and distinction.
Rather, the Eternal put me into His ministry a good deal like the Apostle Paul,
who wrote: “And I, brethren, when I came to you, came not with excellency of
speech or of wisdom...and I was with you in weakness, and in fear, and in much
trembling” (I Cor. 2:1-3).
Greenhorn Tail-End Minister
I was no VIP entering the ministry. There was no red-carpet welcome—no pomp and
ceremony—no spectacular acclaim. It would not have been God’s doing, had it
started out auspiciously. Everything God does through human instruments must
start with a humble beginning, the very smallest. God brings down low and to
naught the proud and the lofty. The Eternal is able to exalt in His own due time
those He first humbles.
Every person has his idol.
God cannot receive and convert a human life
until his idol has been smashed or torn from him. My idol had been an
egotistical sense of self-importance—a cocky self-assurance—a passion to become
successful—to attain status—in the eyes of the
material world. God is creating in those He calls a righteous character which
can be developed only through experience; and experience requires time.
God has a lot of time—He is Eternal—He has always existed—He always will.
It took time to eradicate from my heart the love of the praise of men.
God gave me, instead, the false accusations, the unwarranted oppositions, the
scheming persecutions of jealous, competitive-minded ministers. It required
time to bring me to a place where I no longer set my heart on material
possessions and the finer things of this material world.
This process required not one or two years—not seven—but four sevens! For
28 financially lean and humiliating years out of the very prime of life,
God continued to root out of my life and character this vain idolatry!
From the first, and for some time, I was treated by the ministers as the
green-horn tail-ender among them. They used every practice and device constantly
to humiliate me and belittle me in the eyes of the brethren. I needed this—and
I knew God knew I needed it! Aware of my need of humility, I felt, myself, that
I was the “least of the ministers.” However, the brethren loved me and
continued looking to me for leadership. The only “fruit” being borne
resulted from my efforts. This, naturally, was the very reason for the
opposition and persecution.
And so the year 1931 dawned.
The Convention at Seattle
The first evangelistic campaign was over. It was just a short 11-night campaign
in the little rented church building in Harrisburg, Oregon. Attendance had been
good for such a small town—around 100. I had not known better than to follow the
Protestant evangelical method of giving “altar calls,” for repentant sinners
accepting Christ to come up to the altar and kneel. Four had come, and been
baptized.
The pastor of one of the churches in the neighboring larger town, Junction City,
asked me to hold a campaign in his church. I do not remember which church, but I
believe it was the Baptist.
I was still dependent on my job with the Wear Ever Aluminum Company, giving
dinner “dems” with health lectures and selling their “new method” heavy aluminum
utensils. It was necessary that I attend the annual convention of their Pacific
Northwest sales force in Seattle, beginning at or after the first week in
January.
This prevented any extended campaign at the church in Junction City. However, it
was arranged that I should hold three special services there—on Saturday night,
and on Sunday afternoon, and Sunday night with the pastor himself holding his
usual Sunday morning service.
I shall never forget the thrill of accomplishment and thankfulness I experienced
as I rode with the Runcorns back to Salem after the Harrisburg meetings. It was
a deeper and far more intense sensation than I had ever experienced at a
football game.
The Wear Ever district convention was held at the New Richmond Hotel in Seattle.
There I met all of the top-ranking salesmen of the district—some of whom were of
the high-pressure type and extremely successful, earning large incomes.
However, this convention was somewhat disillusioning. Actual appointments in
homes, with a husband and wife who ostensibly were attending a “dem” lecture,
were acted out. The entire district sales force saw these top-ranking salesmen
in simulated action. I came to realize that these men who were in the big money
used high-pressure methods which I, as a Christian, could not employ. It became
apparent that I could never get into the big-money bracket on this kind of a
job. I was not making enough to meet the actual needs of my family—just
enough to keep us from starving.
I did, however, learn things I had not known about health, nutrition and diet,
causes of disease, etc. One thing I learned which seemed important—the reason
why “One man’s meat is another man’s poison.”
Different individuals are of varying chemical types. One person would be
classified as the potassium type. The element potassium is somewhat dominating
in his physical constitution. These people are said to be the outdoor type,
usually extroverts loving to be with other people.
The salesmen analyzed and classified one another as to chemical types. I gave
the most “expert” among them considerable difficulty. I seemed to be a mixture
of several types, but they finally agreed that calcium was the dominating
chemical constituency in my makeup. This must be true, because I require more
calcium than most people. Calcium is found in largest quantities in milk and
milk products. I seem to crave and need a goodly amount of milk, cheese, and
butter.
The First Funeral
We were still living, at this time, with my parents in Salem.
Shortly after returning to Salem from the convention in Seattle, a death
occurred in the family of a young couple, Mr. and Mrs. Milas C. Helms, who lived
near Jefferson. Parents of both of them were members of the Church of God. Their
baby son, Richard Leon, born November 23, 1930, had died on Monday, January 12,
1931.
I was contacted and asked to conduct the funeral. This was a new and frightening
experience for me. The dread and fear of it grew.
As the day of the funeral dawned, this dread had almost driven me berserk.
“I can’t do it!” I kept saying. “I just can’t go through with it! I
won’t! I won’t do it!” I finally shouted.
Not many times in my life did my father’s powerful bass voice speak sharply and
with authority to me. This was one of those few times.
“Herbert!” Dad’s voice cracked like a sudden thunderclap, in unmistakable
authority, “snap out of that instantly! Wake up!
Come to your senses! Those people are stricken with grief! They are
depending on you! You can’t let them down! You are going to sit right down and
prepare this funeral sermon. Then you are going down there and fulfill this
obligation!”
If I had been almost out of my senses, this brought me back instantly. It was
like a sudden awakening from a nightmare.
“Yes, Dad,” I said. “Thanks for waking me up. I’ll ask God to help me, and I
will do it.”
I had attended very few funerals. I did not know what customary funeral sermons
were like. I did not want to know. I felt it would only be a pagan ceremony. I
merely prayed and asked God to direct me through His Word. Soon I had a short
sermon worked out from the Scriptures, reading certain basic scriptures on the
subject of death and the resurrection, with a few brief comments expounding
them.
It turned out that only a graveside service had been planned. When the moment
came for me to officiate, my prayer for God’s help was answered, and I was calm,
sympathetic, and in sincere earnest.
That brief sermon from the Scriptures, together with the grief of losing their
little son, deeply affected and moved Mike and Pearl Helms, and resulted in
bringing them to repentance and conversion through Christ as their Saviour.
It was the beginning of a very close friendship, and Christian fellowship
between us for several years to come. I have always had a very special warm spot
in my heart for Mike Helms, and I feel sure it is mutual. We were to go through
many rough experiences together in God’s Work—experiences which brought us
together like two close brothers.
Mike was a vegetable gardener, and a very successful one. He was a natural
leader. Inevitably, you will read quite a lot about him if you continue reading
this story of my life, for he became closely connected with it and the many
experiences I must relate from this point on.
We Move Again
Through the first half of the year 1931 the study and lectures on the causes
of sickness and disease continued. Enough of the heavy aluminum was sold to keep
the family alive—but no more.
Two or three cases during that time come back to memory. One man in Salem was
troubled with chronic constipation, and with rheumatism. After my first visit to
his home he went on a ten-day fast, followed by a diet of natural vegetables and
fruits, lean meats and whole grains—a diet free of starches, fats and white
sugar. Both the rheumatism and the constipation disappeared. Another case was a
man who had ulcers of the stomach. He could not even drink milk and hold it
down. Yet a milk diet, with nothing else for many weeks, was his logical
corrective. I squeezed a half lemon into a glass of milk, stirred it, and had
him drink it. Of course it curdled slightly. He held it in his stomach, and was
started on his milk diet. His stomach healed over naturally after several weeks.
Because I thoroughly believed in what I was doing, I held “dems” for the church
brethren in the Jefferson area. Most of them purchased the heavy aluminum, and
began eating natural foods.
In the spring of 1931 my father bought a small farm about fifteen miles south of
Oregon City, trading their home in Salem for the farm. Of course my brother
Russell had been married several years and was living in Portland, and my sister
also was married and living in Portland. My youngest brother, Dwight, went with
the “folks” to the farm.
At that time we moved to a house on East State Street in Salem. A number of
events were to happen to us in that house—among others, little Garner Ted being
miraculously given his voice. When Ted had been about six months old he had
fallen out of his crib, landing on his head on the floor. From that time he had
been dumb, and he never learned to speak a word until he was past two years old.
But that is getting ahead of our story. He was about 14 months when we first
moved to the State Street house.
R. L. Taylor Arrives
In early summer of that year a former S.D.A. minister, a Robert L. Taylor, came
to Oregon from California. It was practice among these Church of God people to
hold all-day meetings about once a month. It was at one of these meetings that
Mr. Taylor preached. We were all quite impressed.
“He’s a better preacher than any of the leading ministers from Stanberry,”
seemed to be the common exclamation. Indeed we were all rather “swept off our
feet” by his preaching.
After a few weeks, the brethren of this “Oregon Conference,” which had been
formed the preceding November, wanted to team Elder Taylor with me to hold an
evangelistic campaign. They were becoming anxious to see a little “life” in the
work of the Church.
They found Elder Taylor very receptive to the idea. By this time a modest
balance had accumulated in the new Conference treasury. You will remember that
the object in forming this State Conference was to create a local state treasury
and keep their tithes and offerings in the state, instead of being sent to
Stanberry, Missouri. These were days of rapidly descending economic depression,
but several of these brethren were vegetable gardeners. They were doing very
well financially.
Elder Taylor said he would be glad to undertake this campaign with me,
suggesting it be held in Eugene—for reasons I was to learn later. We decided to
speak on alternate nights, the one not speaking to lead in the song service.
This made it necessary that the Oregon Conference ordain me to the ministry.
ORDAINED Christ’s Minister
Being ordained and entering the ministry full time meant a complete change in my
life. In former years the idea of becoming a minister was the very last
thing I should have wanted to do. But by June, 1931, I had been preaching a
great deal for three and a half years. By this time my whole heart was in it.
I had come to see, at the Seattle salesmen’s convention, that this aluminum
sales job was not permanently compatible with the Christian life. I was unable
to adopt some of the high pressure methods—in the interest of the salesman’s
commission, but not in the customers’ interest—which the top-ranking salesmen
employed. I knew I could never make more than a bare existence for my family.
And anyway, by this time I think I recognized that God had called me to His
ministry.
I had remained in this aluminum selling only because I realized I was acquiring
valuable knowledge about food and diet, and the causes of sickness and disease.
But now I had devoted a year to this study. There was no point in continuing.
The decision was not difficult. God had now brought me to the place where I
really “heard” the voice of Christ as if He were saying, “Come, and follow me,
and I will make you a fisher of men.”
It was decided by the officers of the Conference that on the next all-day
meeting I was to be ordained.
I shall never forget that moment of my ordination.
The meeting was being held outdoors. I do not remember where—except it was in
the general rural area of Jefferson. I do not remember other circumstances.
But I do remember the ordination itself. It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime
experiences like being married, and being baptized. Only this seemed to me to be
the most momentous event of my entire life.
All the brethren—as many as could get their hands through to my head—laid their
hands on me—on my head, my shoulders, my chest and my back.
I am sure it was the weight of the experience, from a spiritual and
emotional standpoint, rather than the physical weight of hands and arms—but it
seemed I was entirely weighted down with the heaviest load I had ever stood up
under.
To me this was symbolic of the tremendous responsibility that now came down on
my head and shoulders.
And let it be made plain here: I was ordained by, and under the authority of,
the Oregon Conference of The Church of God, separately incorporated; not
by the Stanberry, Missouri, headquarters.
Coincidence?—or DESlGN!
This brings us to a series of almost incredible facts. Whether strange
coincidence or planned acts of God I cannot now say. But these are
facts, nonetheless.
I never recognized these facts until just a few months before the writing of
this present chapter. Certainly this strange chain of occurrences was not of my
planning.
Here, then, are the actual facts:
First, Jesus Christ began His earthly ministry at about age 30. God took away my
business, moved me from Chicago, started bringing me to repentance and
conversion preparatory to inducting me into His ministry, when I was 30!
Second, Jesus began the actual teaching and training of His original
disciples for carrying His Gospel to the world in the year A.D. 27. Precisely
100 time-cycles later, in 1927, He began my intensive study and training
for carrying His same Gospel to all nations of
today’s world.
l00 Time-Cycles
It is important that we realize the significance of 100 time-cycles!
God set the earth, sun, and moon in their orbits to mark off divisions of
time on the earth. One revolution of the earth is a day. One
revolution of the moon around the earth is a lunar month (according to
God’s sacred calendar). One revolution of the earth around the sun is a solar
year. But the earth, the sun, and the moon come into almost exact
conjunction only once in 19 years. Thus 19 years mark off one complete
time-cycle!
Now consider further facts—whether strange coincidence, or providential design.
The actual ordination, or completing of the ordination and enduement of power
for sending out the original disciples into the ministry occurred after 31/2
years of intensive instruction and experience. It was on the Day of Pentecost.
And the year was A.D. 31.
Exactly 100 time-cycles later, after 31/2 years of intensive study and
training, Christ ordained me to preach this same Gospel of the Kingdom in all
the world as a witness to all nations (Matt. 24:14). This ordination took
place at, or very near, the Day of Pentecost, 1931.
I do not remember the exact day of the month of this ordination. No special
significance was attached to the date then. Most of those who participated are
now dead. But the date was June, 1931.
But that is not all! Consider further!
More Amazing Parallels!
Christ started out His original apostles preaching the very Gospel of the
Kingdom which God had sent by Him, and which He had taught the
apostles, in the year A.D. 31. For exactly one 19-year time-cycle this
preaching was confined to the continent where it started—Asia. After
precisely one l9-year time-cycle, A.D. 50, Christ opened a door for
the Apostle Paul to carry the same Gospel to Europe!
This was A.D. 50. Before A.D. 70, Roman armies besieged Jerusalem. From that
time the Roman government stamped out the organized mass spreading of the Gospel
of Christ. Soon a different gospel was being tolerated, later
endorsed and then enforced by Roman government. It was Roman paganism now being
palmed off under the new name “Christianity.”
For nearly 19 centuries the world has been rendered spiritually drunk on the
wine of this counterfeit gospel! As prophecy foretold,
all nations have been deceived. But looking into
our time, just before the end of this age
(Matt. 24:14), Jesus foretold that His same original Gospel of the Kingdom of
God was to be preached and published (Mark 13:10) in all the world as a
witness to all nations! This was to immediately
precede His second coming
TODAY THIS IS BEING DONE! Now consider this amazing parallel!
God first opened a door—that of radio and the printing press—for the mass
proclaiming of His original true Gospel the
first week in 1934! The exact date was January 7, 1934. Exactly one
time-cycle later, January 7, 1953, God opened wide the massive door of the
most powerful commercial radio station on earth, and Radio
Luxembourg began broadcasting Christ’s Gospel to Europe and Britain!
What startling coincidences!—or they mere coincidences?
My First Extended Campaign
My ordination ended the “dems” and selling of aluminum. The state Conference
employed Mr. Taylor and me as evangelists at salaries of $20 per week. Remember
this was 1931. The country was undergoing rapid deflation.
Immediately Mr. Taylor and I went to Eugene. The Conference owned a small tent.
With a small platform across the front, we were able to set up 50 folding
chairs—that is all—50!
This tent was pitched on a vacant lot in Eugene on West 10th Avenue. I rented a
room with a small kitchenette on the second floor of a house across the street,
within the same block. Mr. Taylor and his wife had moved to a small chicken
ranch on the outskirts of Eugene. They had a car. I must have left mine in
Salem. It probably died of old age at that time, or shortly later.
I do not remember about preliminary advertising, but we must have had some. I
was entirely too advertising-conscious after my long years in that profession to
have started without it.
I opened the first Sunday night’s meeting as MC and song leader. Elder Taylor
preached. The tent was full—50 people.
On Monday night he opened the song service, and I preached. Thus we continued
for the six weeks, alternating each night. Services were held six nights a
week—none on Saturday nights.
In Portland I had gained some little experience with “pentecostal people.” I had
been somewhat overawed by their “speaking in tongues,” and their glib
“testimony.” I had not yet at that time fully understood it. But I had noticed
that most of these people refused to obey God’s commandments; almost none had
any real sound understanding of the Bible; they customarily had a wide knowledge
of certain scattered texts—verses or partial verses—which they usually
misapplied, entirely out of context, putting only a meaning of
pseudo-spirituality on them. They spoke in what was supposed to be
spiritual-sounding language. They loved to show off—to brag, especially about
their own spirituality which usually consisted of sentimentality and emotion.
The “brethren” in the Willamette Valley had been decidedly antagonistic toward
“tongues” speaking and “pentecostalism” in general. Elder Taylor had also
appeared to be opposed to it.
But a couple families of “pentecostal” people began attending our tent meetings
in Eugene. Soon I noticed that Mr. Taylor was especially friendly to them. He
welcomed, and gradually began to encourage their loud “amens” and “hallelujahs”
and “Praise the Lord” expressions during his preaching.
But, for the first few weeks I thought little of it.
Sole “Fruit” Borne
This was my first ministerial experience teaming with another man. Jesus sent
His disciples out two and two together. The teaming of two ministers together
certainly has Biblical precedence and approval. But if God refuses to use either
member of the team, no spiritual results can be produced by the team. This
lesson I was to learn.
I was surprised, somewhat incredulous, somewhat discouraged, as our meetings
wore on, to notice that no “fruit” was being borne. I could not understand it.
Then one night the lone exception occurred.
It was an exceedingly stormy night. Mr. Taylor and I went over to our tent to
loosen slightly the ropes, so the shrinkage from soaking would not up-stake
them, and also to drive down the stakes more securely. It was a nasty night. We
did not expect anyone to come. While we were there, one couple who had attended
regularly drove up in the storm. I had noticed this couple. I had felt sorry for
them. I supposed they were very poor people—why, I didn’t know, except that he
was as far from being handsome as Abraham Lincoln had been, and she had no
“beauty” of the worldly sort. Later I was to be much surprised to find that they
were very successful and prosperous, though thrifty, farmers—leaders in their
community.
I had not, up to this stormy evening, become acquainted with them further than
shaking hands with them at the tent entrance.
No one else came that night. No service could have been held in the tent.
“It would simply be a dirty shame for you to have come all the way into town on
such a terrible night, and then be deprived of a service,” I said
sympathetically. “Why not come on over to my room, and we can at least have a
Bible study together?”
“That would be splendid,” smiled Mrs. Fisher. I had never known their names
before.
“Well count me out,” answered Mr. Taylor. “It’s too stormy to stay around here.
I’m going home.”
This was my first shock of disappointment in Mr. Taylor. He had been my “ideal”
as a minister. But one incident like this could not cause me to lose confidence
in him.
Over in my room, Mrs. Fisher said:
“I wonder if you would mind giving us a Bible study on the question of which day
is the Sabbath of the New Testament. My husband believes the only Bible Sabbath
is Saturday. But it never seemed possible to me that all these churches could be
wrong. I’d like to have you explain just what the Word of
God says.”
“Why,” I replied in some surprise, “that is exactly the way I felt when my wife
began keeping the Sabbath. That is the very thing that started me studying the
Bible—to prove that ‘all these churches can’t be wrong.’ I’ll be very happy to
open the Bible and show you what I was forced to see for myself. This is the
very question that resulted in my conversion.”
After my opening up the Scriptures, and having Mrs. Fisher read them for
herself—and after answering her rather sharp questions later, and explaining
some vague passages she brought up, she smiled and said:
“I thank you, Brudder Armstrong”—she was Swedish, and talked just a trifle
brokenly, “it is all clear now. My husband and I will keep the Sabbath together
from now on.”
And that was the sum total of the tangible results produced by this entire six
weeks’ campaign!
But God was to use Mr. Elmer Fisher, and Mrs. Margaret Fisher, in a most
important way in raising up this very work which now thunders the true Gospel of
Christ worldwide, into every continent on earth! You will read much of them,
later!
Suspicious Incidents
As our tent campaign progressed, a few little incidents began more and more to
disturb me in regard to “Brother Taylor.”
I began to notice that he was becoming much more “chummy” with the two
“pentecostal” families than others who were attending. Finally he asked me to
attend an all-night “tarry meeting” they were going to have out at his place
following our evening meeting.
“You need a deeper spiritual experience,” he said to me. “You need to pray, and
agonize, and ‘tarry’ until you receive your ‘baptism of the Holy Ghost’,” he
said.
“Brother Taylor,” I answered, “I know I need a deeper spiritual experience. I do
want a still closer fellowship and contact with God. But I prefer to seek it the
way Jesus attained it—by going out to a solitary place—perhaps up on a
mountain—or, at least as Jesus commanded, to enter into ‘a closet’ or small
room, alone with God, and pray.”
I shall never forget his astonishing answer.
“You’ll never get your ‘baptism’ that way, brother!” he said sharply,
with emphasis.
I was shocked—and disappointed.
“I’m sorry,” I replied firmly. “But if this ‘baptism’ is something I can’t get
the way Jesus taught and commanded—if it is something I have to get from men
and cannot receive from God while alone with Him, then it is something
I do not want!”
Prior to this, Mr. Taylor had come to me and said:
“Brother Armstrong, our people”—referring to the “brethren” of the Oregon
Conference—”are not spiritual enough. We need to seek a closer walk with God.”
To this I had agreed.
Now it began to dawn on me that Mr. Taylor was, little by little, attempting to
lead the church into the very thing he had told them, in his sermons, he was
“against”—this “wild-fire pentecostalism.” When he had first heard that the
brethren were “against” it, he assured them he was also against it. But now, by
careful and adroit methods, he was gradually beginning to try to introduce this
very thing.
Was he, himself, just beginning to believe he had been wrong? Had he been honest
and sincere? Was he now honest in claiming God was opening his eyes to see that
we were not “spiritual” enough?
“Why, didn’t you know?” later exclaimed a man who had known Mr. Taylor much
longer than we had, “Taylor has always been ‘pentecostal.’ He just pretended he
wasn’t, in order to get in with the church.”
But from the moment I turned down his “tarry meeting” invitation, his attitude
toward me became coldly courteous, and I sensed repressed hostility.
Correcting a Member
During this tent campaign in Eugene, we attended Sabbath services with brethren
at the church building in Harrisburg. One elderly “brother” whose name was
“Rough” as nearly as I remember (pronounced “Row”) had been, in his deep
sincerity and zeal for a certain contention, stirring up a “row” at nearly every
service.
He lived out east of Eugene on the Mackenzie Highway.
He contended the church was in error on one scripture. He could shout his
antagonism like a lion’s roar. The brethren wanted Mr. Taylor and me to visit
him and see if we could not change his mind or at least quiet him.
I had just read, some time previous, an article in the old American Magazine
on “how to win an argument.” The idea was to make your opponent first state his
case fully. Ask him questions. Make him state every detail. Exhaust him, till he
has nothing more to say. Just listen—do not reply to any of his arguments—until
you have made him state them all. Then summarize his entire position briefly,
showing you fully understand his argument. State it even more clearly
than he did, if possible.
Then agree with him on those points where you
find you actually are in agreement. Then, finally, tear apart his remaining
arguments, disproving them—leaving him without anything to come back with.
We decided to use this method. In our morning session, before noon dinner, we
just listened to his reasons. We asked questions, but gave no answers. We drew
him out exhaustively.
Mrs. Rough had prepared a delicious chicken dinner. I think this was my first
experience with the custom of serving chicken when the minister is the guest. I
never understood the reason for it. But I was to eat a great deal of chicken
from that time on.
After dinner, we questioned old Brother Rough some more, until he simply had to
drift into silence for want of anything more to say.
Then we summarized his arguments, and got him to agree we thoroughly understood
his reasons—which he had always claimed the church was not willing to
understand. Next we agreed on certain points.
But, finally, we riddled his whole conclusion by scriptures he had not
considered, which totally reversed his whole argument. It left him without any
answer or comeback. The “lion’s roar” had been reduced to “a kitten’s meow.”
There were no more explosive eruptions from that time on to disturb
“Sabbath-School” or church services—and he remained friendly.
Building a Church
As our campaign neared its close, Mr. Taylor was promoting with the church
brethren the idea of building a church building in Eugene. Actually, there were
no members in Eugene. Some lived a few miles north, but most of them lived north
of Junction City or Harrisburg—although two families lived out east of Eugene on
the Mackenzie Highway.
The Eugene campaign added only the Fishers, and, I believe, one other man who
continued only for a while.
It was planned that I was to leave Eugene and put on a campaign up in St.
Helens, Oregon, 25 miles north of Portland, with a minister by the name of Roy
Dailey, who had just returned from Stanberry or points in the Middle West. The
Conference had just employed him. There were now three of us on the payroll at
$20 per week. At this rate the Conference treasury was soon going to be empty.
But Elder Taylor was to remain at Eugene, superintending the new building. Many
events were to take place in that little church building.
Chapter 25
“Evangelistic Campaigns in Full Swing”
My first full-length evangelistic campaign with Elder Robert L. Taylor in
Eugene, Oregon, came to its almost fruitless end. Mr. and Mrs. Elmer E. Fisher,
who lived seven miles west of Eugene, were the only ones added to the church by
this campaign. And they had been brought in by a private Bible study in my
room—not in a preaching service.
Mr. Taylor had induced the Oregon Conference members to build a church building
in Eugene. He felt sure he could build up a good congregation there.
It turned out that Mr. Taylor had, for some little time previous to our
campaign, been in the retail lumber business in Eugene. He had apparently
failed, and salvaged out of it only a small amount of lumber. This lumber,
although not enough to build it, was put into the new little church building.
The money for the remaining lumber, and all other expenses, were contributed by
the church members. The members purchased a 50-foot lot just outside city limits
on West 8th Street.
However, because of the lumber he donated, Mr. Taylor managed to have the entire
property deeded in his name personally. Before leaving Eugene I attended one
service in the new church building. It was entirely unfinished. The siding had
not been put on the outside. Slabs of plaster wallboard had been nailed up on
inside walls, but the cracks had not been filled in, nor had it been painted.
Folding chairs were brought in for seats. A small speaker’s stand substituted
for a pulpit. Actually, that was as far as Mr. Taylor was to proceed in
finishing the church.
The St. Helens “Campaign”
The officers of the Conference decided to team me up with Mr. Dailey, since Mr.
Taylor was staying on in Eugene to try to build up a congregation for the new
church building, still to be completed. Actually, he never added a single
member.
We were assigned to go to St. Helens, Oregon, 25 miles north of Portland, on the
west bank of the Columbia River. In West St. Helens, sometimes called “Houlton,”
lived a very zealous member of the church, Mrs. Mary Tompkins. She was filled
with zeal and a spirit of love—although we were to learn that she had more love
and zeal than wisdom. Mary Tompkins was a “worker.” She “witnessed for Christ”
in a most active way. She had for a long time pleaded with the Conference to
send evangelists for a campaign in St. Helens. She assured them there was a
tremendous “interest” there. So the Conference sent us.
Arriving in St. Helens, we first sought out a hall for meetings and rented a
second-floor hall. I do not remember whether it was the old K.P. Hall or the old
Masonic Hall. Whichever lodge, it had built a new one. However this old hall was
reasonably attractive, and appeared quite desirable.
Next we went directly to the newspaper and placed a half-page advertisement,
ordering a few thousand reprints to be distributed as circulars.
Then while we awaited the first Sunday night service, I spent some three or four
days going from house to house, inviting people personally to come, and leaving
a circular. I was surprised at two things. Practically everybody I invited,
except those Mary Tompkins had talked to, promised to attend. Elder Dailey and I
saw visions of having to hang out the SRO (Standing Room Only) sign. But I was
even more surprised to find, at the many homes where Mrs. Tompkins had visited,
that the people were hostile, and regarded this dear, well-meaning lady as a
pest.
Sunday night came. But the expected crowds did not! To our utter dismay, not a
soul showed up!
We couldn’t understand it. On Monday, I went to the newspaper office to see if
they had an explanation. They had.
“Of course nobody came,” the man grinned. “That hall has been condemned as a
fire-trap. Everybody knew that but you.”
“And you took our half-page ad, and our money—and also our money for all those
reprints, and didn’t tell us a word!” I exploded.
He only grinned.
I felt he really needed some of our fiery gospel preaching!
But we didn’t give up immediately. We returned to the hall on Monday night. One
couple came. I then heard something I had never heard before in my life. Mr.
Dailey mounted the platform, walked behind the pulpit, and preached an entire
sermon. And I mean “preached”! His style had a bit of the old
“preachy-tone”—and he preached, full volume, just as if the hall were packed
with people. And to only two people! That was a new experience for me!
“Well, we know now,” Mr. Dailey said as we went back to our room after this
‘meeting,’ “that we are not going to have a crowd here. But I know a place where
we can draw a crowd—over in Umapine. It’s in eastern Oregon, near Walla
Walla, Washington. I have visited one of our members there, Bennie Preston. We
can stay at his house and save room rent, and we can draw enough people there to
make it worth while.”
Next morning, early, he started out in his car for Jefferson, Oregon, to get
permission from the Conference Board for this switch to Umapine, and a little
additional expense money.
On Tuesday night, left in St. Helens alone, I went again to the hall. Two
couples of young people came. I did not preach. Instead I sat down with them and
had an informal Bible study, letting them ask questions, and answering them.
On our long trek in Mr. Dailey’s car over to Umapine, we exchanged views on a
lot of things. I was especially puzzled over the matter of church organization.
Not yet having come to see and understand the plain and clear Bible teaching, I
had gone along with the Oregon Conference in its idea of government by the lay
members. In this Conference the governing board was composed solely of lay
members. They hired and fired the ministers.
“If we were to have the ideal organization,” opined Mr. Dailey, “all the
officers would be ministers—not laymen.” This sounded strange to me at the time.
But the question of church organization and government was to keep coming up in
my mind for years, before it was finally to become clear. Remember, I still was
driven by the persistent question: “Where is the
one true Church—the same one Jesus founded?” This Church of God, with
national headquarters at Stanberry, Missouri, seemed to be closer to the
understanding of Bible truth than any—yet I was unable to reconcile myself that
such a small, and especially such a fruitless church, could be that
dynamic fruit-bearing spiritual organism in which, and through which Christ
was working. Surely the instrument Christ was using would be more alive—more
productive! Yet I had not found it!
The Meeting at Umapine
We were welcomed by Bennie Preston and his wife, and given a room where Roy
Dailey and I slept in the same bed. We quickly rented a hall on the main street,
ground floor.
Here, as Mr. Dailey had promised, results were different. We certainly did not
have a crowd of thousands, but attendance, as I remember, ran between 35 and 50
which, at the time, we considered satisfactory. We had no local church to swell
attendance. We were unknown, locally. None of the factors that produce great
crowds was present.
One little event I shall never forget. Bennie Preston raised some sheep. He
decided to butcher one for us. He had impressed me as a man filled with true
Christian love.
“I should hate to kill this tame, loving little sheep,” he said, “if it were not
true that God created sheep to produce wool and meat for man. That is their only
purpose in existence. Man has a different and far greater purpose—to become sons
of God.”
Still, Mr. Preston loved that helpless little sheep, now about to give its life
for food for us. He led it to a spot in his backyard. He lovingly caressed it
first. Then he hit it a hard, stunning blow on top of the head with the sharp
edge of a small sledge hammer, and quickly slit its throat to drain out the
blood. The sheep suffered no pain. The sharp, quick blow rendered it instantly
unconscious.
We Separate
After about two weeks of our Umapine meetings, a letter from Mrs. Florence
Curtis, secretary of the State Conference, informed us that a business meeting
of the board had been called for only two or three days after our receipt of the
letter.
“I know what this meeting is all about,” said Mr. Dailey. “It means the
conference treasury is running out of funds. They are going to have to lay off
at least two of us three ministers. If we don’t go back there and protect our
interests, at this meeting, they will be sure to let you and me out, and keep
Elder Taylor on. We’re going to start back to the Willamette Valley at 5:30
tomorrow morning.”
“But Roy,” I protested, “we are only halfway through our meetings here!”
“Aw, we won’t accomplish anything by staying here.”
“Whatever we accomplish is in God’s hands,” I replied. “We are merely His
instruments. God has sent us here to preach His Gospel. We have people coming.
The interest is increasing, and so is the attendance. I’m going to let God
protect my personal interests at that Conference Board meeting, Roy; but I’m
going to stay right on the job where He has put me, and continue those
meetings.”
Elder Dailey was now becoming a little nettled and disgusted with me.
“I told you I’m starting for the valley at 5:30 in the morning,” he returned.
“If you don’t go with me, you’ll force the Conference to have to pay your bus
fare to get you back home. They won’t like that.”
But I was just as firm as he.
“Regardless of what the men on the Board like, I know
God would not like it if I desert, while I’m here on duty. To me it would
be like deserting an army, and running away, in the thick of battle in a war.
This is God’s battle. He put me here, and I am staying right here on the
spiritual firing line until the campaign is over!”
Why must men always consider only their own personal interests—and cater to what
men will like?
I know Mr. Dailey thought I was wrong. He sincerely believed I was wrong most of
the time from then on. But to me it was a matter of duty, and a matter of
principle, and a matter of obeying God.
At precisely 5:30 next morning, Mr. and Mrs. Preston and I bade Elder Dailey
goodbye, and he started alone, giving me final warning that “the brethren” were
not going to like my remaining behind and costing them extra bus fare to get
home.
As it turned out, the special business meeting was called off, and Mr. Dailey
had raced back to the Valley for naught. But later, just as he anticipated, both
he and I were laid off and Elder Taylor kept on—but not until after I had
returned from completing the campaign.
Left Alone-Fruit Borne
I continued the meetings alone.
Interest continued to pick up at the meetings in the hall. Results were not
great—but there were results! Details are rather hazy in memory, now. I
am not sure whether Mrs. Preston had already been converted and baptized, or
whether she was converted by these meetings.
In any event, we had a total of five by the close of the meetings. There were
three or four to be baptized. I learned that a son of our Conference president,
the elderly G. A. Hobbs, was a local elder in the Seventh-Day Adventist Church.
I went to this younger Mr. Hobbs, and through him arranged for the use of the
baptistry in the church.
Before leaving, I organized the five members into a local Sabbath school, to
meet at the home of Bennie Preston, appointing Mr. Preston as superintendent and
teacher. This should have grown. But there was no minister to feed the flock and
protect it from “wolves in sheep’s clothing.” Bennie Preston was a substantial
and upright man, but he lacked the leadership and qualifications of a minister.
This tiny flock endured for a while. But some little time later, Mrs. Preston
died. I am not sure whether this was the cause of the disintegration of the
little Sabbath school, but Mr. Preston was hit a demoralizing blow by her death.
Some years later he moved to the Willamette Valley. He had remarried by then.
This Umapine experience was one more in which no fruit could be borne as long as
I teamed with one of the ministers of this church, connected with, or springing
from the Stanberry, Missouri, political center.
Years later, still in my search for the one true church, still
questioning whether this could be that church, still not having found it
elsewhere, I asked Mrs. Runcorn (whom Mrs. Armstrong and I looked upon as our
“spiritual mother”) if she could point out a single real bonafide convert,
brought in from the outside, resulting from the ministry of any of the preachers
affiliated with “Stanberry.” She thought seriously for quite a while. Then she
slowly shook her head. She knew of none. I asked several others who had been in
the church for years. Their answers were the same.
My first evangelistic effort was conducted alone, at the end of 1930, in
Harrisburg. There were conversions. In 1931 I was teamed with Elder Taylor, who
had arrived from California. There were no results, except for the night it
stormed the meeting out, and in a private Bible study in my room Mrs. Elmer
Fisher had accepted the truth. I was teamed with Elder Roy Dailey. There were no
results. He left Umapine. I continued alone, and there were conversions.
Results then were small—indeed it was a small beginning, compared to the
mounting worldwide harvest of today—but God was using me, and producing “fruit.”
I have always noted, in my years of experience since, that if even one member of
a two-man team is not a true instrument of God, there will be none of the kind
of “fruit” borne which is produced only by God through human instruments. This
very undeviating method of God, verified by experience, is the source of great
inspiration and encouragement today. For in God’s Church today, without
exception, every minister or team of ministers is used of God, and God really
does things through them! “By their fruits ye shall know them,” said Jesus.
A Thrill and a Jolt
I remember distinctly the all night bus ride back to the Valley from Eastern
Oregon. Arriving home, on East State Street in Salem, I learned that the State
Conference board had run low on funds, and, unable to continue paying three
salaries each of $20 per week in the descending depths of the great depression,
had decided to retain Mr. Taylor, and release Elder Dailey and me until funds
revived.
Also, a few days after arriving home, happy over “success” in the campaign, this
sense of elation was rudely jolted by a stern letter from old Mr. Hobbs. He had
heard from his son. He wanted to know what a young whipper snapper like me
meant, using the prestige of his name with his son, and baptizing people in
Umapine without “authority,” or special consent from the Board? Shortly
following the first evangelistic experience at Harrisburg, Mr. Hobbs had sternly
called me on the carpet, asking me what authority I had for baptizing those
converted in the meetings. I had answered that I had
God’S authority—that of Matthew 28:19—where those who do the “teaching”
resulting in conversions are commanded to baptize those taught. This rather
stumped him, at the time.
But elderly Mr. G. A. Hobbs was a stern, fiery little old man—a stickler for
proper form and system, and proper “authority” for everything. He had been an
Adventist since a young man—probably beginning somewhere around 1870, or perhaps
earlier. Adventists during those earlier years were very strict, legalistic, and
exacting. Mr. Hobbs had left the Adventists rather late in life when he saw
clearly, in the Bible, that the Millennium will be spent on earth and not in
heaven. But he retained his strict disciplinary teaching to his death.
But if old Mr. Hobbs was one of my strictest and sternest critics, he was also
one of my staunches supporters to the day of his death. He defended me
against other critics with the same fiery zeal with which he criticized me
to my face. His sharp criticism for baptizing the converts God gave me at
Umapine, plus the sudden, though not unexpected loss of salary, did dull
somewhat the spirit of rejoicing over the results God granted at Umapine.
But having my salary cut off caused no worry. By this time I had learned to
trust God. Already we had experienced many miraculous answers to prayer. I knew
God has promised to supply all our need, “according to his riches in glory by
Christ Jesus” (Phil. 4:19).
So, in perfect faith, I prayed and told God of our need, and asked Him to supply
it, and use me wherever He willed.
But I had not yet learned that everything that happens is not,
necessarily, from God. I had not learned to “try the spirits, whether they are
of God” (I John 4:1). While this scripture is
speaking of spirits—angels or demons—yet we must learn also to test
experiences, and happenings, whether they be of
God.
It was now late November.
Back Into Advertising!
In serene confidence, I was expectantly awaiting God’s answer to supply our
financial need. Not more than two or three days later, my former newspaper
associate, Samuel T. Hopkins, who had been Business Manager of the Vancouver
Evening Columbian, appeared at our door.
He had left the Columbian, and now was Editor and Manager of a new
morning newspaper in Astoria, Oregon, the Morning Messenger. He and two
Astoria associates, a physician, and the superintendent of a salmon cannery, had
started a new newspaper in Astoria. But they were in deep trouble. They had
started a brand-new daily newspaper in the depths of the national depression,
and without adequate capital.
“Herb, you’ve just got to come out to Astoria and help us,” pleaded Sam Hopkins.
“You are the only man I know with the specialized advertising and selling
experience who can put this thing over for us. I know you can do it. Right now
I’m not even in position to guarantee you any regular cash salary. Actually I’m
depending on you to get in the business to make even your own salary possible.
But once we put this over, we’ll give you a large chunk of the stock in the
company—anything, if only you’ll come on out to Astoria and inject the
life we need into this paper. I want you to come as Advertising Manager. We’ll
set your salary at $25 a week at the start, and hope we can pay it. But as we
get the paper on its feet, the sky’s the limit. You’ll have a big salary, and a
large chunk of stock.”
“But Sam,” I answered, “I’m in the ministry now. I can’t go back into the
newspaper business.”
He would not give up. He kept pleading. It was a matter of life and death to
him. I began to think of how I had prayed for God to supply our new financial
need. In my inexperience, this did seem to be the answer. I did not then realize
this was not God’S answer. This was not
God’S WAY of answering.
I did realize that I could not accept this job as a permanent thing. I knew I
had been called to the ministry. I had been ordained. I had been successful in a
small way. Everything I had ever touched in business, since age 30 in Chicago,
had turned to nothing. But in the ministry, everything I did was, in the small
way of a small beginning, successful. Yet, this did appear to me, in my
inexperience, to be God’s answer to my prayer. Since I could not go back into
the advertising business, and leave the ministry, permanently, I
reasoned this solution:
“Tell you what I might do,” I finally said to Mr. Hopkins. “I know I have been
called to the ministry. I’ve been ordained. But my salary is temporarily cut
off. It seems to me this is God’s answer as a temporary fill-in for our
financial need. I’ll come on out to Astoria just for one month only. Then
I’ll have to return here.”
How many times, since, have I quoted the scriptures: “Lean not unto thine own
understanding,” and “There is a way that seemeth right to a man, but the end
thereof are the ways of death.” Human reason is usually faulty. But this did
seem like the right decision. I was to pay a high price over the next 15
months to learn that lesson.
I was to have to learn two basic requirements of God, before He can use one for
an important commission in His great Master Plan working out His Purpose here
below: 1) Not only must God’s instrument “preach the
Word faithfully,” but having been plunged by
Christ into God’s Work, he must never turn back (Luke 9:62). And 2) he must rely
on God, and not man, for his
need—in, not out of God’s Work.
The REAL WORK started only after I learned these lessons!
How I found myself caught in a trap of unforeseen circumstance, forced to break
all precedent in methods of selling advertising space; and how, after 15 long
and almost sleepless months I finally got back into the ministry, is related in
the next chapter.
Chapter 26
“Caught in Newspaper Business Trap”
Getting back into the newspaper business was a tragic mistake. A too dear price
now had to be paid to learn an important lesson: when God once truly calls a man
into His ministry, he must “keep at it, in season and out of season” (II Tim.
4:2).
And if he attempts, like Jonah, to run away from the mission, God will first
teach him a stern lesson and then yank him back to perform what God called him
to perform!
Arriving in Astoria, I made a disillusioning discovery. Immediately I made
preliminary get-acquainted calls on the leading merchants. It was then, for the
first time, that I learned the true state of affairs. It was far worse than Mr.
Hopkins had told me. Every merchant told me our situation was hopeless. We faced
a predicament unprecedented, as far as I know, in the newspaper business.
Caught in a Trap
It called for desperate and unprecedented measures for solution. And before I
realized it, I was caught in a trap of circumstances from which I was unable to
extricate myself for fifteen months.
This was the unheard-of situation: Only months before, the opposition newspaper
had purchased the old established morning paper, The Astorian, for
$50,000. But the opposition publisher had also signed up all local stores which
advertised on five-year contracts in which they agreed not to advertise
in any other Astoria English-language paper. (There was, in Astoria, a Finnish
language daily paper not harmed by the contracts.)
Apparently this publisher and the merchants had assumed the rather general
concept of those in smaller cities, viewing advertising in terms of obligatory
“support” of the newspaper, rather than as an effective means of selling goods,
lowering costs, and increasing profits. This publisher offered to save the
merchants from having to “support” two newspapers by buying out and thus
eliminating his competitor—provided the merchants would sign up on these
five-year contracts. Every store in town which was a regular advertiser, with
the single exception of the J. C. Penney store, had signed.
“But,” I protested, “that kind of contract is illegal! It is in restraint of
trade!”
“We know that,” came the answer, “but there is more to it than mere legality.
You just don’t know your opposition publisher. Maybe you don’t realize what he
could do to us in retaliation, if we broke our contracts. He could print things
harmful to us, slanting the news so as to reflect against us, or assassinate our
character right on the front page. I for one am afraid to try to break my
agreement—and I think the other merchants are as afraid as I am. We just won’t
take this chance!”
A few days later I learned what he meant. Our news editor handed me a clipping
from the teletype. It was a dispatch from Oregon City, Oregon, reporting an
automobile accident involving one of Astoria’s leading merchants. It exposed
also the fact he was having a clandestine “affair” with an attractive woman, who
was with him in his car. The press service had sent it along as a nice “juicy
scandal” for Astoria papers.
But The Messenger did not print it. Neither did the opposition. I took
the teletype strip personally to the merchant involved. His face reddened.
“Thanks!” he exclaimed in extreme embarrassment. “Man! This could have ruined me
if you had printed it! It would have broken up my home, and ruined my business.
You see, Mr. Armstrong, this sort of thing is the reason none of the
merchants dares try to break his contract with your competitor by advertising
with you.”
Yes, I understood, now, only too well!
Our plight was utterly frustrating. Our newspaper was new. The opposition paper
was old, well established. The evening paper had the dominant circulation. It
was well financed. The morning Messenger, on the other hand, did not have
the capital to do those things necessary to build a better paper, or, for that
matter, even to keep it on its wobbly feet. And every retail advertiser in town,
save one, actually by agreement and by fear was prohibited from
advertising with us.
It Means Something to YOU!
I am going to relate what was done in this predicament, because the experience
has a direct connection with the lives of all my readers.
You probably shall never run into this specific kind of problem. But
nearly all people do, more than once in a lifetime, find themselves in
some frustrating, apparently hopeless trouble.
One of the seven basic laws of success in life is resourcefulness.
Resourcefulness is the ability and determination to find a way to solve
every problem, trouble or obstacle. It accepts and acts on the old adage: “where
there’s a will, there’s a way!” Another of the seven principles of
success is endurance. Nine out of ten who have every other ingredient for
success finally give up and quit, when just a little more “stick-to-it-iveness”
mixed with resourcefulness would have turned apparent hopeless defeat into
glorious success. Of course there is a time to get out and leave whatever
you are in: if it is wrong, or if it really is totally dead.
But usually it only appears dead.
The seventh and most important rule of success is contact with God, and the
guidance, wisdom, and help that can be received from Him.
In this desperate situation, I did invoke these three recourses. I do believe I
had made a costly mistake in supposing this call to the newspaper business in
Astoria came from God. Yet, once in it, I did call on God for guidance and help.
And a way was found to break those five-year contracts, and fill our
newspaper with advertising! I think the account of how it was done may be
interesting, informative, and—if you will apply the principles to your own
problems—helpful.
“Inside Facts” About Advertising
This unprecedented situation, I knew, called for a totally unprecedented
solution. Most people are absolutely bound by precedent. They are slaves
of habit. They are conformists. They must do just what society does—the way
society does it. I have never been afraid to break precedent, or to go counter
to established procedures, if such action is both right and necessary.
Advertising space in newspapers and magazines had always been sold on the basis
of a certain price per column inch, or per page. The rate is set according to
volume and class of circulation, being influenced also by competition and
general circumstances.
So now let me give you a few “inside facts” not known by most of the general
public. Full-page advertising space in large mass-circulation magazines costs
tens of thousands of dollars.
“Do you mean for just one time?” many will ask incredulously.
Yes, for one page in just one issue. But that is not expensive. It is,
actually, one of the least costly ways to get a message to people!
The magazine may have a circulation of one million copies, often
actually read by two or three million people! Now suppose you try to get just a
very brief message to one million homes by inexpensive post cards. You would
have to pay not only the costly postage but also for the blank cards. You
probably never realized that before. Then figure what you would pay to have your
message printed one million times on a million cards. Add the cost of hiring
enough people to write names and addresses of one million people on the cards. I
think you will decide it would be much less costly to pay for a whole page
of space, as large as a news magazine-sized page, which includes the cost
of the paper, of the printing, of the postage for mailing, and of the stamping
on of the names and addresses. And, more than this, in every home where your
message is received, the recipient asked for the magazine to come, and
(except for The Plain Truth) actually paid to receive it. If you were to
spend money to print and mail out a million post cards, they would be uninvited,
and probably unwanted in most homes.
So you see, magazine and newspaper advertising is not expensive.
You probably have heard that advertising forces up the price of a commodity or
service to the consumer. Many people believe that if they can purchase a
non-advertised brand they save money. They suppose the merchant or manufacturer
who advertises must add the cost of the advertising to the price.
Do You Pay More for Advertised Goods?
Let me tell you the true “inside facts”—The Plain Truth about this
supposition. Truly, people as a whole are deceived today, not only about God’s
truth, but even facts about business.
Actually, if the advertising is intelligently and effectively used, it
reduces the price to the consumer! I think it may be interesting to you to
know how it works:
Suppose a certain comparatively small store sells $100,000 worth of men’s
clothing and haberdashery in one year. This store spent nothing for advertising.
But it did pay, shall we say, $70,000 for the merchandise to the manufacturers.
And it also had to pay, shall we say, $15,000 for clerk hire, and $10,000 for
store rent, heat, light, water, wrapping paper—all other expenses. So you see
that for every dollar of goods bought by a customer, the merchant had to pay,
over and above the cost of the merchandise, 25¢ which is 25% as a cost of doing
business. He had 5¢—or 5% of sales—left for himself. This merchant, then, based
on sales price, had a cost of 70% for merchandise, and 25% as cost of doing
business, with 5% profit for all his own time, hard work, worry, and return on
his capital investment.
Now suppose this merchant tries advertising the next year. This is,
approximately, what did happen in a similar interesting case in Astoria, as I
shall relate. I am assuming this merchant’s advertising is effective.
So the following year this merchant spends $4,500 in advertising. It is
effective, and brings in new customers. This year his sales increased to
$150,000. But because in the preceding year his salesmen did not have enough
customers to keep them busy, he does not need to hire additional clerks. He
still pays the same rent, public utilities, and similar expenses—a total of
$25,000, the same as the year before.
But here is the big difference. That $25,000 was a 25% cost of doing business
the year he sold $100,000 worth of goods. But now, with sales of $150,000, it is
only 162/3%. But he did have one increase in business expense—his $4,500
advertising. But even so, his $29,500 cost of doing business is only 192/3%.
This merchant passes this saving in total cost of his business expense, per
dollar of sales, to his customers, still taking for himself the same 5% of sales
for profit.
Lowering Prices
Now see where this leaves the customers, and what it makes for the merchant. You
may think the customers were the only ones who benefitted, since the
merchant still took only 5% profit. But the merchant actually made half again
more for himself—because his 5% profit now is taken from $150,000 sales, instead
of $100,000. So the merchant did all right for himself! He made $7,500 this year
instead of only $5,000. But what about prices to the customers? The same item—or
number of items—that sold for $100 the nonadvertising year are now priced at
only $92.92. It is simple to figure. The merchant still paid $70 for this amount
of merchandise. But his business expense now was only 192/3%, and profit
5%—total 242/3% instead of 30% the year before. This is $24.67 in expenses per
$100 in sales. Add the $70 wholesale price to this $24.67, and the new sale
price is $94.67, a savings of over $5 to the customer.
So what actually happened? The merchant saved his customers more than 5 cents on
the dollar—or $5.33 on each $100 of purchases. So his advertising reduced the
cost of goods to the customer! At the same time, this merchant made $7,500
for his own year’s work, which was $2,500 more than he made the year before he
advertised.
You might ask, didn’t the advertising cost anything? Of course. It cost
$4,500—or 3% of his year’s sales. Then how did it save the customers money, and
make more money for the merchant? The answer is that it does cost money to run a
store. It does cost money for us who are customers to have a merchant take all
of his time, and all of his salesmen’s time, to gather in merchandise from New
York, from Chicago, from London, from Los Angeles, and assemble it all in one
store for the convenience of us customers. But could we go to the clothing
manufacturer in New York, the shirt manufacturer in Utica, New York, and the
shoe manufacturer in Boston or St. Louis to buy our goods, without spending
money over and above the factory cost? Of course not. And if we all did this
individually, the manufacturer would have to charge us more, because it would
add to his expenses to have to deal with so many people. When the factory
sells enough suits, or shoes, or hats for 200 people, or 500 people or more to
just one store, he can sell for much less than he could by making 500 different
transactions with 500 individual customers. So actually the local merchant
renders us a pretty valuable service, far cheaper than we could do it ourselves.
In so doing, he has a cost of doing business. And, as the experience of
thousands and thousands of retail stores shows, that cost is reduced by spending
about 3% or 4% in advertising, because then he spends less, per dollar of
sales, on such other expenses as rent, salaries, public utilities, etc. His
total expenses of operating his store are less, per dollar of sales.
That is how it works. Why your local merchants do not use a little of their
advertising to just explain these simple but interesting facts to their public,
I do not know. But I have spent years of my life as an advertising and
merchandising specialist, and I thought that these facts about the price
you pay for goods you buy every day—whether at the grocery store, the clothing
store, the dry-goods store, or wherever, might prove interesting. You come in
direct contact with this very merchandising operation at least every week of
your life.
Now let me relate to you the rather exciting story of an experience with one
store in Astoria.
Breaking All Precedent
There were four retail clothing (men’s) stores in Astoria. Three advertised, and
were signed up on these five-year contracts. The second largest, Krohn & Carson,
had never spent its first dime in advertising. I checked financial ratings in
Dunn & Bradstreet. Krohn & Carson had the highest financial rating of the four.
So I went immediately to Krohn & Carson. I found them as firmly set against
advertising as a 50-foot-thick stone wall. Apparently it was even more
impossible to crack their stone-wall resistance against advertising than to
break these five-year contracts. Yet I did have a will, and I did find a way!
I mentioned above that newspaper and magazine advertising has always been sold
by the column inch or by the page. The Messenger rate was 25¢ per inch.
The larger evening paper charged 50 cents per inch. But now I deliberately
shattered all precedent in newspaper advertising practice.
I proposed an entirely new, completely revolutionary plan to Krohn & Carson. I
explained to them what I have explained to you, above, how effective advertising
works. The clothing stores in Astoria were each selling only about 40% as much
merchandise as they had sold before the depression.
“But,” I explained, “for every $100 that men used to spend in these four stores,
they still spend $40. Now if we can show Astoria men and their wives that you
can save them money in this depression, a larger portion of that $40 will
come to you. I can show you how you can still double your business, and
your own profits, and at the same time save your customers money by lowering
prices!”
It sounded fantastic, preposterous! But it cost them nothing to listen to my
plan.
“First,” I proposed, “you will put on a big price-reducing sale. Your shelves
are loaded with goods that are not moving. Retail success depends more on
turnover—keeping your goods moving—than on big margins of profit. You have
capital tied up in all these goods. Put on a sale. Sell it for less money—get
your money back out of the merchandise, plus a small margin to cover
business expenses—reinvest that money in more goods—keep it moving. Better make
12 profits a year of only 1 cent on a dollar of sales, than a 10 cent profit
once in two years. This way you take 12% on your investment. The way you are
doing now you make only 5¢ per dollar.
“Now, here is how we will make this sale a success, and double your business.
Harvard Bureau of Business Research figures show that the retail clothing stores
which spend 4% of sales in advertising have the lowest cost of doing
business, and the highest turnover. To spend less than 4% in advertising means
to spend higher percentages in salaries, rent, utilities, and other expenses. To
spend more than 4% does not bring enough additional increase in sales to pay. So
this is what I propose. It is a new plan. It is unheard of in newspaper
advertising! You pay us just 3% of your sales. That is one fourth less
spent on advertising than most successful stores spend. Then we will give you
absolutely unlimited space in The Messenger. I will give you my own personal
service in writing all your advertising. Your competitors cannot afford to bring
specially trained professional advertising writers to Astoria—and they do not
know how to write ads that can compete with what I will write for you.
“We will start out with four full pages, announcing this sale. We will
make it a big sale—and we will make it look
big! We will reprint the four pages in our job printing department as a big
handbill, and you can hire boys to distribute those to every house within the
entire Astoria trade territory. We will charge you nothing extra for the
circulars, but you hire them distributed. We will follow this up with two-page
ads as long as the sale lasts. It will be an Astoria sensation.
“Now that people can spend only 40% as much for clothing as they did before the
depression, they have to try to save every penny. They are price conscious.
These lower prices will bring in crowds of customers from miles around.”
How Could WE Afford It?
“But, Mr. Armstrong,” protested the younger partner, Mr. Krohn, who was Mr.
Carson’s son-in-law, “how can you afford to give us four whole pages, and then
repeated double pages, at no increase in cost to us—just this 3%?”
“Two reasons,” I explained, smiling. “First, because I know this policy and this
big space will greatly increase your sales. If we double your sales, we double
what you pay us. It makes us a partner in your business, in a way. We get paid
according to the results we bring you. If we don’t bring more customers, you
don’t pay more. Then there is a second reason why we can afford to do this. We
have to print eight pages every day—never less. The paper now has very little
advertising. I am going to write these ads and design them with great, large
display type. It will cost us far less to set a page, or two pages of these
big-type ads than for our Linotype operators to have set all pages in small news
type.”
Mr. Krohn persuaded Mr. Carson to accept my offer.
The sale drew crowds. Sales soared.
During the sale an opportunity came to the store to double its floor space, and
still reduce rent. The store occupied a corner location. The landlord had not
reduced rent in proportion to reduced business during the depression. A ladies’
ready-to-wear store which had occupied a middle-of-the-block location with twice
as much space as Krohn & Carson, and with four times as much front window
display space, had failed and closed up. The landlord of this storeroom, faced
with a no-rent prospect for the duration of the depression, offered this to
Krohn & Carson for half the rent they had been paying in their corner location.
I advised taking it. Then I recommended a new merchandising policy.
“If you double the size of your store, you will have to also double the volume
of business, or such a big store space will look rather foolish,” I said. “Now,
you are reducing your expenses, by lower rent, not adding to them. If you
will be willing to try out a new merchandising policy, I think my ads will
convince the men of Astoria, and make it work. My idea is that you now keep
these special reduced sales prices in effect right along. If you have doubled
the sales volume—or keep up what you are doing in this special sale—without
increasing your expenses, you can make at least as much profit—perhaps more, and
win the good will of the customers—help the public by reduced prices—and, as the
depression begins to end and prosperity comes again, you’ll be the largest and
best liked store in town.”
They agreed. As soon as the sale ended, and they moved to the new larger store,
I began running full-page, “editorial”-style advertisements. They were of the
nature of a straight “Man-to-Man Talk” with the men of Astoria and vicinity.
I told the men that, if they would keep up the sales volume, this store believed
it would be able to keep these reduced special sale prices in effect every day
in the year. I told them of the reduced rent. I told them of Krohn & Carson’s
well-known financial capital—how they were able to take cash discounts, and buy
for less—and were willing to pass these savings on to customers, if customers in
turn would keep up the sales volume. I explained, as I have above for you, how
increased sales volume, if it does not increase expenses, can lower the price to
the consumer.
The ads were sensational in policy—dignified in appearance—and they had a ring
of sincerity that rang true. The men of Astoria responded.
“Breaking” the Opposition
I am taking space to explain in some detail this experience for one reason. I
hope many readers may get from it the lesson of a valuable principle: there
is always a WAY where there is a WILL!
Would you have quit, thrown up your hands, and said, “It can’t be
done”?
And let me explain, here, another principle I always followed in my business
experience—especially in advertising and selling. It was never to sell anything,
unless I was convinced it benefitted the other fellow, as well as myself.
“Be an expert adviser in your customers’ interests” was a slogan I tried
to follow. “Know your stuff” was another—in the advertising man’s vernacular.
Always educate yourself in your field. Know more about it than your competitors,
or your customer. Know how to help your customer. If you are profitable
to him, he will stay with you. Another adage I followed was: “A customer
is more valuable than a sale.” The one-time sales to customers who feel
they were talked into something unprofitable costs more to make than it is
worth. I have always wondered why more businessmen do not understand these
principles. Honesty is the best policy!
But back to our story.
As I said, the men of Astoria responded. Soon Krohn & Carson was doing more than
half of all the clothing and haberdashery business in town. The ones my work did
not benefit—and for this reason I would never do this again—were the
competitors.
In this experience I learned a few things about Jewish people. Both Mr. Krohn
and Mr. Carson were Jewish. So was their chief competitor, who had previously
had the biggest business, across the street. In business, these men were bitter
enemies. But after business hours—well, that was different. Then they were
friends. At the synagogue they were friends. But in the store—there they looked
across the street at the competitive store with intense rivalry.
It’s the same in many other businesses or professions. I certainly do not waste
time watching prize-fights on television. But who can avoid seeing a few seconds
of one occasionally, turning the dial from one channel to another? Have you ever
noticed the end of such a fight? Men who have fought viciously, unmercifully,
with the “killer-instinct” trying to knock each other unconscious, will dance to
their “enemy” of a second ago, after the final bell, and throw their arms around
each other in loving embrace—and it makes no difference if one is white and the
other black! Lawyers who will fight each other angrily in a courtroom during the
heat of a trial, will go out to lunch together after it’s over, as the best of
friends! I’ve seen bankers who have been bitter rivals forget it completely, and
call each other by their first names, “buddy, buddy” fashion, at national
bankers’ conventions.
But, in business Krohn & Carson’s Jewish rival across the street was bitter and
now getting more and more bitter!
In desperation, as his customers flocked over to Krohn & Carson’s, he ran a
half-page ad in the “opposition” paper. It cost him twice as much per inch as
our regular inch rate. In it he advertised a price-slashing sale. Mr. Krohn
called me to the store.
“Look at this!” he exclaimed, worried. “Now maybe he will get the
business, and our new plan will fail after all.”
“Oh no,” I laughed. “This only means it’s time for you and me to get busy. I
want you to take that ad, and mark your own prices, cut
still lower, on every item—item for item—listed in his ‘ad.’ Tomorrow
morning we will run a two-page ad, listing
exactly the same items, every one priced lower—and
once again reminding the men that Krohn & Carson save them money. We’ll run a
special sale tomorrow, also, on these same items.”
Mr. Krohn looked at me and shook his head in amazement, and then began to grin,
as he went to work marking lower prices.
Next day all the special sale customers filed into Krohn & Carson’s—the biggest
day in some time, while their rival across the street looked more discouraged
than ever in his empty store.
Later that day, he telephoned The Messenger office, and asked if I would
come to the store to see him.
“Look here,” he stormed, “you are breaking my business. I can’t afford to run
many half-page ads in the evening paper at their high rates—and even when I do
you come out with a bigger one for Krohn & Carson, and they get all the business
from my ad as well as their own! You have brought me to the place where I am
willing now to take a chance on the evening paper doing anything if I break my
agreement not to advertise with you. I want you to make me the same deal you did
Krohn & Carson—and I am willing to sign up right now!”
“I’m sorry,” I replied, “but you and all the other merchants turned me down cold
when I first came to Astoria. You presented me with a kind of unfair competition
such as I never heard of. You forced me to break all precedent to develop new
advertisers out of non-advertising merchants. That plan was offered to only one
merchant in each line. You said you were bound and could not advertise with us.
Now we are bound, and can’t give you this same
deal of unlimited space on a percent of sales.”
“Well, then,” he countered, “can I buy space with you at your regular price by
the inch?”
“Oh yes, of course” was the answer.
“But that is not enough,” he continued. “It is the way you write these ads that
is bringing the business to Krohn & Carson’s. Will you write my ads, as well as
theirs? If you will, I will start advertising with you, and quit with the
evening paper.”
I had not bound myself to exclusive ad-writing service, so I was free to agree.
Next morning, his first ad, about a third of a page, appeared.
When I walked into the Krohn & Carson store that day, Mr. Carson was like a wild
man.
“Look at this!” he shouted. “Anyone would know
you wrote that ad. You cancel our advertising immediately, and don’t ever
come in this store again.”
“All right, Mr. Carson, if that’s what you really want to do,” I said. “But
first, I want you to calm down and listen to me just one moment. I never offered
you my advertising-writing services exclusively. I have not given your
competitor the unlimited space on a percent-of-sales basis at all. He has to pay
the regular rate by the inch. Mr. Carson, I have doubled your business for you
in the midst of this terrible depression. I have worked hard for you, and made
you money. But I am advertising manager of The Messenger, and when my
plan begins to really work, and break down these unethical and illegal
contracts our ‘opposition paper’ holds over these other merchants, that is the
real reason I evolved this unprecedented system that has doubled your business,
and made you the leader in Astoria, instead of
second-fiddle like you were. Now, if you didn’t appreciate that, and want to
cancel—O.K.! I’ll walk out of this store, and never come back again—and now you
free me to give this whole plan to your competitor across the street!”
I began to walk out rapidly.
Mr. Carson showed surprising and amazing athletic ability in scampering behind
the counters to the front door before I could get there! He darted into the
doorway, blocked it, holding up both hands.
“Wait! Wait!” he exclaimed. “Don’t you walk out of here! Don’t you cancel
our agreement!”
He came up and threw his arms around me, and cried like a child.
“Mr. Armstrong,” he said, embracing me, “I have loved you like a son. I didn’t
mean what I said. I want you to still be my advertising manager and adviser—even
if you do write ads for that fellow across the street.”
Even though dollars were at stake, Mr. Carson spoke from the heart. He was
filled with emotion, now. He was really sincere—he did really feel a deep
love for me. It was not only because of the business success our relationship
had brought—our close personal association had brought about mutual affection.
He was a businessman—he was very conscious of dollars, and had acquired
his share of them—but underneath was a real warm heart capable of real
friendship.
Our radio listeners have heard me say that I bear no hatred toward Jews—I love
them, as I love all people. Some, allowing themselves to become “hooked” on the
insidious, poisonous “drug” of anti-Semitism, and hatred for Jews, have never
learned all there is to know about Jewish people. Sure, many of them, despised
and hated and persecuted by race prejudice, have developed a keen sense of
“dollar consciousness,” but who among us is so free from faults and sins he can
throw the first stone? I have learned that many Jews also have very warm hearts
of friendship. We have all been carnal, weighted with human nature, until
converted and filled with God’s Holy Spirit of love, and
tolerance!
Unable to Leave
I have been getting ahead of my story. I have carried this one experience with
this one advertising client on to its conclusion, over a period of many months.
But I wanted to complete this one case history, as a typical example of the
Astoria newspaper experience.
Back, now to December, 1931.
In Astoria was one of the two leading hardware stores not tied up on those
5-year contracts, besides the J. C. Penney store, one of the “movies” and
several restaurants. I induced most of the restaurants to take out advertising
in trade for meal checks for our employees, and the Penney store and the
hardware store accepted my unlimited space on a percentage-of-sales basis.
But by December 31, I found I was caught in a trap. We had 23 men employed. If I
left then, the paper would have folded and these men would have been out of
work. There still was no money in the Oregon Conference church treasury to bring
me back into the ministry. I was stuck in Astoria. God intended for me to learn
a lesson. It seems that most of the time I have had to learn these lessons the
hard way, through experience, and suffering.
This was to be no exception. It was not until the end of February, 1933, that my
prayers to be relieved of these newspaper responsibilities, and to be allowed to
return to God’s ministry, were answered.
Chapter 27
“Stuck in Astoria”
After the Krohn & Carson experience forced their main clothing-store competitor
to break its 5-year contract, other stores gradually began cautiously to put a
limited amount of advertising in The Messenger. This drove our opposition
publisher to adopt a new type of competition. Now the going became rougher than
before.
Competition Gets Rough
Both the evening paper, and ours, maintained job-printing departments. There
was, besides, one independent job-printing establishment. But the evening
newspaper job department did more than half of all the printing. With this and
the newspaper combined, the opposition newspaper employed more than half the
employees in all three unions involved—the typographical, the pressmen’s and the
stereotypers’ unions.
The depression, by spring of 1932, had descended to such depths that if a man
lost his job he had small chance of finding another. At union meetings, the
evening paper employees had a majority vote.
So we had the unheard-of spectacle of our competitor’s employees being forced by
their employer, on threat of losing their jobs, to vote our employees out
of their jobs on strike, while all our employees voted desperately against the
strike. It meant the loss of their jobs. They knew they would be unable to
obtain employment elsewhere.
Actually, our competitor’s employees did have a technical violation to charge us
with. Our employees were not receiving their full wages in cash. Our
paper simply did not have the money. One reason I had felt obligated to remain
on in Astoria after December, 1931, was the responsibility of keeping our 23
employees from starving. I had traded advertising space for meal tickets in
local restaurants. I had traded advertising space for rooms in hotels and small
apartments in large apartment houses. I had taken most of the Krohn & Carson 3%
compensation in clothes for our men. Thus we had managed to keep them clothed,
fed, and sheltered. We had paid them small amounts of cash for other expenses,
but the balance of their wages was being paid them in stock in the paper. Thus
they were part owners. If and when the paper got on a paying basis, they would
then receive their wages with interest.
When the strike was first voted against us, Mr. Hopkins and, I believe, our city
editor, took a quick trip to Seattle to appeal to the district union chief, a
Mr. Pelkey. We awaited their return anxiously. Their smiling faces told us, on
their return, they had succeeded. Mr. Pelkey had called off the strike. He
realized the desperate competitive situation. But this was a reprieve—not the
end of the matter.
A month or two later, our opposition employees again voted our employees out on
strike. Again Mr. Hopkins raced to Seattle. Again Mr. Pelkey rescinded the
strike vote. During the summer our competitor’s employees did it again. A third
time Mr. Pelkey vetoed the strike.
But our opposition simply wore down Mr. Pelkey. A fourth time the opposition men
voted ours out on strike. This time Mr. Pelkey said he was getting “fed up” with
this Astoria quarrel, and he let the strike become official.
The Strike STRUCK!
The date was Labor Day, 1932. Our employees had to face the problem of whether
to defy the strike vote, stay on the job, and thus be put out of the unions—in
which case their entire future in the printing business was ruined—or lose their
jobs with no prospect of finding others. The men, however, decided that their
futures, after the depression had subsided, meant more to them than the
immediate job.
Mr. Hopkins immediately brought a few non-union printers from Portland to
Astoria. But they were unskilled, and totally unsatisfactory as workmen—and they
were too few. I had never operated a Linotype machine, although I had been
around composing rooms for 20 years. Now I had to work all night long with a
“hunt and peck” effort to set the type.
Also I set ads in display type. After 36 hours without sleep, we finally got out
the paper, in the evening of Labor Day.
Our morning paper came out after the evening paper of the
same day. But we got it out! Otherwise we should have been put out of business
altogether!
For three days and three nights Mr. Hopkins and I and a few of the newsmen
worked straight through without sleep. We literally lived that 72 hours on
coffee. There was an all-night cafe across the street. We kept them constantly
making coffee!
The day following Labor Day we got the paper “to bed” in mid-afternoon. The next
day by about noon. Gradually we gained an hour or two each day, and within a
week we were getting the papers on the street by early morning. But it was
indeed a sorry looking newspaper! It came out full of typographical errors, bad
typesetting. But we were fighting to keep it alive.
Even before this 72-hour stretch without any sleep, I had been
consistently losing sleep in Astoria. For the entire 15 months on this newspaper
job I averaged about 51/2 hours sleep per night. I need a minimum
of seven. This continuous loss of sleep proved a real handicap after I did
finally get back into the ministry in 1933.
Two Awe-Inspiring Miracles
During the 15 months of this stay in Astoria, God blessed us with two amazing
miracles. For the first seven months, still hoping from week to week to be able
to wind up this newspaper detour and get back on the main road of God’s
ministry, Mrs. Armstrong and our children remained in the house on East State
Street in Salem. During that time I managed to take frequent weekend trips home
to be with my family.
Finally, by early July 1932, we decided to move the family to Astoria. This
resulted from my wife calling long distance late one afternoon asking me to rush
home. Little Garner Ted was stricken with pneumonia! I drove The Messenger
coupe down to Salem, arriving late that night. The children were asleep. Mrs.
Armstrong was still up, beside little Ted’s sofa, on which he was lying.
Immediately, we both knelt beside our sick baby. Little Garner Ted was then two
years and five months.
And I must explain here that he had been, to that time, dumb—unable to talk.
While somewhere between six months and a year old, he had fallen out of his
crib-bed headfirst onto the hard wood floor. We attributed his inability to talk
to this fall, landing on his head. He would point to whatever he wanted to tell
us about, making motions, and grunting “Ugh! Ugh!” But he was unable to speak a
single word. We were becoming much concerned.
I anointed Ted and began to claim God’s promises to rebuke the fever and heal
him. As I was praying, Mrs. Armstrong silently prayed, asking God that, if it
was His will to heal our baby of this dumbness at that time, to put it in my
mind to ask for this, as well as healing from the pneumonia.
I did also have this in mind—or God put it in my mind—for the very instant she
had asked for this, I began asking God to restore Ted’s power of speech.
His fever left quickly. The very next day he was able to say a number of single
words. In about three days he was talking in whole sentences.
After this experience, my wife and I decided to move the family immediately to
Astoria. I remained a few days to help pack our goods.
After everything was packed, I crowded our two daughters and Dickey (we called
our boys “Dickey” and “Teddy” until the day they entered Junior High School)
into the coupe and drove to Astoria. Mrs. Armstrong followed with Teddy on the
train. Little Teddy was so frightened by the train that my wife had some
difficulty in getting him aboard. But once on, and relaxed and reassured, he
began talking.
“Here we go,” said Teddy cheerfully, “to see Daddy, see Ba-wee (Beverly),
see Dorsee (Dorothy), see Dickey!” That was a 12-word sentence, gushing out only
about three days after I had prayed for his healing!
I had arranged for one of the members of the Church, who lived near Jefferson,
to haul our furniture and things to Astoria. We went first to the hotel in
Astoria. Mr. Hopkins and I had lived there, trading advertising for rooms.
Soon we rented a house, high up on an embankment above a street overlooking the
mile-wide Columbia River. We were only ten miles from the ocean at that point,
and the mighty Columbia widens to a very great river at its mouth. From our
house there was an unobstructed view straight out the river to the ocean.
About that time I managed to obtain a portable radio by trading advertising
space, and taking it as part of my salary. This small portable radio would
receive stations from great distances—much farther than even large and expensive
modern sets today. After our strike finally did strike, I was kept at the
newspaper office until midnight or later about six nights every week.
Arriving home at midnight or 1:00 a.m., I often turned on the radio in order to
“unwind” my nerves a bit from the tense business day before retiring. Any night
at that hour, which was around 6:00 p.m. in Japan, I was able to get Radio Tokyo
on standard wave direct. There was no obstruction between the aerial atop
our house and Japan—just the mile-wide mouth of the Columbia, and straight
across the ocean.
Also, at the time, I was able to “bring in” clearly such stations as WLS,
Chicago, WLW, Cincinnati, WSM, Nashville, WHO, Des Moines—all of which I was
later to have the privilege of broadcasting over.
Hunting for Bear
My son Garner Ted loves to hunt and fish. He may not remember when the
excitement of hunting was first implanted within him, and he may read this now,
along with all our readers.
As soon as God gave us our first son, for whom my wife and I had waited eleven
years, I wanted to be a pal to him. I had begun calling little Dickey, as soon
as he could talk, my “Pal.” But now, as soon as little Teddy began to talk, on
hearing me call his elder brother “pal,” he exclaimed, “Well, I’m your pal,
too, Daddy.”
From that moment Teddy became “Pal Two,” and Dickey “Pal One.”
One of the very first things I did, after we moved into the house in Astoria,
was to take my two “pals” “bear hunting.” I have explained that our house sat on
an embankment high above the sidewalk below. This hill ran up steeply from the
great river below, and continued on uphill behind our house, thickly wooded. I
took my two sons, armed with wooden sticks for guns, on frequent “hunting trips”
up this steep heavily wooded slope, “hunting for bear.” The boys would growl
like a bear, and confidently expected to get a shot at one any second.
The basement of our Astoria house was on the ground level in front, but basement
level at the rear. In Astoria, as well as when we lived in Salem and Eugene, we
burned wood for fuel. My sons helped me carry chopped wood up the basement
stairs into the kitchen. Although Teddy was speaking whole sentences three days
after his speech was restored, he did not pronounce all his words like an adult
immediately.
I shall never forget his rapping on the basement door, three or four sticks of
wood across his outstretched arms, yelling:
“Open d’ doagm—open d’ doagm—here tums dreat bid mans!”
Our younger daughter Dorothy got in Teddy’s hair on occasion. On one of these
occasions, in the kitchen, little Teddy became exasperated and started for his
tormenting sister with clenched fists.
In fear Dorothy ran through the hallway, and up the stairs to the second floor
like a frightened deer, with little Teddy scampering after her in red-hot anger,
shouting,
“Boy, oh boy! I’ll hap your hace!”
Apparently Dorothy found refuge in a bedroom and locked the door.
I suppose we have had quite the same experience rearing children that most
parents have. Most of the time our two daughters, only two years and two months
apart, have been the best of chums and buddies, but they had their share of
quarreling over the things most sisters quarrel over—whose turn it was to do the
dishes—or when one girl had put on the other girl’s clothes. But our two sons
seldom quarreled, and surely no two brothers could have gotten along better
together, or been closer to each other. Their fights were usually with older
sisters!
Another typical experience many fathers should understand. Early in the
Christmas shopping season, 1932, I managed to obtain for my boys an electric
train, with quite a lot of track and accessories—by trading advertising space
for it. The price of the train was charged at the newspaper, of course, as part
of my salary since only a small part of salaries could be paid in cash. Mrs.
Armstrong said smilingly that I got the electric train for the boys, so I could
play with it! I wonder how many fathers have done the same thing!
The Second Miraculous Healing
It was during the midst of the winter, December 1932 or January 1933, that Milas
Helms appeared in Astoria one night. He finally located me at one of the “movie”
offices, where I was picking up an “ad” at around 10:00 p.m. His little son,
James, was stricken with a most serious case of pneumonia, and was in extremely
critical condition. Mike had driven his pickup truck all the way from his farm,
southwest of Jefferson. He asked me if I would not drop everything and go with
him to anoint and pray for his boy’s healing.
We drove through the night around the icy sharp mountain curves of the only
highway in those days, through a driving snow-storm blizzard, on to Portland,
and then some 75 miles more to his farm.
We arrived there around 5:00 a.m. The oil lamps were still burning, and Mike’s
wife, Pearl, was still up. Little James was gasping for breath, with an
extremely high temperature, but still alive. Immediately we knelt beside his
bed, and I anointed him and claimed God’s promises to heal him. Almost
immediately the boy sank into a sleep, and then all of us laid down to get some
overdue rest and sleep.
We awakened at 10:00 a.m. Little James awakened, too, at about the same time,
and immediately scampered out of bed and began playing around the room. His
temperature was normal. He had been completely healed. I returned to Astoria.
An END of Going Hungry
I have mentioned repeatedly how God had brought me down, reduced us to poverty
and want, and how much we had suffered hunger through those years. Much of the
time in Astoria, up until about the time of this emergency trip to the Helms’
farm, we had not had enough to eat.
I have explained in past chapters how, after conversion, I had to come to learn
and understand one doctrine at a time. The truth was not acquired all at once. I
had known that the Bible had quite a little to say about tithing one’s income.
Yet somehow it had never become completely clear.
At about this time, in the little time I had from my work at the newspaper for
Bible study and prayer, I had made a special and thorough study of this matter
of tithing. We saw the mistake we had been making, and started a definite
practice of strict tithing. We had only a very little on hand, but we sent a
tenth of it, plus an offering, to the Oregon Conference treasurer.
That very day, the way opened for us to be able to stock up at home with a
reasonable abundance of food. For one thing, we had a large thick steak. My wife
cooked it at low heat with the utensils we had acquired when I had devoted a
year to selling them. I shall never forget that steak! It was way and by far the
best steak I have ever tasted!
Although we still were required to live another 14 years in the barest and most
modest financial circumstances, we have never from that day had to be actually
hungry, and miss meals, because of financial poverty! We have since heard of
scores and scores of case-histories of the experiences of others who were
immediately prospered, once they began tithing. But we, ourselves, lived through
this same experience. I am very grateful to have been privileged to have been
instrumental in bringing countless others into this same divine blessing!
My wife and I had to learn it the hard way!
“Dickey” Becomes Lost
One day in August or September, 1932, shortly before Dickey was four years old,
he became “lost,” and his mother became frantic. I was not home at the time.
When Mrs. Armstrong discovered he was missing, and was nowhere to be found
around the house or yard, she started an immediate worried search. Neighbor
children had seen him going east. A little farther along the street two little
children said he had asked them to go with him to a children’s playground in
Rose City Park, to play on the swings and slides.
Rose City Park was in Portland, more than a hundred miles away! After running,
out of breath, some distance past the end of our street, and onto the highway to
Portland, not finding him, she turned back. He had not been gone long enough to
have gotten farther on the highway. Now the terrifying thought gripped my wife:
“What if little Dickey had wandered down to the river bank, and had fallen in
the river!”
She retraced her steps back, and, half running, half walking breathlessly, began
following the river bank westward. Finally she found him, trying to walk back
home along the river bank. When the two children had refused to go to Rose City
Park with him, he had decided he didn’t want to go alone, and had started back
home—by way of the river bank! He had supposed he could soon walk to Rose City
Park!
I have often wondered how any of the millions of us men on earth ever survived
the dangers of growing boyhood, and lived to be men—unless indeed God has
assigned an angel to watch invisibly over every boy, and keep him from physical
harm and tragedy!
While we were in Astoria, I received a letter from Elder Taylor. Just one
letter, in that year and a quarter. It told me “we have lost the little church”
in Eugene. The brethren, he said, had been unable to keep up payments. When I
finally got back to the Valley I learned how WE really had lost it. Mr. Taylor
had traded it for a more saleable house and lot next door. Then he had traded
that, with another place he had acquired, for an island farm. But more of that
at the proper time, later.
Our Prayers Finally Answered
One day, late in February, 1933, Mike Helms drove his pickup truck up to our
house. He had come to take us back to the Valley. The church Conference had now
accumulated a small balance. Mike was now president of the conference. He said
they would be able to pay us only $3 per week, but farmer brethren would supply
us with vegetables, and the members would buy other food for us.
Behind him, he said, was coming one of the men from the Valley with a large
truck to haul our small amount of furniture and furnishings back to the Valley.
At last God had answered our prayers to allow me to be put back into His
ministry! Mrs. Armstrong got into the truck with Mr. Helms, and they drove
downtown in search of me. I was overjoyed at the news.
We were nearly all night getting packed and ready for the tedious trip back to
the Valley. The next day we left.
All of the newspaper employees I had felt a responsibility for keeping alive,
except Mr. Hopkins and two or three newsmen, had long since left, anyway. I felt
no obligation to remain another day.
A couple months or less after our departure I heard that The Morning
Messenger, which had come to be dubbed the “Morning Mess,” had gone
out of business. I had kept it alive for 15 months. I had learned a valuable
lesson, and collected some valuable experience.
Chapter 28
“Back into the Ministry”
We soon learned there was a reason why Mike Helms had come for us when he did.
The former president of the California conference, A. J. Ray, had moved to
Oregon, near Jefferson. A very small balance had accumulated in the conference
treasury, and small amounts of tithes from members once again were beginning to
trickle into it. Mr. Ray learned of the Oregon Conference’s plans to bring me
back into the ministry as soon as funds permitted. He had moved swiftly to
forestall that, by sending for a close friend—I believe he was a former
Seventh-Day Adventist minister—Sven (Sam) Oberg, whom he wanted as the
Oregon minister.
The Plots Begin
Apparently Mike had known of Mr. Oberg’s imminent arrival, and drove immediately
to Astoria to bring me back. We both arrived about the same time.
Now the newly arrived Mr. Ray raised the question of whether to employ Mr.
Oberg, or me. A business meeting was called. I believe it was held at the church
building in Harrisburg.
Mr. Oberg was a man of 53. He kept himself in vigorous physical condition by
strenuous calisthenic exercises every morning, including about 100 “push-ups.”
If Robert L. Taylor had swept the members off their feet, impressing them with
his “spirituality” and preaching power in 1931, Sam Oberg did much more!
In fact, he appeared to be so perfect, so spiritual, my wife and I
thought of Hebrews 13:2, stating that a stranger might be an angel being
entertained unawares! He seemed too perfect to be human. He was strict in
punctuality, spiritual in language and phraseology, immaculate in appearance,
glib of speech, powerful in preaching delivery.
Yet, in spite of his almost awe-inspiring effect on the members, they had all
liked and loved me, and still looked to me for the leadership to get the gospel
going out. I had been ordained by them and employed by them before. I do not
remember the details now, but I was employed instead of Mr. Oberg.
$3 per Week Salary
The condition of the conference treasury allowed them to pay me only $3 per week
salary. However, most of the members were farmers, and they promised to supply
us with vegetables and such foodstuffs as they raised. Also, they paid our house
rent—I believe $5 or $7 per month, and purchased for us a certain amount of
food. This consisted of 100-pound sacks of whole wheat flour, large sacks of
beans, large bags of raw sugar—the kind of food that supplied “the mostest for
the leastest.”
The $3 cash salary per week, then, was to cover butter, milk, water and light
and clothes—if any. We were moved into a small house on Hall Street, not far
from the state Fairgrounds. There were two fireplaces and the kitchen stove to
supply heat. We burned wood altogether.
But I was to be disillusioned, and to learn that a person who first appears to
be too good to be true usually isn’t!
Both Mr. Ray and Mr. Oberg schemed constantly to discredit me and get that $3
per week for Mr. Oberg. More of that as we go along.
Starting the Salem Meetings
However, I was still looking on Mr. Oberg with a sort of awe, feeling I had
never met a person so perfect and so righteous and so powerful in preaching.
True, I had behind me a most unusual wealth of experience, as these Oregon
members were aware. But my still comparatively new Christian experience had
humbled me to virtual unawareness of that fact and I was trying to efface self.
But I did have vision.
I suggested that we try to hold a big city-wide campaign, with Mr. Oberg doing
all the preaching—since I felt I was not worthy—as a minister of Christ—to team
up with so great a man. My suggestion was that I use my advertising experience
to be the public relations man, prepare circulars and newspaper advertising, and
draw in the crowds. I had suggested we try to hire the big armory in downtown
Salem. I felt that with an evangelist of Mr. Oberg’s power, I could really pack
in a big crowd.
My suggestions, as became usual with the other ministers, were turned down by
Mr. Oberg. I was slightly disillusioned to learn that Mr. Oberg did not think
big. He wanted to hold a small campaign in a
small empty store building out in the “Hollywood” suburb of Salem—just a small
local neighborhood campaign. And he wanted to share it with me, speaking on
alternate evenings.
There were many vacant store buildings. We were now at the very bottom of
the great economic depression. We were able to hire a vacant storeroom for $10
per month.
We worked hard making preparations. Mr. Oberg was not lazy. He was a hard
worker. I believe we rented folding chairs. I had handbills printed and
distributed over that general part of Salem.
The opening night arrived. Immediately I was greatly alarmed—as also, it
appeared, was Mr. Ray. Already I had seen quite a little of that type of
religious people who call themselves “pentecostal.” I had learned that they had
no understanding of the Bible, although they
glibly quoted certain verses, or partial sentences, usually misapplied and
entirely out of context.
Those I had known had never surrendered their rebellious spirit against
obedience to God and His written commands. They were always
seeking—not to serve, share, or obey, but for
those emotional and supposedly “spiritual” things that would glorify the self
and its vanity and please the senses.
Mr. R. L. Taylor, with whom I held my first evangelistic campaign in Eugene in
1931, had started a series of meetings in this same north end of Salem,
following our Eugene campaign. The “pentecostal” people had come, and he had
encouraged them. They would keep reasonably quiet until Mr. Taylor, after two or
three weeks of preaching, had a few unconverted and non-”pentecostal” people
brought close to repentance and conversion—and then they would begin to “take
over” with their loud-shouting “hallelujah’s” and ridiculous demonstrations.
This immediately discouraged those near conversion, chilled them completely, and
they dropped out and quit coming. After this, Mr. Taylor went around that end of
town, inviting new people to come, and in a few nights had a new small crowd.
The experience was repeated—until he finally had to quit with no results
whatever for his efforts.
In Portland, at “pentecostal” camp meetings, I had heard women wail and then
shriek like a fire siren, audible for three or four blocks.
Our Problem
When we saw about 25 or 30 of these same “pentecostal” people who had ruined Mr.
Taylor’s meetings coming into our little hall, Mr. Ray and Mr. Oberg and I went
into a quick huddle. Mr. Ray purported to be completely opposed to this brand of
“pentecostalism.”
“What shall we do about this?” he asked. “We’ve got to get rid of these people,
or they will simply take over the meetings and there will be no results.”
“Just leave the situation to me,” said Mr. Oberg. “I know how to handle these
people.”
We were reassured.
But by the second or third night, we began to realize that Mr. Oberg, far from
discouraging or “handling” these people, was deliberately catering to them.
Gradually we began to realize that Mr. Oberg was “pentecostal” himself—a fact he
had carefully concealed. Indeed, he had deliberately led us to believe he was
opposed to it. Soon I realized these people were definitely “in”
and firmly established. It was too late to change it.
For the first few nights Mr. Oberg and I alternated, each speaking every second
night. But it became apparent that the “pentecostal” people, now more than 90%
of the attendance, warmed up much more to Mr. Oberg’s preaching. He encouraged
them. He invited their loud amens just as “pentecostal” preachers do constantly,
getting them stirred up to an emotional and excitable pitch. So after about a
week, I suggested that Mr. Oberg do all the preaching, and I preached to our own
members who came up from the Valley for the Sabbath services.
About the end of the first week word came from the manager of a lumber yard
situated very close to our hall, asking if I would stop in and see him. He had
attended the first five or six meetings, then dropped out.
“Mr. Armstrong,” he said, “I just wanted to explain to you why I stopped
attending your meetings. I was really quite interested in hearing your
sermons, but this man Oberg’s constant succession of stories, and whooping up
those ‘holy rollers’ into shouting and emotional frenzy and foolishness is more
than I can take. I think you were wise in just letting this other man take over
the meetings. Not many who are seeking the real truth that you preach
will be attending from now on, anyway. I would have continued attending, if you
had been conducting the services alone—but I can’t tolerate that senseless
wildfire.”
My Father’s Death
Along about the 20th or 21st of April in that year of 1933 word came that my
father was very ill. I asked Mr. Oberg to accompany me, and we hastened to his
farm, between Oregon City and Molalla. Apparently we asked Mr. Ray to take the
service till we returned.
Dad had suffered an acute attack of indigestion. We anointed and prayed for him.
He seemed to recover at once. He also had called for us because he wanted to be
baptized.
My father, as I may have stated before, had always been a good man. He
had been jolly, friendly with everybody. He never smoked, drank, swore, or
indulged in any such vices. He never opposed or harmed a soul, but always was
willing to help. He had, as I recounted earlier, a marvelous deep bass voice.
Dad had attended church regularly all his life, and had been active—especially
in singing.
But my father was actually so good, humanly speaking, and so void of
vices and any of the commonly accepted “sins” that he was actually in the same
category as Job. Job was so righteous that even Satan could not find anything of
which to accuse him. Actually Job’s one great sin was his own righteousness. It
blinded him to his humanity, the actual
nature of sin in every human. Job was the most
difficult man on record for God to convert. Finally, God brought Job to the
place where he did REPENT, and come to completely
abhor himself!
My father had come to that same place. He came to realize that mere human
goodness and uprightness is not, after all, the true
righteousness of God, which is received
only from God’s Holy Spirit after the painful and suffering experience of
repentance. But now he had repented. And now he had come to recognize his real
need of Jesus Christ as personal Saviour. He had thrown himself on God’s mercy,
in faith believing.
That afternoon, his acute indigestion healed, but still needing rest and sleep
to recover strength, we planned to go down to the river at the edge of his farm
and baptize him the next day.
Late that afternoon, we all sang “Praise Him! Praise Him!” with my father’s deep
melodic bass voice ringing out. It was to be the last time he ever sang.
When we finished, he had tears in his eyes, and his face literally
illuminated in a happy smile.
“It’s just wonderful!” he exclaimed. “It’s absolutely WONDERFUL!”
“What do you mean, Dad?” I asked.
“That God at last has forgiven all my sins!” he exclaimed. “It seems like a load
of many tons has been rolled off of my shoulders—and I don’t have to carry that
weight of guilt around any longer!”
We left him to rest.
A while later we were called back into the room. He had sunken into a coma, not
from indigestion, but a heart attack. We anointed and prayed for him again. We
put him to bed in an adjoining bedroom. We noticed his feet were swelling. He
did not come out of the coma. We kept up an all-night vigil of prayer. The
swelling continued up his legs.
Dawn came. We continued praying. I know that I continued believing. By
this time we had been granted many miraculous answers to prayer, and I felt I
never had more faith in my life.
Yet, at 9:40 that morning, the day after he entered his 70th year, my father
died. I was stunned. This I could not believe!
Suddenly I was confused, bewildered. I knew that God had given His written
promise to heal. Always before, since learning
this truth, God had healed all in our family. I realized that there are two
conditions—obedience, and faith. But I had surrendered fully and unconditionally
to God’s commandments, given my life to Him and His service. And I had believed
with positive conviction. There had been no wavering—no doubt—just calm
assurance.
For three days I was in a mental fog. Not that I began to lose faith in God, or
the reality of Biblical promises. Not that doubts began to be entertained. I was
still quite a “babe in Christ” in the new Christian life, but we had been
put through enough experiences—and I had studied and
proved the Scriptures sufficiently—that I did not allow doubts to
begin to arise. When one permits doubts to enter his thoughts and reasonings, he
is on dangerous ground. He is thinking negatively. Whoever
doubts is damned. I want the reader to learn
that lesson.
If one is not certain—if he has not proved a
doctrine or a fact—then the teaching of God is, with open mind free from
prejudice, to seek all the facts—to prove
it. This is not negative, but positive thinking and procedure. Doubting is not
proving. Doubting is not intelligent! It is negative thinking about
something one does not know enough about to warrant this form of unfounded
disbelief.
Strengthening FAITH
I knew that God could not break a promise. I knew God has promised
to heal—that Jesus took the penalty of physical
sickness and infirmities and paid it for us by having His perfect physical body
broken by being beaten with stripes!
But why, then, did my father die? Through James
God instructs us that if any lack wisdom, he shall ask of
God asking in faith, not wavering or
doubting—and God promises wisdom shall be given. I prayed earnestly. I asked God
for understanding.
And I searched the Scriptures for the explanation. I did not doubt—but I did
seek an explanation. Faith must be based on
understanding, and I knew there was something I had not yet come to
understand. Naturally I soon came, in this search, to the “faith chapter”—the
11th of Hebrews. Then the answer became plain.
God gives us many examples of faith in that wonderful chapter. I noticed the
example of Abraham—the father of the faithful. He, with Isaac and Jacob
and Sarah “all died, not having received the PROMISES.” My father, like
them, died, not having received God’s promise of healing—AS YET! Did the
death of Abraham, before he received what God had unconditionally
promised, nullify that promise? Did his death
mean that God failed—that God’s promise was worthless, not to be kept? Not
at all!
No, it simply meant that, for God’s own reason and purpose, the fulfilling of
the promise is delayed until the resurrection!
In like manner, I could now understand that God has promised to heal—but He has
not promised how immediately, or by what manner, He will do it. I knew,
now, that my father’s healing is still absolutely sure.
He will be resurrected—healed! I saw, now, that
our days are indeed numbered. God has not promised that we shall live in this
mortal existence eternally. It is appointed to men once to die—and after this
the resurrection. I read how the trial of our
faith is allowed to work patience.
God, then, does give us tests of faith. Faith is the evidence of that
not seen, not
felt. Once we feel and see that we are healed,
we no longer need the invisible spiritual evidence of faith. Faith, then, is our
evidence—our proof of the healing—which God
gives us to be exercised and utilized between
the time we ask, and the time the physical evidence is granted.
We should not go to God, asking, unless we have
faith that God will do what He has promised, and what we are ready
to ask. Then, after we ask, we should still have faith—just as
before—that God will do as He has promised.
Now I understood!
Some people, in the clutch of fatal doubts in
their faulty reasoning, will try to reason that
unless God heals instantaneously, either God has not kept His promise—or that
the one who asked is guilty of such sin that God will not hear him. Such people
are wresting the plain teaching of God to their own destruction.
The net result of this shocking experience of my father’s death was a great
strengthening of faith. I hope sincerely that
the recording of this experience will strengthen the faith of many readers.
God’s very purpose in giving us this temporary physical existence is to build
righteous spiritual character, through EXPIERIENCE. In the Bible God
gives us many experiences of those He has dealt
with, that we may learn by reading of their experiences. The only reason I am
continuing with this autobiography is the hope that many readers may learn
lessons God intends them to learn, through these recorded experiences.
Was It GOD’s Spirit?
As the meetings in Salem continued on, after the first week or so, almost the
only people coming were these “pentecostal” people. Their antics drove away most
others. Though it is rare among this type of people, many, or most, of them were
“Sabbath keepers.” But, aside from the fourth commandment, there did not appear
to be any desire to obey God, or to “live by every Word of God.” Their whole
desire was a “good time” during meetings. They came for the temporary thrill and
enjoyment of going on an emotional spree of excitement, shouting, and bragging
in “testimony meeting” about how glad they were they “had their baptism,” and
how much better they were than others, for precisely the same purpose that other
people attend a football game to shout and yell, and work up sensations of
excitement.
They were definitely not seeking “the
Kingdom of God and His
righteousness,” but they were continually
seeking physical and sensual pleasure and thrills and excitement, under
the deceptive illusion that all this was pleasing to God. One of these women,
some months later, after the close of the meetings, who had “received her
baptism” as they term it, became disgusted with it and told my wife in private
that what she and they all got from it was what she termed “sublimated sex
thrills.” She said frankly it was plain lust of the flesh. Yet the people in it
are deceived into sincerely believing that they are seeking, and
receiving, the Holy Spirit of God!
One night while Mr. Oberg was preaching, one very fat woman, who must have
weighed 250 pounds, arose and with short, jerky, staccato steps, slowly waddled
up front to the piano, shaking her fat hips at each jerky step. She sat down on
the piano bench and began to hit the keys with the palms of both hands in a
discordant jumbled manner about like a one-year-old baby might do. There was no
chord, harmony, tune—no regularity of beat or rhythm—just a spasmodic discordant
pounding in utter
confusion.
As she began, the one other big fat woman in the hall, of equal horizontal
proportions, arose and began a sort of awkward dancing jig, her arms floundering
around, uncontrolled, overhead, her very fat hips waddling and shimmying. For
some two to five minutes these two women continued their unrefined duet.
Mr. Oberg stopped his preaching, with expressions of “Praise the Lord! Glory
Hallelujah! Praise you, Jesus!”—to which the whole “pentecostal” attendance
immediately joined in until the place was a bedlam of din and confusion.
As we were walking home that night after the service, our elder daughter,
Beverly, then of junior high school age, asked:
“Daddy, was that the Holy Spirit making those women do those things?”
I was well familiar with Christ’s saying that the blasphemy against the Holy
Spirit—accusing the work of the Holy Spirit of being the work of the devil—was
the unpardonable sin. Although I was by that time quite aware that these
practices of “pentecostal” people were not in conformity with either the
teaching or example found in God’s Word, nevertheless I was afraid to take any
slight chance of committing the unpardonable sin.
“I just can’t answer that, Beverly,” I replied. “I suppose those women were
sincere in believing they were being moved by God’s Spirit. Most people
are deceived, today. But I don’t want to try to judge.”
A few paragraphs back, I quoted the lumberyard manager as referring to Mr.
Oberg’s succession of stories. We soon learned that his preaching consisted more
of telling various stories than of expounding the Scriptures. He was one who
believed Jesus spoke in parables in order to make his meaning more clear.
Actually, Jesus Himself said He used parables for precisely the opposite
reason—to hide the true meaning, so they could
not understand. Mr. Oberg had made it a practice to memorize just about
every story he ever heard—or could read.
He constantly used stories to illustrate his points. He had stories in his
memory by the thousands. As he himself claimed, he had stories to produce
laughter, stories of pathos, tearjerkers to make his audience weep—and these
especially he told with great acting ability. He continually urged me to acquire
a large stock of stories. But, as Will Rogers might have said, I just couldn’t
see it that way. That is not the way the original apostles preached.
NO Fruit Borne!
When the meetings came to the end of the planned duration, and absolutely
no “fruit” had been borne, except for the
nightly emotional jamboree, Mr. Oberg was reluctant to stop.
Sam Oberg and his young 25-year-old wife had been living with Mr. and Mrs. O. J.
Runcorn. I believe it was Mr. Runcorn who put up the $10 for one more month’s
hall rent. The total duration of the meetings ran either three or four months.
But even after the extended month, there were no conversions—no members added to
the Church—absolutely no visible results. The “pentecostals” had been enjoying a
continuous nightly show. There was nothing else to show for it.
I have stated before, that never once, when I was working with any of
these other ministers, were any results apparent. Never, in all those years, did
I know of a single conversion resulting from the work or preaching of any of
those ministers! Yet never did God fail to grant good results, with
people converted and baptized, when I was working alone. I do not say this with
any joy—for while I do rejoice and am grateful for the harvest God has produced
through my efforts, I have sorrowed and not found any pleasure or
rejoicing in the lack of fruit borne by the others. That has truly been one of
the disappointments we have had to suffer.
However, God has now changed all that. Today, as I write, thirty-nine years
later, God is abundantly blessing all His
ministers whom He now graciously has added to His Church, with conversions,
changed lives, healings, and continuous blessings. God’s Church
today is going forward in constantly
accelerating power—the true power of
God!
The Plots Progress
All through this campaign in Salem, personal relations between Mr. Oberg and Mr.
Ray and me were, on the surface, very friendly and cooperative. At least that
was my attitude of heart. But, under cover, their plots began to thicken.
After my father had died, at his farm north of Molalla, in April of 1933, my
wife had gone to the farm for a visit with my mother. I do not remember the
exact month, but I believe it must have been along in late May or early June.
One night she was disturbed and frightened to be awakened from a startling
dream, in which it seemed an angel was telling her! “GO to Salem at once! GO to
Salem at once! Enemies are plotting against your husband.”
She was so alarmed that she was afraid to chance the dream possibly meaning
nothing. She came immediately that day to Salem. At the same time, Mike Helms
had come to tell me that Mr. Oberg and Mr. Ray had gone around to a number of
the brethren in the valley, and set up an accusation against me, in a secret
plot to get me out of the ministry. They wanted the $3 weekly cash salary, and
the benefit of the other money being spent for our house rent and beans and
flour, etc.
They had brought enough pressure to force Milas Helms, as president of the
Conference, to call a business meeting for the following Sunday at the church in
Harrisburg.
“They plan to discredit you,” explained Mr. Helms, “by charging that your wife
is not a neat housekeeper—and then turning to the Biblical qualifications for an
Elder, for ruling well his own household. Since they will claim that you are not
ruling your wife sternly enough to be a better housekeeper, they will claim that
you are not Scripturally fit to be a minister, and must be put out of the
ministry.”
This came as a shocking surprise! Their accusation was false. My wife was
a good housekeeper, and I did rule my own family and household, and have
my children in subjection. But these men knew that most members did not know
all about our private family life, and would believe their lie.
These men had been so very friendly—to my face! I had not realized they
were enemies, speaking lies about me and my wife behind my back! Mike saw that I
was deeply hurt.
“The only thing I know that I can possibly do to help you,” continued Mr. Helms,
“is to give you the opportunity to speak first, if that will be any benefit. I
will be chairman of the meeting, and I can give you the chance to speak before
they do.”
I accepted the offer. You may be sure I prayed a great deal over it. Actually,
Mrs. Armstrong has always been a very clean housekeeper, and a very neat one,
with the exception that, during the years when we had four growing children in
the house—and at this time the youngest was 3, and the eldest 15—children did
leave a few things misplaced, on occasion, of course. But the charge Mr. Oberg
planned to make was simply an outrageous LIE!
Defending My Wife!
Sam Oberg made a fetish of stern neatness, punctuality, and certain
outward mannerisms designed to lead others to
think him righteous. Actually, although he was unreasonably stern with
his little 3-year-old daughter, he knew about as little of proper child
rearing as anyone I ever knew. He went to the extreme on stern demands for
certain mannerisms of decorum, and punished his child with over-severity, while
at the same time he completely neglected her in most other ways, failed to
properly teach and train her, and allowed her to do other things that should not
have been done.
There have been times, since I have been changed by God’s Spirit, that
righteous indignation arose instantly to white-hot heat. This was one of them.
But I prayed, and God helped me to put down anger. Also it came to mind what to
do. You may not think God put it there, but I do.
At Harrisburg on Sunday, Mr. Helms, after opening the meeting with prayer, gave
me the floor first. I think this was a surprise to Messrs. Oberg and Ray. I told
the Board members and other brethren assembled that I understood this meeting
had been called as an inquisition, to crucify me by false charges. I told them I
did not wish to defend myself. I told them I knew I was full of faults and
weaknesses, the same as each of them. I told them I had been striving, and with
God’s help, overcoming many of these human frailties and weaknesses and habits
since my conversion, some six years before—but I had not yet reached perfection.
I felt that each of them—and Messrs. Oberg and Ray—lived in glass houses, also,
in case any had a hating spirit of wishing to throw stones.
I stood there and confessed many specific faults and weaknesses, and asked them
if they would pray for me that I might have help
in overcoming them. Their eyes began to fill with tears—all but Oberg and Ray.
Then I quickly ended by saying that Mr. Oberg and Mr. Ray might say anything
they wished against me—but that I understood they planned to accuse my wife
falsely, and I then told them with all the power I had that God made me my
wife’s defender, and that if either of them dared to utter one word against my
wife, I would—if need be—close their mouths before they could finish the first
sentence. I did not specify the means. This was said with blazing eyes, and a
sharp voice!
I sat down.
Mr. Helms then called on Oberg and Ray. I do not remember what they said—if
anything. I do know that there was nothing left
for them to say against me—for I had said it all
myself before them. And they somehow must have known that I MEANT IT when
I said I would defend my wife’s honor. They were silent about her.
I do know the result. Their plot backfired! I was not discharged. Rather, the
brethren were still looking to me for leadership. But Mr. Oberg and Mr. Ray were
not through gunning for me. There was much more to come later!
Chopping Wood
I began to realize that Messrs. Oberg and Ray were secretly carrying on a
propaganda campaign against me. In talking privately to church brethren they
would drop little suggestions implying, at least indirectly, anything possible
against my character.
One day Milas Helms came to me with the offer to give me a very large tree on
his farm if I would chop it down, saw it up and split it for our winter’s fuel
supply. This tree was six feet in diameter at the trunk—a huge fir.
“Some of the brethren,” he said, “are getting the idea from Mr. Oberg and Mr.
Ray, that they have to do hard physical work on their farms, but that
you have it pretty soft merely preaching, visiting members and prospective
members, holding Bible studies, getting out the news bulletin. If you will spend
the next several days splitting up a year’s wood supply, I will see that the
word gets around about how energetically you are working. This will counteract
this propaganda better than a million words of denial.”
Somehow, it never seemed to dawn on the brethren, who listened to these subtle
innuendoes suggesting I was lazy, that Mr. Oberg devoted his time, also, to the
ministry and had no time for hard manual labor.
Gladly I accepted the offer, happy of the opportunity to provide fuel for my
family. I counted the rings on the tree. That tree was growing there when George
Washington was a boy! I was glad of the chance for the exercise and the fresh
country air, as well as the wood.
Again, the plot was foiled.
Cackling Hens
During the course of the Salem meetings Milas Helms brought us a number of eggs
one day—perhaps a dozen or so. “We have decided to start tithing our eggs, as
well as money income,” he said to us.
It was the off-laying season. This incident has been reported before in The
Plain Truth, but it properly belongs at this point in the Autobiography.
Even though it was out of season for Mike’s hens, they immediately went on an
egg-laying campaign. Never, it seemed, had they laid so many eggs.
After this incident was reported in The Plain Truth, one reader wrote
that she had begun to tithe her eggs and received the same result. Experience
repeatedly proves it pays to tithe!
Blessings in Disguise
Very shortly after our return from Astoria—possibly even before the meetings
began in Salem, or very soon after they started, the Santiam River—on whose
banks bordered the farms of Mike Helms and his brother-in-law, Yancy McGill—went
on a rampage, overflowing its banks in a complete flood.
It happened on a Friday or Friday night. Mike told me of it when he came for
church on the Sabbath. In fact, we attended a meeting with other brethren at
some town west of Salem that day. En route, Mike told me of the calamity. His
crops had been all planted. They were all under the water.
The reader can understand by this time that I felt a very deep affection for
Mike Helms. I felt as badly about this as if it had been my own fields. I
continued to express my deep concern and regret and sympathy.
“Mr. Armstrong,” said Mike in what seemed like a half gentle rebuke, “you seem
to be taking this a lot harder than I am. God says everything works
together for good, to them that love the Lord. I
love the Lord, and I try to serve Him and obey Him and I BELIEVE Him. I
am faithful in paying tithes. Right now I can’t see how a thing like this can
work together for my good. But I don’t need to see how. I know God means what He
says, and, in a way I can’t see right now, this is going to work for my good.
I’m just praising the Lord for it!”
I hope that God used me in teaching Mike many valuable lessons, but this was a
time when God used Mike to teach me a lesson I shall never forget. Perhaps, in
this way through The Plain Truth, Mike can be used to teach many
thousands of our readers a valuable lesson today, more than a quarter of a
century later.
After the flood subsided a very strange thing became apparent. On adjoining
farmland, without even a fence between, the crops were completely ruined. But
the damage stopped at the very line of Mike Helms’ and Yancy McGill’s
farms—all except one small patch of Mike’s land, which it was not too late to
replant. And because the floodwaters had ruined the crops of so many vegetable
gardeners, Mike’s and Yancy’s crops brought a higher-than-usual price that year!
And THAT is how this calamity worked for
good!
Chapter 29
“The Real Beginning of Present Work”
The meetings held by Elder S. A. Oberg and me in
the “Hollywood” district of Salem, Oregon, ended on July 1st, 1933. Just prior
to this date I received an invitation that was to result in the start of the
great worldwide Work of today.
This invitation came from Mr. and Mrs. Elmer E. Fisher. They were the couple who
had been brought into the church by our private Bible study in my room, the
night the storm prevented the meeting, during the tent campaign in Eugene, in
the summer of 1931. The Fishers were successful farmers, living seven miles west
of Eugene. Mr. Fisher was a member of the school board of the one-room Firbutte
school, eight miles west of Eugene on the old Elmira road. The Fishers asked me
to hold meetings in this country schoolhouse, inviting me to be their guest in
their farm home during the meetings.
Organizing Another Church
But I was still in the employ of the Oregon Conference of the Church of God. The
salary, as stated in the preceding chapter, was $3 per week. The Conference was
to have paid our house rent in Salem, and they supplied us with bulk foods—whole
wheat flour, raw sugar, beans. Farmer members supplied us with vegetables and
fruits. However, part of the time the Conference was unable to pay our house
rent, which was $7 per month, and my wife had to make up the deficit by doing
the washings for our landlady. In addition to this, I raised a vegetable garden
on our lot that summer.
Decision about the Firbutte school meetings near Eugene required a special
Conference Board meeting. About the same time the Fishers’ invitation came, the
way opened also for a series of meetings to be held in the little church
building we had rented in Harrisburg. The Board wanted to decide which
assignment was to go to me, and which to Elder Oberg.
But since the Harrisburg church seated about 150 people, and was located in a
town, while the Firbutte schoolhouse seated only 35, and was located 8 miles
from town, in a sparsely settled rural district where farmhouses were a
half-mile apart, the Board readily agreed to assign me to the country
schoolhouse. Elder Oberg was assigned to the church building in Harrisburg, at
his urgent request.
Meanwhile, the Salem meetings, after three months, ended on July 1st, 1933, with
no results. Mr. Oberg left immediately to make preparations for his Harrisburg
meetings.
After he left, Mrs. Armstrong and I visited a number of the people who had
attended regularly. They had not come into the church because of a few doctrinal
differences. Mr. Oberg, as explained earlier, had done nearly all the preaching
after the first week. The meetings had become altogether “pentecostal”—or, as
some might have stated it, “inspirational.” These doctrinal differences had not
been explained. I felt that I could explain them. As a result of nearly a week’s
work with these people in their homes, a number of them did accept the truth. We
thereupon accepted them into fellowship as members of the Church.
During these four or five days I rented a church building in the same general
part of Salem, at 17th and Chemeketa, for Sabbath services, and Thursday night
prayer meetings. After conference with the Board, it was arranged for Mr. A. J.
Ray to act as pastor of the new church at Salem. The members from the Jefferson
area agreed to attend at Salem, and this formed a church of around 30 or 35
members.
The church there lasted only a few months. The new “pentecostal” members
apparently dropped out after a few weeks, and the older members around the
Jefferson area went back to meeting in a country schoolhouse southwest of
Jefferson.
The START of the Present Work
As soon as arrangements were completed for starting the new church at Salem, I
hurried on down to the Fisher farm to start the new campaign west of Eugene.
Mr. Oberg was starting his new meetings in Harrisburg on Sunday night, July 9.
The Fishers and I decided to start the meetings at the Firbutte school the same
night. I arrived at the Fisher farm, leaving my wife and children at our home in
Salem, about July 5th or 6th.
This was the small—actually infinitesimal—start of what was destined to
grow to a major worldwide Gospel Work reaching multiple millions of people every
week.
But if small, it started with a burst of energy and inspiration. First, it
started with intensive and earnest private prayer. To the rear of the Fisher
farm home was a fair-sized hill. Running over this hilltop for exercise I
discovered a rock about 14 inches high. It was in a secluded spot. It came to
mind how Jesus had dismissed the multitudes, and gone up into a mountain
“apart” to pray—alone with God. I dropped to my knees before this rock,
which seemed just the right height to kneel before, and began praying earnestly
for the success of the meetings. It became sort of a daily pilgrimage, during my
stay at Fishers’, to this, which became my “prayer rock.” I’m sure that I drank
in much energy, spiritual strength and inspiration at that prayer rock.
Preparing for the meetings, I borrowed a typewriter. I think the Fishers
arranged this for me through one of their relatives. With carbon paper, I typed
out some thirty notices, announcing the meetings, and the topics of the sermons
for the first week or ten days.
There was no local newspaper in that localized school district. We could not
have afforded to purchase advertising space to announce the meetings, had there
been one. We could not afford to have handbills printed. But I took these typed
notices, and part of the time walking, part of the time with Mr. Fisher driving
me, and part of the time driving his car which he let me use, I visited all the
homes for some five miles around—farther, toward the west—telling the people
about the meetings, inviting them to attend, and leaving the typed
announcements.
Then we anxiously awaited Sunday night. Would the people come?
Twenty-seven people filled 27 of the 35 seats that first night. I spoke on
prophecy.
The second night attendance dropped to 19. But that night we had a bit of
excitement. An event occurred that greatly stimulated interest.
Heckled—Put on the Spot
In this neighborhood, near the schoolhouse, lived an elderly “Bible scholar”
with quite a reputation in the community. His name was Belshaw. He owned the
most extensive theological library in the district—probably the only one. The
neighbors regarded him as something of a Bible authority.
Mr. and Mrs. Fisher had warned me of one of his habits which was traditional in
the neighborhood. In Eugene, adjoining the University of Oregon campus, is a
theological seminary. Frequently advanced students were sent to one of these
country schoolhouses to hold a short series of meetings as part of their
training. It was Mr. Belshaw’s custom to attend one of the first two meetings,
and to put the speaker on the spot by heckling with a trick question.
It was Mr. Belshaw’s contention that these young men did not really have a
thorough knowledge of the Bible. He was sure that he did. He was adept at asking
questions the answer to which he was pretty sure the young preacher, or
preacher-to-be, did not know. If he could tangle the speaker up and expose his
ignorance, the neighbors would have a good laugh—and then fail to attend any
further meetings.
“If Mr. Belshaw can trap you with a trick question, no one will attend your
meetings after that,” warned Mr. Fisher. “He nearly always has a question these
young men can’t answer. But if you can answer him, or turn the tables on him,
the news will spread all over the neighborhood and the attendance will
increase.”
Mr. Belshaw had not put in an appearance the first night. Apparently he had
decided to first see whether I had a good crowd. But the second night, he was
one of the 19 present.
He interrupted my sermon.
“Mr. Armstrong,” he called out, “May I ask you a question?”
“Yes Sir, Mr. Belshaw,” I replied, “you may.”
“Have you been saved yet?”
Instantly I knew what his trap was. He expected me to say that I had been, of
course. Then he would have asked me if I did not know what Jesus said in Matthew
24:13. So I immediately quoted this scripture to him.
“Jesus said, in Matthew 24:13, that he that shall endure unto the end, the same
shall be saved. And in the very next verse, Jesus also said that His
gospel of the Kingdom—which is the
rule of God—the keeping of His
commandments—shall be preached in all the world as a witness. That is what I am
doing here tonight. Why do you not obey the
Commandments, as Jesus said, Mr. Belshaw?”
I knew that Mr. Belshaw argued against the Ten Commandments.
“I would, if I could see any love in them,” he
replied.
“Then you must be spiritually blind,” I said. “The
Ten Commandments are merely the ten points of the great Law of
love. The first four tell you how to love
God; the last six how to love thy neighbor. The Bible says
love is the fulfilling of the Law. The
Commandments came from God, and God is Love. He gave the Commandments. Do
you think God ever did anything that was not done in
love?”
Mr. Belshaw had no answer. He was silenced for the night. But he was not
through. He tried to trap me with the Scriptures three more times, in later
meetings.
The news did spread.
Tuesday night 36 were in attendance—one having to stand through the service.
Thursday night 35 came—every seat filled. Our highest attendance was 64—with 29
standing in the crowded little room. Attendance for the six weeks averaged
36—one more than seating capacity.
Heckled Again—and Again!
The final Sunday night, beginning the last week of the meetings, a young
minister who also fought against God’s Law came as a visitor. It was the custom
to ask visiting ministers to lead in prayer—a custom from which I have long
since learned to depart. I asked him to lead in prayer.
My sermon topic had been announced. He knew I was going to speak on the subject
of God’s Sabbath. In his prayer this young preacher did his best to belittle me,
discredit everything he thought I could say in my sermon, and give the
impression I was not preaching the gospel.
“I thank Thee, O Lord,” he prayed in a strong voice, “that we have a Christ
to worship, and not a day! Help us, O Lord, to preach Christ,
and Him crucified—not about days and laws. Help us to be like the Apostle Paul,
who said, ‘I am determined to know nothing among you, save Jesus Christ, and Him
crucified.’”
As he prayed, I realized he was trying to knock my sermon into some kind of a
cocked hat before I could start preaching it—and that unless I had the right
answer his prayer would cause many to be prejudiced, and to reject everything I
would say. As he prayed, I prayed desperately, asking God to put the
right answer in my mind. God did! Instantly I knew what to say.
This is another incident that has been mentioned before, on the air and in
The Plain Truth—but it properly belongs at this point in the Autobiography.
After his prayer I said to the audience:
“I am glad to know that Mr....(I don’t remember his name) says he is determined
to know nothing but Jesus Christ, and Him crucified, for I, too, am of the same
determination. I am going to preach Jesus
Christ, and Him crucified tonight! But to do that, one must first know
why Jesus Christ had to be crucified!
“I have just received a letter from my wife in Salem,” I continued. “She wrote
me that our elder little son, Richard David, 5 years old, has just preached his
first sermon. He, too, preached Christ crucified. He and another little boy were
playing by the side of our house. The window was open, and my wife overheard the
conversation. The other little boy had been using a lot of slang. Our Dickey was
exasperated. He picked up two sticks, crossing the longer with the shorter one.
“’Now you look here, Donald,’ said Dickey with flashing indignation. ‘Do you
know what this is?’
“’No,’ answered Donald.
“’Well, this here is a cross. And they had to put Jesus Christ up on a cross,
and drive nails through his hands and his feet, and nail him to that cross so he
would die, just because you have been saying gosh and darn and gee-whiz! Don’t
you say those words any more!’
“And I wonder,” I continued, “if people realize that
sin is the transgression of God’s Law—and
that Jesus Christ was crucified because you
people have been transgressing His holy Sabbath! Don’t
you profane what is holy to God any more! And now I propose to preach to
you Christ crucified tonight—and why He was
crucified!”
My young preacher guest, in white-hot anger, stomped out of the schoolhouse, to
the accompaniment of the laughter of the audience, all of whom apparently
delighted to see the tables turned on one who took a hostile advantage of a
friendly invitation to lead in prayer.
He had merely provided me with the most effective possible introduction for my
sermon
Belshaw’s Last Stand
The elderly Mr. Belshaw tried twice more, during those meetings, to entrap me
with the Scriptures. But each time, God through His Spirit put the correct
answer in my mind, and the right scriptures with which to reply.
Much later, after the meetings had closed, and we were holding meetings three
times a week at the next schoolhouse, 4 miles farther west—the Jeans school—he
made one final attempt. He staked everything on this, his last stand.
He waited until after the close of my sermon. He accosted me in the rear of the
schoolroom just as people were starting to leave.
“Mr. Armstrong,” he said in a loud voice, “May I ask you a question?”
This acted like an electric shock on everyone present. Mr. Belshaw’s question
had stirred much excitement. The two or three who already had gone out the door
rushed back in. All circled around Mr. Belshaw and me.
“Yes sir, Mr. Belshaw—you most certainly may try once again,” I responded, and
by this time with a confident smile.
“Well, Mr. Armstrong, have I not heard you mention the scriptures stating that
the Apostle Paul told the Gentile converts that he had not shunned to declare
unto them the whole gospel—and that he had not held anything back that
was profitable to them?”
“That is correct,” I smiled.
“And have you not also said that no nation ever kept the Sabbath, except
the Israelites—that is, that these Gentiles had not been Sabbath keepers
before Paul taught them?”
“That is also correct!”
“All right,” pursued Mr. Belshaw confidently. He was sure he had the best of me
this time. “IF the Sabbath law is binding on us today, then it was
binding on those Gentiles as soon as they became Christians. They were never
Sabbath keepers prior to conversion. IF it is binding on us, then
it was necessary for Paul to teach them to keep it. Now can you show me any
scripture where the Apostle Paul ever taught or commanded the Gentiles to keep
the Sabbath?” He felt he had delivered a telling blow—unanswerable, that would
finally discredit me and what I preached once and for all! He was shocked at my
answer.
“Yes sir, Mr. Belshaw!” I answered without any hesitation. “I certainly can! But
before I do, I will now ask you a question: If I do show you where the
Apostle Paul commanded the Gentile converts to keep the Sabbath, then that is
irrefutable proof that you are commanded to keep
it today. Now before I show you this command, I demand to know this: IF I show
where Paul commanded the Gentiles to keep the Sabbath,
will you now give up your rebellion, and surrender to keep it also?”
He looked at me completely dumbfounded. He had been sure there was no command in
the New Testament from Paul to Gentiles to keep the Sabbath. My answer caused
him to back up, so startled, he almost fell over backward. It literally
staggered him. Now he was not so sure of himself. I appeared very confident. He
wasn’t sure whether I was bluffing. But he was afraid to take the chance.
“NO, I won’t!” he snapped, and angrily stomped
out of the schoolhouse.
I do hasten to add, however, that aside from these four skirmishes where Mr.
Belshaw, as was his custom with all preachers coming to the neighborhood, tried
to trap me, he was most friendly toward me. He respected me. He refused to
agree, but he did respect me. We had many friendly visits together. Mr. Fisher
and I called on him three or four times, but, much as he liked to argue
Scripture, he usually avoided the subject when we came around.
After he left I did show the rest of the people present where Paul did command
the gentiles to keep the Sabbath. My challenge to Mr. Belshaw was not a bluff.
Chapter 30
“The World Tomorrow Broadcast Begins”
The idea of a literal, yet invisible devil of supernatural powers is looked upon
askance by the “liberal” clergy, and by most of the so-called “educated” of
today. But you can prove that the Holy Bible is
in actual fact the inspired very Word of the
Eternal God and Creator. And the Bible reveals that there is an existent devil!
It reveals also that he is, in these last days, exceedingly angry and stirred to
action against the true servants of God, who keep God’s commandments, and have
the faith of Jesus Christ (Rev. 12:12,17).
An Angry Devil
It is also revealed that Satan’s method is to deceive, and that he and
his demons have power to put thoughts, suggestions, or impulses into
unsuspecting human minds—unless we are alertly on guard against it.
The unseen Master Competitor had instilled into the hearts of associated
ministers a spirit of competition against me, even before the actual start of
this present Work of God in that little Firbutte schoolhouse.
The very second time in my life I ever “preached”—if those early efforts could
be called that—an opposing minister had appeared, and devoted most of his sermon
to an effort to tear down what I had preached in the first sermon of the day,
just before his sermon. Another minister had tried to prevent my articles from
appearing further in The Bible Advocate organ of The Church of God. A
plot had been hatched by two ministers, during the Salem, Oregon, meetings, by
false accusations, to discredit me and get me off the payroll of the Oregon
Conference of this church.
And now, at the very start of what was to continue steadily expanding into a
worldwide force directed and empowered by God, Satan tried, more viciously than
ever, to stop this Work while it was still small. Surely no activity could have
started smaller. The things of God, when the Eternal works through human
instruments, must start the very smallest—like the grain of mustard seed. But
they grow. No power, no grouping of power, whether satanic or human, can stop or
prevent God’s purpose! Satan may be far more
powerful than man. But God is incomparably more powerful than Satan, and the
devil can do no more than God allows.
I suppose these opposing ministers thought they were doing right. There
is a way that seems right to a man. God says these ways are wrong, and end in
death. But a deceived man cannot comprehend that. I do not wish to impute
motives. I could not read these men’s hearts. But I do know that, regardless of
intent, their actions sought at every turn to destroy
what has proved, by its fruits, to be the true Work
of God! Today,
far more powerful and formidable human powers are being marshalled against it.
Today, just as the Pharisees and Sadducees hated the Gospel Jesus was
preaching, so modern organized churchianity hates that same identical
Gospel now pouring like an avalanche over every continent on earth, preparing
the way before Christ’s coming to rule all nations with
God’s laws.
Thus prophecy is being fulfilled!
The “Pork” Obsession
The opposition through the spring and summer of 1933 had come through the two
ministers who had moved up to Oregon from California, Elders Sven (Sam) A.
Oberg, and A. J. Ray. Mr. Ray was developing, through the summer, a sort of
obsession against the eating of “unclean” meats—pork, ham, bacon, seafoods, and
those labelled “unclean” in Leviticus 11. The emphasis he continually put on
this doctrine, almost with vehemence, rather gave the impression that, in his
eyes, the eating of pork, which came in for his greatest condemnation, was the
greatest of sins.
About the time the Firbutte school meeting started, July 9, 1933, Mr. Ray began
aiming his “anti-pork” guns directly at me. He demanded that I state definitely
my stand on this question. I had written him a Biblical exposition of the
subject, showing that it was a physical food question, rather than a spiritual
or Gospel subject. Unless a man broke the tenth commandment by lusting after it,
the eating of pork did not violate the Ten Commandments, which constitute a
spiritual law.
I quoted Mark 7:15-23, where Jesus explained that sin is a spiritual
principle—that which is coming out of the heart of a man—evil thoughts
leading to actions of adultery, murder, theft, deceit, blasphemy,
pride—violations of the Ten Commandments; but that nothing from without,
entering in his mouth, defiles the man spiritually. Jesus was
speaking of spiritual principles, and
sin as a spiritual offense.
I explained that I was well aware that the unclean animals were unclean even
before the Flood—not suddenly pronounced so by Moses. I also explained that I
was well aware of the fact they are still unclean, and unfit for the physical
digestive process; that Peter’s vision of the sheet was given, not to
cleanse unclean animals, but to show Peter that he should not regard a Gentile
man as unclean (Acts 10:28).
Also that I well understood that I Timothy 4:1-5 did not make unclean foods
digestible and healthful, but only those which are “creatures of God,” and
“sanctified” which means set apart by the Word of God and prayer.” The Word of
God does not sanctify the flesh of swine, or set
it apart for holy use—but rather forbids its use for food. Undoubtedly millions
of people have contracted disease from eating unclean meats.
But, I pointed out, it still was a physical
violation, not a spiritual sin. The Kingdom of God (Rom. 14:17) is not meat and
drink; but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit—spiritual
things.
And, I explained, I was commissioned to preach to the outside world The
Kingdom of God, which is not preaching meat
and drink. I explained that neither I nor any of my family ate unclean meats;
that I taught all converts not to eat unclean meats, as a matter of good health.
But I asked him if he could show me by the Bible where I was in error, or any
Scriptural commission to preach sermons to the unconverted on the eating of
pork. I told him I refused to make this food question a subject for sermons to
the unconverted, unless he could show me Scriptural grounds for so doing.
He was unable to reply. Instead, he set out with renewed zeal to discredit me
and get me ousted from the ministry.
There was a ministers’ meeting one Sunday afternoon, about four weeks after the
Firbutte school meetings had started, at the Jeans schoolhouse, four miles west
of Firbutte. Both Mr. Ray and Mr. Oberg came to talk to me. They were not
friendly. Mr. Ray, especially, was wrathful.
Hatching Another Plot
Then a general business meeting of the state Conference was called for the
following Sunday, at the church building in Harrisburg. I was instructed not to
let the Fishers or any of the people in the Firbutte or Eugene district know
about it.
I well knew the purpose of the meeting. I was having, in the one-room country
schoolhouse out in this sparsely settled rural district, a larger attendance
than Mr. Oberg was having in the larger church building in the town of
Harrisburg. I already had three or four conversions, he had none.
At this meeting with Mr. Ray and Mr. Oberg, they strenuously objected to my
baptizing new converts before I had preached to them against pork, and
had evidence they had given it up. I knew that Messrs. Oberg and Ray intended to
use this against me in the business meeting, as their latest try to get me
ousted from the payroll.
I must repeat that I was receiving a salary of $3 per week! The farmer members
provided my family in Salem with a certain amount of food, in addition to the
salary.
I have not mentioned it before, but in April, 1933, during the Salem meetings, I
had started the issuing of a monthly Bulletin for members of the
conference. It was mimeographed. At Salem, I had hired the Bulletin
printed at the local mimeograph shop. At the Fisher home, after starting the
Firbutte school meetings, I had borrowed a typewriter, and the Eugene mimeograph
dealer permitted me to use one of his mimeographs without charge—though I had to
buy the stencils and paper. These costs were paid by the Conference treasury.
After we started the meetings west of Eugene, some people in that area had begun
giving me small amounts of money occasionally, which I began to use for the
expenses and mailing of this conference Bulletin.
A Letter to My Wife
During this week, between the conference with the two ministers and the business
meeting at Harrisburg, I wrote a letter to my wife. I was temporarily
discouraged, and I was exasperated and indignant at the tactics of these
ministers, professing to be the ministers of Jesus Christ. I simply felt I had
to blow off the steam of righteous indignation. Some of the human nature
asserted itself.
I really “got it off my chest” in a 6-page single-spaced letter I typed to my
wife on this borrowed typewriter. Then, after “getting it out of my system” I
folded up the letter. But I did not mail it. I must have neglected to destroy
it, for I have run across the letter in an old dusty file. I had refrained from
sending it to my wife, for I knew she would reprove me for “griping.” I felt I
had “murmured” like the grumbling children of Israel being led out of Egypt
under Moses.
Nevertheless, although some of this letter reflects a humanness of which I was
ashamed, it does give an account, written at the moment, of the very feeling
of the situation.
I did go up the hill to my prayer rock, and get the complaining out of my heart.
There it came to my mind that I should prepare a written defense of my
action in baptizing the four so far converted at Firbutte.
But the truth is, God did prosper the work started in the Eugene area.
With the Church then being raised up at Eugene, He DID start a work through us
which He could, and did, prosper! He is still
prospering it in a mighty way!
The “All-Day Wrangle”
Mr. Fisher drove me to the business meeting at Harrisburg on Sunday morning. But
he, being excluded, returned home.
Both Mr. Ray and Mr. Oberg had their fighting tempers on. This time they were
determined to have me put out of the Conference. One of them preached an hour
and a half or two hours in the morning—until noon—in one long tirade against me.
The other followed in the afternoon session, with another two-hour denunciation
of my baptizing people on repentance and faith, before they had been
given a complete education about God’s Law, and before they had been instructed
against eating pork. As usual, not much Scripture was given—but emotional
arguments based on human reasoning, and worked up to a high pitch.
I knew they had swayed some of the brethren into believing I had done wrong in
baptizing these people according to the Bible teaching.
I then asked to be allowed to defend myself, and present the Scriptural reason
why I baptized as I did, according to Scriptual
teaching. Immediately Messrs. Oberg and Ray were on their feet in
protest.
“If Brother Armstrong is allowed to speak, he will take up too much time,” they
argued.
“I anticipated that,” I replied. “I have my reply to these long speeches by
Brother Ray and Brother Oberg typewritten. I have timed it. It takes exactly 15
minutes to read it. Are you going to allow these men hours—all morning
and afternoon—to accuse me, and then refuse me even 15 minutes to answer their
accusations, and show by
the Scriptures, who is right?”
On promise I would not take up more than 15 minutes’ time, I was allowed to read
my defense.
In brief it was this: The natural, unconverted mind cannot understand the Bible,
and is not subject to the Law of God, neither indeed can be. There is no
promise in the Bible God will give His Holy Spirit to anyone prior to
baptism—even though He did in the case of Cornelius (Acts 10:44-48). God’s order
is, 1) repent, 2) be baptized as a symbol of
faith in Christ, and 3) receive the Holy Spirit.
Repentance means unconditional surrender to God,
and to God’s will and His way, or whatever He commands. It means having the
rebellion in the human heart against obedience to God
broken. It means utter submission to God,
and to whatever He instructs in His Word. Those I had baptized had
repented.
In Matthew 28:19-20, God’s order is 1) go and preach the Gospel (compare with
Mark’s version, same words of Jesus, Mark 16:15); 2) baptize those who
repent and believe; then, after that, 3) teach
them to observe the commandments. Since people
cannot fully comprehend the truth of the Commandments and the teaching of the
Bible until after they receive the Holy Spirit,
and since there is no promise God will give the Holy Spirit until after baptism,
therefore I baptized them after repentance and faith, just as the Bible
instructs—and then, after laying on hands with prayer for their receiving
of the Holy Spirit (Acts 8:12, 14-17; Acts 19:5-6; I Tim. 4:14; II Tim. 1:6,
etc.), I taught them God’s Commandments, and not to eat unclean meats, etc.
Every convert I had ever baptized had obeyed all the truths as soon as I taught
them. They were submissive, teachable, yielded to God, hungry for His truth. The
knowledge of the Lord is something to teach
converted people whose minds are opened by God’s Spirit. We must continually
grow in this knowledge.
The Double Cross
As soon as I finished, Mr. Fisher’s car had arrived to take me back to the
Firbutte schoolhouse for the evening meeting. I was forced to leave immediately.
Under the circumstances, I asked the Board members and ministers if they would
postpone any action until another meeting when I could be present. To this they
agreed.
About half of the brethren present were very plainly on my side. As I left the
church, this half rose and walked outside to assure me of their sympathy, and
that they would resist any action against me.
But as soon as I and all who would support me had gone outside, Messrs. Ray and
Oberg broke their word! They immediately offered a resolution that I be
required, if I remained in the conference, to baptize people their way instead
of the Scriptural way, and those remaining inside the church building were
swayed into voting for it.
As soon as I heard of the action taken, I immediately wrote a letter cancelling
the $3 per week salary, and suggesting they give it to Messrs. Oberg and Ray. I
did not resign from the Conference. But I refused further salary.
My wife was in complete accord with me.
“As for me and my house,” I then said firmly, “we shall serve the Eternal our
God, and Him only shall we serve. If
men pay us a salary—even as small as $3 per
week—we have now learned we must preach only what men
order us to preach. If we are to work for
God we must look to God as our
employer, and trust Him to supply our every
material need. And then,” I added, “if we fail to serve Him as HE commands, He
will stop our income.” I wrote my wife to this effect.
It may seem like a step that required great courage to give up even a $3-a-week
income, when that was all we had. Of course, a few offerings were by this time
being handed to me personally—but they were usually a dollar or less, and
averaged less than the $3 weekly salary. But it really did not require any real
courage. My wife and I knew we were obeying and serving God. We knew
He was using us. The fruits being borne were
loud testimony of this. God had prepared us for relying solely on Him by many
miraculous answers to prayer. Therefore we knew, in perfect faith, God
would supply our need.
The Crucial Test
Actually this was the turning point of my whole life—far more crucial than I
realized at the time.
This was the crossroads—the final pivotal, crucial test before the living Christ
began opening the doors of mass communication through which
God’s Work at last could come to life
after centuries of sleeping, and go forth in mighty power to all the world,
preparing the way before Christ’s return to earth as Ruler over all nations.
I did not fully realize, then, that this was a crucial turning point in the
history of the Church of God. My wife and I did not leave the Church. This was
God’s Church. Of that I was not, then, completely sure. They came closer
to Biblical truth than any other—but I was seriously disturbed by their lack of
power and accomplishment.
What actually was happening, though we did not understand it then, was that a
new era was dawning in the history of the Church
of God. The words of Christ are quoted in the 2nd and 3rd chapters of the Book
of Revelation, foretelling the history of God’s Church in seven successive eras,
or phases. Events since that time have revealed this to be the era in which
Christ’s message is to go worldwide just before the end of this age.
Mrs. Armstrong and I continued to fellowship with these brethren. I continued to
work with them, and with their ministers, as far as that was possible. The lay
brethren continued to look to me for the leadership for getting the Work of God
going to the world. But from that “all-day wrangle” I was independent of them
and their ministers, financially. From that time I was dependent, solely, on
God. We did not ask or solicit financial contributions from any except those who
voluntarily became financial co-workers with us. And that has been the policy
ever since.
But, from that moment when we began to rely solely on God for financial support
not only, but also for guidance, direction, and results, the Work began a
phenomenal yearly increase of nearly 30% for the next 35 years. It doubled in
size, scope and power on the average of every 22/3 years. It multiplied eight
times every eight years—64 times in 16 years. Today it is an immensely larger
and greater Work than then.
WHY has this Work leaped from virtually nothing to worldwide power
and scope, multiplying itself continually over and over again?
Certainly I had not the ability, the resources within myself, to have planned,
directed, and accomplished anything remotely like the phenomenal development
into the worldwide enterprises that is reality today.
In my twenties I had been ambitious, self-confident—conceited, supposing
I would be doing great things. But that self-inflation
had been punctured and utterly deflated. I had been brought down to earth with a
sickening thud. I had been forced to realize, in retrospect, that I had been
merely “running around in circles,” unable to develop any organization or take
an executive job requiring the management and supervision over others. I had
come to see myself as “a hunk of burned-out junk,” unworthy to be cast aside on
the scrap pile.
Conversion had deflated ego and replaced self-assurance
with the confidence that is
faith in God!
And this crisis was the turning point when my wife and I actually,
in practice, began relying solely on
God—no longer on either self or
men!
Until those two milestones had been hurdled, God could not open
the big
doors! The difference
between THIS Work of God and others is just that—this is the Work
of GOD and not of
men. It started, and continued, to rely on
God, not on man.
I had been changed; I had seven years of intensive Bible study and growth in
Biblical knowledge behind me. I had five years
of experience in preaching. I had become quite experienced in relying on God,
instead of on self or on humans. Yet, notwithstanding, as long as I was
employed by men who were over me, and who had
proved to be susceptible of being influenced and swayed by false ministers, into
acting contrary to God’s Word, I was not yet free to
rely on God
alone, and to be completely
faithful to His Word!
The living Christ simply could not start opening the doors for His
Work, until I was free to rely solely on Him!
I was now free! This final crucial test had
proved that I would be faithful to God and His
Word, even at cost of giving up everything!
I know of evangelists who probably are sincere in supposing they are serving
God—and who would like to be free to proclaim many truths they now hold
back. They reason something like this: “If I go farther, and preach those
things, I’ll lose all my support. I’d be cut off from the ministry altogether.
Then I could preach nothing. Better serve God by
preaching as much of the Biblical truth as possible, than to be prevented
from preaching anything.”
They are relying on the financial support of men,
or of organizations of men. Anyone in that predicament is the
servant of man, and not
of God, whether he realizes it or not.
A man accosted me as I was walking along the gravel country road, between the
Firbutte School and the Jeans School in the fall of 1933.
“You won’t get far,” he said. “You’re preaching the straight truth of the Bible.
That offends people. The Bible is like a sharp two-edged sword. It cuts—it
reproves, corrects, rebukes—people won’t support that kind of preaching! You
won’t get far.”
But I was not relying on the support of people.
If people paid me, I would have to serve
people. If I were to serve God, I would have to
look solely to God for support!
Of course God does work through human instruments. But I had to rely on
God to lay it on the hearts of people to support
the kind of preaching that obeys Isaiah 58:1 by crying
aloud—lifting up my voice and showing the people their
sins!
Never was a more important decision made than
that decision to cut loose entirely from relying on men,
and instead, relying solely on God—not only for truth, and for direction, but
also for support! That’s why we never solicit
the public for contributions.
Very quickly after that decision the living Christ began opening doors!
Very small ones at first. Then additional small ones—then a
big door—then more and more of them!
And, to finance what He opened before me, He added, slowly, gradually, but
consistently to the little family of Co-Workers who voluntarily wanted to
have a part in God’S Work—in changing hearts,
changing human nature, preparing for Christ’s coming to
change and SAVE the WORLD!
But I could not invite people to become Co-Workers. I could welcome
them with gratitude when God caused them
voluntarily to become Co-Workers with Christ—but until they took the
initiative I could not ask them. No other activity on earth is operated like
this—and perhaps none has grown so surely.
The First Broadcast
The six weeks’ meetings in the one-room Firbutte schoolhouse came to a close on
Sunday night, August 20, 1933. A total of more than 20 had come with us—but this
apparently included the ten members of the Fisher and Ellis families, members of
the Church before the meetings started.
The October 1, 1933 Bulletin carries the report that “with the Fisher and
Ellis families, more than 20 signified their desire to establish a new
Sabbath-keeping Church of God in this district.”
In September—very soon after rejecting a salary and being controlled and
muzzled by men, the living Christ began opening doors for the
mass-proclaiming of His Gospel. It was then that
someone brought to my attention the fact that the local radio station at Eugene,
KORE, then the very smallest minimum-power of 100 watts, had a morning
devotional program scheduled, but that they were having difficulty getting local
ministers to conduct the program. It was free time, carried by the station as a
public service sustaining program of 15 minutes, 7:45 to 8:00 a.m.
Immediately I went to the radio station. A woman secretary told me she felt sure
they would be glad to have me take the program for a week. I was to call back
later for the exact date.
On my second call I was assigned the week of October 9th.
October 9th was surely a great big day in my life—the day of my very first
experience before a microphone, ON the AIR!
I took this opportunity very seriously. It was an opportunity to speak to
several hundred people at once! I had never
spoken to that many before.
I spent the preceding week preparing rather extensive notes and script. I might
never again have such an opportunity, so I decided to strike directly at the
very heart of the Gospel of the Kingdom of God. Since the Kingdom of God is
based on the promises made to Abraham, I began, on Monday morning’s program with
the promises made to Abraham.
Mike-Fright
I had heard a lot about everybody getting mike-fright the very first time on the
air. I wondered if I would experience this. It was probably the most exciting
adventure of my life.
On Monday morning, I arrived at the radio studio early. The announcer did not
come into the studio until ten or fifteen seconds before 7:45.
Mike-fright? Why, I thought to myself, I’m calm and cool as a cucumber!
“Listen!” I said quietly but quickly to the announcer. “I’ve never been on the
air before. If you have any instructions, you’d better give them to me in a
hurry. We have only 10 seconds!”
He looked at me disdainfully, and a little bored.
“Just stand up there in front of the mike, and start talking as soon as I
announce you,” he replied.
About three seconds later he announced me. While he was giving this very brief
announcement on the air, I thought, “Well I don’t have any mike-fright. I’m sure
glad of that!”
Then, for the first time in my life, I said into the microphone:
“Greetings, friends!”
But suddenly something had happened! Before those two words were finished,
something had hit me like a jolt! Something had started my heart pounding like a
sledge-hammer! I felt myself gasping for breath! During those opening two words,
mike-fright had seized me!
I struggled with all my might to control my hard breathing so it would not be
audible over the air. It was agony, but I concentrated my mind with all the
strength I had on two things—to carefully say the words of my typed script as
naturally as I could, and to control my hard breathing so it did not sound.
After two or three minutes I was making good progress in gaining control. After
some five minutes my breathing had returned to normal, and I was so absorbed in
getting this vital message over to the largest audience of my life—even though
that audience was invisible—that I forgot all about the mike-fright.
The Surprising Response
The second morning there was no mike-fright. I was beginning to gain assurance,
and able to speak a little more naturally.
It must have been about Thursday morning that the announcer told me the station
owner, Mr. Frank Hill, wanted to see me in his office later in the morning.
He had received several letters and telephone calls from listeners, requesting
copies of my talks. I had offered no literature of any kind. I had invited no
mail response.
“This is rather surprising,” said Mr. Hill. “We never had any response of any
kind, before, from this morning devotional program. They told me you had not
invited any. Yet it has been coming. I listened in on you this morning to see
what was causing it. You have an excellent radio voice, and a way of delivering
your message that arouses interest and holds an audience.
“Now, Mr. Armstrong,” he continued, “I want to suggest that you work out a
regular Sunday morning Church service, condensed into a half hour. I’d like to
put that on as a regular sustaining program—free time—but I can’t do that
without offering equal time to every church in town. However I will sell you the
time at less than bare cost of operation, $2.50 per half hour.”
And that suggestion from Mr. Frank Hill is what
put the idea of the World Tomorrow program in my
mind!
Altogether 14 letters and telephone calls came in to the radio station
requesting copies of the messages I had broadcast.
I thanked him, and told him I would see what I could do.
But, $2.50 every week! WOW! That was almost as much as my entire salary
had been! And I had just previously renounced even that small salary!
Today, $2.50 per half-hour broadcast seems incredibly small. We have to pay far
more than that per minute on stations today! But it seemed like an
insurmountable barrier then.
Yet I knew this was God’s
Work not mine. I was only an instrument. God had promised to supply every
need.
God had opened the door of mass evangelism! I
knew He wanted us to walk through that door. I knew He would somehow supply that
$2.50 every week. I knew also that we had to do our part, not lie down, do
nothing, and expect God to do it without any effort from us.
I was continuing to hold meetings at the Firbutte schoolhouse, twice
weekly—Sabbath afternoons and Thursday evenings.
Then, on October 21st, at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Ed Smith, just across the
road from the Jeans school, 4 miles west of Firbutte, a new Church of God was
organized, with Mr. E. E. Fisher as deacon, and myself as Pastor. Meetings
continued from that date, three times a week, Tuesday and Thursday evenings, and
Sabbath afternoons. Attendance was averaging 22. A first action of the new
Church was the decision of whether to go ahead with the broadcast. These new
members and the lay brethren of the Oregon Conference all approved it joyfully
as an effective evangelistic activity of the Church.
So I sent out a letter to the small mailing list of members we had for The
Bulletin. I asked for pledges from brethren to help raise this $2.50 per
week. But I asked this only of God’s people—brethren in Christ—not
of the public! In due time pledges came back for just
half enough—about $1.35 per week! We decided we
would trust God in faith for the other $1.15 per week!
It was arranged with Mr. Hill to start the new half-hour program every Sunday,
in the new year, 1934.
Chapter 31
“The Plain Truth Is Published”
Surely nothing could have started smaller. Born in adversity in the very depths
of the Depression, this Work of God was destined to grow to worldwide power.
But I did not realize its destiny then. There were no illusions of grandeur. It
was not through any planning of mine that the little three-point campaign then
being launched was to expand into its present global scope and influence.
Divinely Planned
Most people are conscious only of what they see—of that which is material. They
fail to see the invisible Hand of God in the
working out of things.
All I had in mind, as The World Tomorrow program was being planned late
in 1933, was to serve God faithfully wherever He should lead in that local
territory of Lane County, Oregon.
It is true that “where there is no vision, the people perish.” But few people
realize that the source of true vision is God. There has been vision
behind the planning and phenomenal growth of this great work. But this is the Work
of God, not of
man; and the vision and the planning has been that of Jesus Christ, the active,
living Head of this Work, not of man.
Even in earlier business experience, I had always looked ahead. It had become
habitual with me to think of expanding. I had envisioned my laundry advertising
service becoming national in scope. I did have a vision of this broadcasting
being expanded.
But, I most certainly did not sit down, in the fall of 1933, and lay out
detailed plans in my human mind for a great, powerful, earth-encircling program
to reach and influence the millions in every nation. There was no thought, then,
of a gigantic radio program, and a publishing enterprise, starting in Eugene,
Oregon, but soon expanding to every inhabited continent; there certainly was no
thought of the massive television program of today (television was virtually
unheard of until some 12 years later, after the end of World War II); nor was
there the remotest idea that we should, at the proper time along the way,
organize and build a college for training the personnel for a rapidly growing
organization.
No, this Work, in the sense of the magnitude to which it has developed, was not
of my planning or vision. This is the
very Work of
God, and the vision behind it has been that of
Jesus Christ—the planning His! I was merely His
instrument.
A Powerful DOOR Opens
What actually was happening has been written for almost 1900 years. Of course no
one—least of all myself—had the remotest realization of it then. Jesus Christ
said: “I will build my Church.” He built it for a purpose—to become God’s
instrument in carrying on God’s Work
fulfilling His purpose here below.
God began the Work of His Church through Christ. Jesus said that He
Himself was powerless—it was the power of
God’s Holy Spirit working in His personal human body which really did the
work.
But after His ascension to heaven, that same Work
of God was carried on through the Spirit of God
working in the collective body of God’s Church.
That is why the true Church is called “the body
of Christ” (Eph. 1:22-23).
God sent His Message—the good news of His
Kingdom—of His reign—His
government—His divine
family—to mankind by Jesus Christ. Jesus taught this Message to His
disciples, who became the apostolic leaders of His Church as it started out.
This Message from God—Christ’s Gospel—was also
recorded in the Scriptures of the New Testament. A few accepted that Message,
and it changed their lives.
But men generally rejected the Gospel—they crucified Jesus for teaching it!
Those who preached it were persecuted—martyred!
During the first 19-year time cycle of the preaching of the Gospel—A.D. 31 to
A.D. 50—the Gospel was being preached primarily to Jews. The Jews had understood
about the Kingdom of God. They were familiar with the prophecies of Isaiah
9:6-7, of how the Messiah would come to set up the Kingdom and government of God
over all the world. What the Jews did not understand was that Jesus’ First
Coming, as a babe born of the virgin Mary, was to qualify, by resisting and
conquering Satan, to replace Satan on the throne of the earth as well as to
announce that Kingdom to appear some 1,900 years later. And to pay with his own
life’s blood for the penalty of human sins.
Consequently, the twelve apostles devoted their preaching to the Jews primarily
to proving that Jesus was the prophesied Messiah. The opposition against the
spread of the Church was almost wholly from within the Jewish community, denying
the messiahship of Jesus. The twelve apostles were eyewitnesses to the fact that
Jesus was the true Messiah. They had been with him continually for some three
and a half years before His crucifixion and forty days after His crucifixion
until His ascension to God’s throne in heaven.
But the preaching of the Apostle Paul and other apostles to the people of the
Gentile world was the very gospel Jesus Himself had proclaimed—the good news of
the future coming of the Kingdom of God and world rulership of Christ. The
Gentiles had not heard of the Kingdom of God before.
Somewhere around the middle of the first century, a violent controversy had
begun to develop as to whether the gospel to be preached was merely a gospel
about Christ—of His Messiahship and death as our Savior—or the very message God
sent by Jesus as the divine messenger with the message of the true gospel (good
news) of the coming Kingdom of God.
Evidence of this is the letter the Apostle Paul wrote about this time to the
churches in Galatia, in which he warned that they had already turned to a
different gospel (Gal. 1:6-7).
At that time a most amazing thing occurred. The history regarding the Church—its
Gospel and its development—seems almost totally to have disappeared. It was as
if a curtain had been rung down on all historic accounts of church history until
about A.D. 150. When this curtain was lifted after that lost century, in the
records of church history, an altogether different gospel was being
preached—merely the so-called gospel of men about the Christ, the Messenger, but
not proclaiming His message.
Except for the one true Church, persecuted, falsely accused, condemned,
subjected to martyrdom over the centuries by the rising great false church (Rev.
17:5), the true gospel—the good news of the coming Kingdom of God was not
preached to the world for 100 19-year time-cycles. Then, in 1953, God
miraculously opened the door before me of the most powerful radio station on
earth—reaching all Europe and Britain, Radio Luxembourg.
Christ foretold that, just before the end
of this world—this age—this man-built society rejecting the
laws and ways of God—His very same Gospel
of God’s Kingdom “shall be preached” (Matt.
24:14) and also published (Mark 13:10) “in all the world for a witness
unto all nations.”
In the light of fast-developing, world-encircling events, it became apparent
that what was actually happening in 1934 was precisely this: Jesus Christ was
opening the gigantic mass-media door of radio
and the printing press for the proclaiming of His same original Gospel
to all the world!
On that tiny-powered radio station KORE—in that infant mimeographed Plain
Truth—was going out an astonishing Message! Just as the public, 1,900
years before, had been astonished at Christ’s Gospel (Mark 1:14-15,22),
so were those who began to hear this same Gospel
in 1934. It was so utterly different from what had been palmed off as
“Christianity.”
The “Three-Point” Campaign
And so it was, that when Mr. Frank Hill, owner of KORE, urged me to produce a
half-hour Sunday program, consisting of a regular church service condensed into
a half hour, using radio techniques, that I went to work on the idea with zest
and enthusiasm.
This seemed big, compared to past activities. I
saw in it immediately an opportunity to reach many more people with God’s
truth.
Not only did I set out with a will to produce the radio program, but I realized
there must be follow-up (and I do not mean a money-soliciting follow-up) if this
new effort were to be resultful.
Immediately the idea came of realizing, at last, the dream I had cherished since
1927—the publication of a magazine, to be called The Plain Truth. Back in
1927 I had made up an entire “dummy” of this proposed magazine. I had even
written articles for it. I even had a professional letter artist design a front
cover idea in 1927—and I had tried designing one myself. But we had never had
the “wherewithal” to start publishing a magazine.
This ambition to publish The Plain Truth was the natural outgrowth of
earlier business experience. Much of my 20 years of advertising experience had
been spent in the class magazine field.
Now, at last, I realized that this magazine was a “must” as a follow-up
for the radio broadcast. Yet we were no more able, financially, than we had been
in 1927.
Necessity is the mother of invention. If we could not afford to publish a
high-quality, professional-appearing magazine, I would simply convert the
mimeographed “BULLETIN” I had been issuing for our scattered church brethren in
the Willamette Valley into The Plain Truth.
My idea for this magazine, from the start, had been to publish a magazine,
not for church members, but for the general public—the unconverted and
unchurched—an evangelistic-type publication to bring to the world God’s
truth—making it plain!
So now, even if it had to start with about 250 copies done by hand on a
mimeograph, I would start it! Like the grain of mustard seed, it started, very
possibly, the smallest of magazines. But it has grown into a
professional-appearing 32-page magazine of over 8,000,000 circulation.
Also I saw at once that the broadcasts should be followed up by continued public
evangelistic services.
Therefore, I wrote to the small number of members on the mailing list I
had—perhaps less than 60—the news of the forthcoming three-point campaign: (1)
The half-hour Sunday radio program; (2) the new mimeographed magazine for
interested listeners, The Plain Truth, and (3) personal public meetings.
The broadcast, and idea of the Three-Point Campaign, had been completely
approved, of course, by the brethren of the Church.
“ON THE AIR!”
On the first Sunday morning in the new year, 1934, precisely at 10 a.m., we were
on the air. The program has been continuously on
the air, without missing a single week, ever since.
Mr. Hill had suggested that we produce a regular Sunday morning church service,
condensed into 30 minutes. I had planned it according to his suggestion. In our
new local church, then meeting out at the Jeans school house, 12 miles west of
Eugene, we had a young couple, Claude and Velma Ellis. Claude was a very good
tenor. His wife Velma sang alto. They sang duets. They supplied the music.
I do not remember the exact format of the program, as it started, during those
first few months. Very soon the duet was replaced with a mixed quartette, with
our daughter Beverly singing soprano, Mrs. Armstrong alto, Claude Ellis tenor,
and Alfred Freeze bass, with Mrs. Ellis at the piano.
As the program started out it was called the “Radio Church of God.” It was,
indeed, a church service on the air. There has been a gradual evolution in the
format of the program. We were to learn, later, that an abbreviated church
service appeals only to a very few church-going people, who may want to listen
in on a church service—or to “attend church” without leaving their homes. It
attracts only what is called the “religious audience.” Through the years the
program changed, until it became a program pointed toward the
non-churchgoing public—people who are not
religious and may never attend church.
Gradually, we learned that it was the message
which attracted listeners. Radio station managers began to tell us that we
really had a speech-type program, and a Message
and type of speech which would attract and hold a bigger audience than music.
But back, now, to January, 1934.
The Plain Truth’s Modest Bow
Just as the 15-minute morning devotional programs had brought an unexpected mail
response, so did the half-hour regular program of our own. Only it now brought a
larger response. I began with the first broadcast, that first Sunday in 1934,
inviting listeners to write in for the new magazine, The Plain Truth.
At the same time I began work on producing Volume I and Number 1 of this
magazine of my dreams. I did not even have a “scope” for hand-lettering the
headlines. I was still living with the Fishers on their farm seven miles west of
Eugene—my wife and children still at the Hall Street house in Salem. I had to
hold the mimeograph stencils up against a window, and try to cut the headlines
with my right hand while I tried to hold the stencil without slipping against
the window pane with my left. The headlines were a little shaky. That first
issue of The Plain Truth was somewhat amateurish, and homemade looking.
Probably no one but myself would have dignified it by calling it a “magazine.”
No publication could have had a more humble, or a smaller start. But it was a
start. It grew. It was improved, as scanty funds permitted. It took years before
we were able to have it printed on a printing press. But through the years it
has been instrumental in making drastic changes in thousands of lives!
It was some time later, in 1934, that a few special offerings made it possible
for us to purchase a very old, used, outdated Neostyle. It was predecessor to
the mimeograph. It was entirely hand operated. The sheets of paper had to be fed
into it one at a time by hand. There was nothing automatic about it. It
cost $10. We had also finally been able, before or shortly after the first issue
of The Plain Truth, to raise enough money to purchase a secondhand
typewriter for $10.
And so finally The Plain Truth, homemade at Fishers’ farm on the
mimeograph I was permitted to use at the office of the local mimeograph dealer,
but containing priceless plain truth, made its
humble bow to the world February 1, 1934. I have no record of the exact “press
run” of that first edition, but it was in the neighborhood of 250 copies. I
think we still have one copy somewhere in some old files.
Looking back now, we are a little amazed to see how far the broadcast and The
Plain Truth have gone since then. That “grain of mustard seed” is
multiplying mightily under the guiding power of God!
Chapter 32
“Campaign Gets Under Way-Despite Opposition”
You’ll never get far, Mr. Armstrong,” said a resident of the Jeans neighborhood
whom I met on the roadside one day. It was during the time I was holding three
meetings a week at the Jeans school house, 12 miles west of Eugene, Oregon. This
followed the six weeks’ meetings at Firbutte school and formation of the new
local Church of God which met at the Jeans school.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“Because you are preaching exactly what the Bible says. The Bible corrects and
reproves people. People don’t want to be told they are wrong. People don’t like
correction. What you preach is too strong for them. People will never support
it.”
I smiled.
“If I looked to people for support, I would have to preach what people
want to hear,” I replied. “I have learned that by experience. But I was not
called to this ministry by people. I was not taught the Gospel I preach
by people. People did not put me in the ministry—Jesus Christ did. I am
not employed by people, or any organization of men. I have been called,
and sent with His Gospel, by Jesus Christ. He is my employer. I rely on Him
for support. He has given me the written promise that He will supply all my
need. I believe He is able, and will do it!”
The man stared at me incredulously. He was speechless.
But now, nearly 40 years later, I can report that Jesus Christ did
support His work through His servant. He did supply its needs (almost
infinitesimal at first, increasing gradually, yet always increasing). True, God
works through human instruments. He has moved on the hearts of those He could
make willing to become Co-Workers with Him and with me in this work, now grown
great and world-encompassing.
Eugene Campaign Starts
During the July-August meetings at the Firbutte school, and on through the
winter with the new local church continuing meetings at the Jeans school house,
12 miles west of Eugene, my wife and children had remained in Salem. I had lived
with the Elmer Fishers on their farm seven miles west of Eugene.
But by late March I had rented a house on West 4th. I think the rent was about
$7 per month. I had arranged for meetings to start in the Old Masonic Temple on
Seventh Avenue. Then one evening my wife and children arrived in Eugene with our
household furniture and furnishings on Ed Smith’s truck. That night we arranged
for my family to sleep on mattresses on the second floor of the Old Masonic
Hall.
The year and three months spent in Astoria, averaging perhaps less than five
hours sleep per night—with one ordeal of three days and three nights with no
sleep—had left me in a condition which made it difficult to get to sleep at
night. On this particular night, I had procured barbiturate sleeping pills,
desperate for a full night’s sound sleep. At this time these sleeping pills did
not require a doctor’s prescription. I shall never forget the experience. It was
my first and last with the sleeping pills.
I had a good full night’s sleep, all right. But it was a peculiar sensation. It
was not a natural, but an induced sleep. It left me frightened. As I had
sworn off chewing tobacco at age five, I now swore off barbiturate
sleep-inducing forever.
A few busy days followed, cleaning up this virtually abandoned Old Masonic
Temple auditorium. Beside my wife and children, Mr. and Mrs. Fisher, and one or
two others in the Church joined in the cleanup.
The “Three-Point Campaign” was ready to leap ahead on all three points. The
broadcast had started the first Sunday in January, 1934. The Plain Truth,
mimeographed, made its first appearance February 1st. And now, the first of
April, the meetings were started in downtown Eugene, in the old Masonic Temple.
As mentioned before, meetings still were being held three times a week out at
Jeans school house—Tuesday and Thursday nights and Sabbath mornings.
Consequently the meetings in downtown Eugene were held on Sunday, Wednesday and
Friday nights. This was our first experiment in holding public evangelistic
meetings three times a week. These meetings were carried on for five and a half
months.
We learned by this experience that meetings held only three times a week are not
as fruitful as meetings held consecutively six times a week.
Later, we were to learn that the same is true in broadcasting. A once-a-week
broadcast, or even three times a week, does not produce results comparable to
daily broadcasting six or seven times a week.
For this Eugene campaign I mimeographed handbills and announced it on the radio
program. An attendance of approximately 100 was maintained up until the final
two weeks. But this was much lower than later campaigns with consecutive
six-nights-a-week services.
Here, as in the Salem meetings with Elder Oberg, the whooping, shouting,
aggressive “pentecostal” people were much in evidence at the beginning. But by
this time I had learned that they were primarily concerned with working up an
emotional demonstration. They were not interested in learning Biblical
truth, obeying God’s commands, and yielding
their lives to be changed and transformed according to God’s Word by a
living Christ who does His saving work within us. A few vigorous sermons on
obedience to God, and on overcoming, and living by every Word of God soon
discouraged them. Most of them stopped coming.
“Pentecostal” Incidents
A large “pentecostal” church carried a full hour and a half broadcast on KORE of
their Sunday night service. During one of these broadcasted services, their
pastor said that if any of their members desired to visit any other church it
would be quite all right, with the exception of the services I was holding. But
he warned them against attending our meetings.
Shortly after we had moved into the house on West Fourth Avenue, three of the
“pentecostal” people who had attended the tent meetings held in 1931 by Elder
Taylor and me came to our home. They were a middle-aged husband and wife and the
sister of one of them. One of the women claimed to have a disease or sickness of
some kind. They asked me to anoint this woman and pray for her healing.
I invited them into the house.
“Why,” I asked, “when you people claim to have the baptism of the Holy Spirit
and say that I have not—when you claim to be on a much higher spiritual plane
than I—when your pastor and your church denounce me, and say I am not God’s
minister—when you claim that your ‘pentecostal’ preacher has God’s spirit and
power and that I have not—why do you come to me
for anointing and healing instead of your own pastor?”
“Hmm!” they snorted, “who’d we go to over there?”
“Well,” I pursued a little further, “in I John 3:22 God says that whatever we
ask we receive of Him because we keep His commandments and do those
things that are pleasing in His sight. This obedience to God’s commandments is a
distinct condition to being healed. You people do not obey God’s
commandments, although you attended our tent meetings in 1931 almost every night
for six weeks, and you heard the truth about this made very plain. Now either
you are deliberately rebelling, and refusing to obey God, or else you have been
so blinded in your carnality that somehow the truth never really got through to
you although we made it very plain—and you just never did really see it.
Which is it?”
“I guess we just didn’t see it, brother,” came the answer.
“All right,” I said. “I can’t read your mind and heart as God can. I have to
take you at your word. Since you claim you have not come to consciously
understand the truth, and have not knowingly rebelled and disobeyed, I will
anoint you.”
The minute I began to pray all three, true to “pentecostal” heathen and
unscriptural custom, began to try to drown out my voice by their loud
expressions of “O praise you, Jesus! hallelujah!
Glory to God!” etc. etc., in a babylon of noisy confusion. Then immediately the
woman I was anointing went into a wild, loud, uncontrolled laugh. This seemed to
be a new fad at the time among “pentecostals” in Oregon. They called it “the
holy laugh.”
Instantly I put my hands on her head, and in a loud voice called on God, by
authority of Jesus Christ, to silence this work
of Satan, and cast the demon spirits out of my home!
Instantly, as if struck by a bolt of lightning, the woman’s hysterical unnatural
laughter was silenced, as were the shoutings of the other two. All was quiet.
They rose to their feet.
“Well, anyway,” sneered the supposedly “ill” woman. “I’m healed, so there!”
And quickly they left the house.
On another occasion a member of this “pentecostal” church came running up to me
on a Eugene street one Sunday morning.
“We’ve had a dozen men out looking everywhere for you,” he gasped breathlessly.
“Please come quick! Our pastor’s wife fell over backward ‘under the power’
during prayer, and she’s unconscious, and we can’t revive her. Our pastor sent
us out scouring the town to find you. Please come and pray for her, that she
will revive. We’re afraid she is dying!”
I hurried over to this “pentecostal” church. There they were, probably four or
five hundred of them, wringing their hands in despair, all crying out in
confusion for God to revive the stricken woman.
I called out in a loud voice of authority for them all to be quiet. Then in very
brief and few words I asked God to have mercy on their foolish heathenism, and
revive this woman. I leaned down, laid my hands on her, and she revived. I took
her by the hand and lifted her up, and then strode out of their church while an
awed silence reigned.
I have never been quite able to figure out why so many, through the years, who
have denounced me and claimed to be spiritually superior themselves, have come
to me for prayer when they needed someone close enough to God that a prayer
would be answered.
Visiting Jail
During the meetings in the old Masonic Temple, someone told me of a man in the
county jail who requested that I visit him. The prisoner was the “black sheep”
brother of a very respectable man.
This prisoner seemed to welcome my visit. He was scheduled to be released from
jail in a couple of days, and promised to attend the services. Two nights later
he came to the meeting, with a girl he introduced as his wife.
As I believe has been mentioned previously, in those days I followed the
evangelistic custom of giving “altar calls.” It was one of those things I
thoughtlessly took for granted without checking for proof of any Biblical or
divine origin. All of us have carelessly assumed, taken for granted,
accepted and followed more customs, ideas and ways than we realize. As the years
have raced by, I have learned to be much more careful to check and prove
all beliefs and practices. Later, when I researched again over the ministry of
Jesus, of Peter, Paul, and the other apostles and evangelists of the New
Testament, it became clear that they never practiced or instituted any such
custom. So we dropped it immediately.
But at this time I was still learning, and giving the usual evangelical altar
calls. And this young man and woman both came up. They appeared quite repentant.
I spent some time with them afterward. They exhibited a spirit of willingness to
obey God completely, and to embark on a new life of overcoming through faith in
Christ, living by every word of the Bible. Next day I baptized them.
But I learned a serious lesson through this experience. Later we discovered that
these two were not married. Actually they had gone through a ceremony of
marriage, but it was bigamy. The girl had previously married another man in
another state, from whom she had not been divorced. She had a little two- or
three-year-old daughter whose father was a third man to whom she had never been
married. From that time we have been very careful to check the marriage,
divorce, and remarriage status of all candidates for baptism. God intended that
we learn by experience, beside direct instruction.
I told this girl she would have to leave this man.
“Well,” she replied, “I will, then, as soon as I can get a job.”
“No,” I said firmly, “you must leave him now!”
“But I can’t leave him now,” she protested. “I have no other place to go.”
“You come along with us, then,” I insisted. “Mrs. Armstrong will put you in our
spare bedroom for tonight, and tomorrow we will help you make permanent
arrangements.”
She was a weakling, and so was this man. So she gave in to our firm insistence.
Next morning Mrs. Armstrong went into her room to call her to breakfast. The bed
was empty. The window was open. The girl had climbed out the window and gone
back to “her man.”
However, they were soon forcibly separated again. They had bought furniture and
furnishings for a cheap rented house on contract at a local furniture store.
This young man had then sold much of it for cash, and failed to pay his
installments at the store.
Helping a Weakling
This fellow was in jail again. He called to me for help. On visiting him again
in jail I learned what had happened. He promised to be good this time, if only
I’d get him out. The furniture merchant said he understood the fellow had a
brother of some means.
“If you will go to his brother and get him to pay up the furniture bill, we will
withdraw the charges,” said the furniture merchant. “We don’t want to be hard on
the boy. We are business men. We only want our money.”
I had no automobile in those days, but I traveled some distance to see the
fellow’s brother.
“Mr. Armstrong,” he said after I explained the situation, “you may think I am a
hardhearted brother, but I’m not. I’m going to do what I know is best for my
brother’s own good. If I pay this and get him out of jail, it wouldn’t be thirty
days until he would be back in jail again. My brother hasn’t had enough
punishment to learn his lesson yet. I think he needs this thirty days in jail to
think it over.”
He did think it over, and managed to keep out of jail for a year or so, after
which I lost contact with him. But he and the girl were too weak to remain
apart. They quarreled and fought when together, but they could not resist being
together.
Rejecting all advice and counsel from me, the girl obtained a divorce from her
first husband, and then had a justice-of-the-peace second wedding with this
ne’er-do-well fellow, which at least legalized their adulterous living in the
sight of man’s law.
Whatever finally became of them I do not know. Mrs. Armstrong and I spent a lot
of time trying to help them get straightened out, but they were the type Jesus
spoke of in Luke 8:13 in the parable of the sower. They listened to and received
the Word of God gladly, but had no “root” or backbone of character, and as soon
as temptation came along were too weak to resist.
The quotation “God helps them that help themselves” is not found in the Bible,
as many believe, but is a saying of Benjamin Franklin. Yet it does express a
Christian principle. Long ago I learned that I cannot carry others into the
Kingdom of God on my shoulders, or drag them in. I can only point the way,
proclaim the truth, give counsel and advice, aid in many material ways, and pray
for others. I can give aid and help—but each must stand on his own feet before
God, and by strong motivation yield to allow God to transform him and mold him
into God’s own holy character. God does it by the power of His Holy Spirit. But
we also have our part in denying ourselves, in overcoming, and in DOING! It is
the DOERS, not those who hear only, who shall enter finally into His Kingdom
(Rom. 2:13).
Nevertheless, this experience I have just related did cause a deal of reflection
and study of the Bible to inquire how God is going to deal with human
weaklings such as these. We find the answer in the parable of the pounds, and
the parable of the talents.
In the parable of the pounds all ten of Christ’s servants appear to have had
equal ability, and each was given an equal portion from God at the start. The
one who by overcoming and growth in grace and knowledge of our Lord multiplied
what he started with ten times was given the reward of ruling over ten cities.
He who multiplied five times, over five cities.
But in the parable of the talents (Matthew 25:14-30) God gave to each, at the
start of his Christian life, according to his natural ability. To one He
gave five talents, to another two, and to another only one—according to the
natural ability of each. The man with five talents doubled his spiritual
stock-in-trade. Likewise, although the man with two produced less in number than
the one with five, he also doubled what he started with. He did as well,
in proportion to his ability!
Consequently we find it revealed that to whom much is given, much is required.
To whom little is given, less is required. In other words, God judges each
individual according to how well he overcomes, yields, develops and grows,
according to what he has to do with!
This unfortunate couple of weaklings were not born with as much intelligence and
strength of character (potentially) as many others. Consequently God does not
require as much of them. But He does require of them as much effort in
proportion to ability! We do have our part in the developing of the
Christian life and character.
So Called “Bible Organization”
During these late winter and spring months of 1934 the opposition of Elders Ray
and Oberg did not cease. I had rejected receiving further the $3 weekly “salary”
from the Oregon State Conference after the memorable “All-Day Wrangle” meeting
in early August, 1933. But this alone did not appease their wrath against me.
At the biannual General Conference meeting of the Church at Stanberry, Missouri,
which probably was held in August, 1933, Elder Andrew N. Dugger had lost his
previous iron control of the church by one vote. Thereupon Mr. Dugger promptly
bolted the Conference and organized a competing “Church of God” under what he
termed “the Bible form of organization.”
He managed to induce half or more of the ministers in the church to join him in
this new “Organization,” on the argument that they were now re-establishing the
Bible form of organization. Among those joining with him were Elder C. O. Dodd
of Salem, West Virginia, an Elder McMicken, Elder Alexander of Kansas, Elder
Severson, and Otto Haeber of Hawthorne, California whom I knew as a good friend.
Mr. Haeber had not, I believe, up to this time been ordained as an elder but was
an influential member.
Mr. Dugger had been accused of dictatorship, bossism, and even crookedness. I
had not as yet met him, and did not judge. Nevertheless his new form of
organization tended to divert criticism. He claimed the original Twelve Apostles
were intended to form the top governing permanent Board of the Church as Christ
organized it. He called this Board “the Twelve.” Mr. Alexander, Mr. Haeber, and
Mr. McMicken, I believe, were put on the “Board of the Twelve” (although there
never were twelve). But Mr. Dugger kept his own name off of that supposedly
governing Board, thus avoiding the accusation that he was “running things” as
the head.
Next, taking the “seventy” which Jesus appointed for a one-time special mission
(Luke 10), Mr. Dugger, with Mr. Dodd and Mr. McMicken, set up “The Board of the
Seventy” leading ministers. On this Board they appointed as many names as they
could. There never were seventy, however. On this Board they had placed my name,
and also those of Elders Oberg and Ray of Oregon. Elder Severson was, I believe,
also on that “Board.”
Finally, noting that the early apostles had appointed seven deacons to take care
of the “business” of waiting on tables and serving proselyte widows (Acts
6:1-4), Mr. Dugger devised a Board of Seven to handle the
business of the Church, making himself Chairman
of that Board. The difference was that the early Apostles’ seven deacons merely
relieved the Apostles from the physical “business” of waiting on tables, serving
food, and otherwise serving physical needs of widows; while Mr. Dugger’s “Board
of Seven” handled all Church income and finances! Therefore it actually
carried all the real power to govern. Mr. Dugger had control over the salaries
of “the Twelve.” The word “business” appears in the King James translation. But
both the RSV and Moffatt translations have “duty.”
Persecution Continues
This “Bible form of Organization” appealed to most of our brethren in the
Willamette Valley of Oregon. There were still two factions in the valley—one of
them still loyal to “Stanberry” as it was called, the other—which had
incorporated as the Oregon Conference—being somewhat enamored of the new
“Organization.”
Mr. Dugger claimed “World Headquarters” as Jerusalem, Palestine, with United
States Headquarters at Salem, West Virginia. Thus this became known as the
“Salem church.”
In those days one Biblical subject I was completely befogged on was the matter
of church organization and government. I knew the “Stanberry” pattern of
a General Conference was not scriptural. I knew that voting by human
preference was unscriptural. I saw plainly that Christ chose His
Apostles—that they and the evangelists, in turn, chose and ordained elders in
local churches. Consequently in the church now meeting at Jeans school house,
since I was the evangelist God used in raising up this church, I chose and
appointed Mr. Elmer E. Fisher as deacon, remaining as Pastor myself.
But just what truly was the Biblical form of organization I did not at
that time see clearly. I was really confused on the question. I had grave
misgivings about Mr. Dugger’s professed “Bible form” of organization. I talked
it over with Mr. and Mrs. Fisher, Mr. Claude Ellis, and others of our Church at
Jeans. Mr. Fisher was not “sold” on it, either. He advised going slow.
Meanwhile Messrs. Ray and Oberg were exerting every effort to urge the Oregon
Conference to go in with, and to keep me out of, the new “Organization.” One of
the basic doctrinal points of the “Salem” organization was abstaining from
“pork” and observing rigidly the food law of the “clean and unclean” of
Leviticus 11. Mr. Ray now tried to discredit me with the new “Organization” with
his anti-pork argument.
Consequently, Mr. Fisher, Mr. Ellis, the other members at Jeans and I decided we
would simply leave the answer in God’s hands. We would pray and ask God to show
us in this manner: If the “Salem” re-organization did accept me as “one of the
70” in spite of the opposition of Messrs. Ray and Oberg, we would go in.
Otherwise we would remain independent.
The Test
For some months the status quo remained. Neither acceptance nor rejection came
from “Salem.” Then one day Otto Haeber came to the office I had set up in an
anteroom in the old Masonic Temple, accompanied by Elder Alexander from Kansas.
I had never met Mr. Alexander before. But since I had heard a great deal about
him, and read much about him in the Church paper, the Bible Advocate, I
was happy to meet him. I was steering the conversation along the general lines
of getting acquainted, asking about the work in Kansas and general conversation.
Suddenly Mr. Haeber interrupted, rather sternly.
“Mr. Armstrong,” he said abruptly, “apparently you do not quite grasp the
importance of this meeting. Mr. Alexander is one of ‘the Twelve!’ Mr.
Alexander is a very important man! His time shouldn’t be wasted by mere friendly
conversation. Mr. Alexander is the man who has the power to bring about your
acceptance on the Board of the Seventy, if you can satisfy him about your stand
on the ‘clean and the unclean’ meat question.”
I had known many important men in the business world, and I had not sensed
anything in Mr. Alexander’s appearance or personality that was overawing.
“Well!” I exclaimed. “I had not realized! I beg your pardon for wasting your
valuable time. I will tell you my stand on this question in one or two minutes.
“Point number one: I read in Scripture that sin is the transgression of
the Law. In Romans 7 Paul says the law it is sin to transgress is spiritual—a
spiritual, not a physical law. Point two: Jesus Christ, speaking of spiritual
defilement in Mark 7, says that physical food entering a man’s stomach from
without cannot defile him spiritually, but that which comes from within,
out of the heart—adulteries, murders, thefts, covetousness—transgressions of
the Ten Commandments—defile the man spiritually. Point three: The
‘clean and unclean’ laws of Leviticus 11 are physical, not spiritual
laws.
“Point four: Christ preached the Gospel of the Kingdom of God. He commanded the
Apostles, and us today, to preach the kingdom
of God. That is the Gospel I am commanded to
preach. Point five: Paul says plainly in Romans 14 that the Kingdom of God is
not meat and drink, but righteousness, which is obedience to God’s Law.
“Point six: Therefore I do not preach to the unconverted meat and drink
because it is not the Gospel. But, on the other hand, the physical body
is the ‘temple of the Holy Spirit,’ and we are taught not to defile it,
even physically.
“Finally, point seven: I realize fully that there were both the clean and
unclean animals long before Mosaic Law—even prior to the Flood—and therefore
from creation. God did not create the unclean animals for food. Just as many
plants and weeds are poison and not food, so unclean animals were not made to
digest properly or nourish the human body. They are not “creatures of God”
intended for food. They are not sanctified—or set apart—by the Word of God.
Peter’s vision of the unclean animals in the sheet was given, it is distinctly
stated in Acts 10, to show him that he should not call any man
unclean—not to make unclean animals clean. Therefore I do teach every
convert and every church member that they should not eat the unclean meats. We
do not eat them in our home. Not one of our church members—not one of my
converts—is eating unclean meats. But I teach it as a physical matter of
health, not as a spiritual matter of the true Gospel.
“That, in few words, Elder Alexander, is what God’s Word says and teaches
and what I believe. Now I’m very sorry I wasted your valuable time, and since it
is so valuable, I shall not take up more of it. Good day, gentlemen.”
And I opened the door.
Actually, I snapped out this explanation of my stand probably at a faster pace
than most readers have been able to read it. It left Mr. Alexander a little
bewildered. But he could not deny, refute, nor question a word of my
explanation.
“Well, Mr. Armstrong,” he managed to say as they were leaving, “it seems to me
you believe the same way the church does, only you may have a little different
way of stating it.”
A short time later, I learned that they did consider me as one of “the Seventy.”
Co-operating—Not Joining
Thus we of the Church of God meeting at the Jeans school-house, along with our
brethren of the Oregon Conference, decided to go along with it in co-operation,
but we of the new local church near Eugene did not “join” in the sense of
becoming an integral part of it.
I then began to send in regular minister’s reports. We co-operated fully as
brethren in Christ. But I did not accept salary or expense money from them. None
in our local church put himself under their authority. We kept ourselves free to
obey God as set forth in the Scriptures, should any differences come up. And
they did later come up!
After the experience of being ordered to baptize contrary to the Scriptures and
the renouncing of the $3 weekly “salary,” we were firm never again to be placed
in a position where we might have to obey men rather than God.
Result of Eugene Meetings
The meetings continued for two months in the second-floor hall of the Old
Masonic Temple, just off the main street, Willamette, on West Seventh Avenue.
But Mr. Chambers, owner of the building, had made arrangements for remodeling
and permanent occupancy of the hall beginning June 1st. I managed to rent a hall
on the second floor, on the east side of Willamette Street between Seventh and
Eighth, beginning June 1st. Meetings continued there for three and a half
months, closing the middle of September.
The downtown meetings had continued in Eugene five and a half months. Results
actually were less than in other five or six weeks’ campaigns where services
were held six nights a week. Definitely we learned that holding meetings three
times a week on non-consecutive nights does not build up or sustain an interest
comparable to every-night services. This was an important lesson.
Nevertheless, there was a harvest. There always was a harvest. That was the main
reason for the opposition from the other ministers. No one in the Church of whom
I could inquire knew of any “fruit” whatsoever having been borne at any time by
any of the other ministers then in the Church. Their jealousy, antagonism,
competitive spirit, opposition against the only work God was blessing,
eloquently testified to the reason—carnality—lack of real conversion and
yieldedness to God. God can use only those who have surrendered to become
instruments in His Hands.
I do not remember now how many had appeared to have repented, and believed, and
how many had been baptized during and at the end of these meetings. It seems it
was around ten to fifteen. But several of these were of the type Jesus referred
to in His parable of the sower: the largest number compared to the wayside.
Jesus Christ sowed the “seed”—the Word of God—by my voice. There were the ones
who came and heard, but did not understand nor believe; and Satan took the
truths they heard out of their hearts, lest they should believe and be saved
(Luke 8:12). Those stopped attending before the close of the meetings. Some
compared to the stony ground, including the young man and woman already
mentioned. They received Christ’s Gospel with gladness and joy—but had no depth
of character, and endured only for a while. Others compared to the ground
covered with thorns—the cares of this world and desire for worldly amusements
caused them to drop out.
Nevertheless, even though few of those brought in during those meetings proved
to be the “good ground” which endured, there were some ten or fifteen additional
ones making the start of a Christian life. A new Sabbath School was organized
for these, meeting at our home on West Fourth Avenue on Sabbath afternoons. The
Sabbath morning services continued out at Jeans School house. Often several from
there came in to Eugene for the afternoon class at our home.
Chapter 33
“Early Evangelistic Campaigns-the Trials and Tests”
The activity that was destined to expand steadily into worldwide power and scope
was now fast getting under way. No activity could have started smaller. None
could have had a more humble and unpromising beginning.
But, with an insignificant $1.35 per week pledge for the radio broadcast, and
what appeared then as a monumental additional $1.15 per week to be received
purely on faith, The Radio Church of God had started on the air the first Sunday
in 1934. It was the very bottom of the great depression.
Faith was rewarded, however, and the other $1.15 per week always came, sometimes
only a half hour before broadcast time.
I had devoted some years to experience on newspapers and national publications.
Now, at last, my dreams of a “magazine of understanding” making
plain the revealed
truth of the Bible—to be made available to all who requested it without
price to them—had become a reality. Promptly on February 1, 1934, Volume I and
Number 1 of The Plain Truth was published, or should I say “published”?
No publication ever made a more humble entrance before the public.
After the first issue had been mimeographed, through courtesy of the local A. B.
Dick Company dealer on one of his mimeographs, we had managed to purchase—for
$10, I believe—an old second-hand “Neostyle”—ancestor of the mimeograph. It was
entirely hand-operated, hand-cranked, hand-fed. Surely it was the most humble of
printing presses! For the next few years The Plain Truth was to be run
off on this ancient Neostyle, before we could afford a secondhand mimeograph—and
then some time longer before we could afford to have it printed.
The “Three-Point Campaign” had at last gotten fully under way with the downtown
Eugene evangelistic meetings. These meetings had continued five and one-half
months until mid-September.
Now, mid-September, plans were under way for another campaign.
Alvadore Next
Some 12 to 15 miles northwest of Eugene was a little community of Alvadore. It
was not even a village. There was probably only one full general store. But
there was a two-story school house. The Alvadore school consisted of two
classrooms on the ground floor, and an assembly hall upstairs.
Mr. Elmer Fisher and I felt this was the site for the next campaign. We were
able to engage the use of the assembly hall—practically without cost.
I do not now remember whether these meetings were conducted over a period of
six, or eight, weeks. The only record now immediately available to me affirms
that the campaign started in November, 1934, and ended in January, 1935.
Probably we started in late November and finished in early or mid-January.
At any rate we had learned the sober lesson about holding services three times a
week. In Alvadore we were back on the six-nights-a-week schedule.
Attendance was good. Interest was very good. By this time I was gaining in
speaking ability due to the experience of speaking virtually six to eight times
a week since July, 1933.
Learning to Speak Publicly
One learns to speak before the public by speaking. I remember how one asked
Elbert Hubbard how he learned to write. He replied that he learned to write by
writing. A pianist learns to play the piano by playing the piano eight hours a
day, if one is to become a concert pianist.
If there was anything I had never expected to become, it was a preacher or an
evangelist. I have explained early in this autobiography how at age 18 I had put
myself through a self-analysis with the book titled Choosing a Vocation.
This self-conducted test indicated that I had an analytical mind, an
intellectual curiosity, a desire to understand,
and some natural aptitude for writing. The test pointed to the advertising
profession. Those years of experience in advertising and news-gathering,
editorial writing, and the writing of magazine articles, had prepared me for the
calling to God’s ministry.
But it was two or three years after conversion before I realized I was called to
preach. I have just come across a carbon copy of a letter that I had written,
dated July 11, 1928—even before our first son was born—to Mr. A. N. Dugger, at
that time principal leader of the Church of God, at Stanberry, Missouri. It
shows that at that time a little more than a year after my conversion, I did
apparently realize that God was calling me for some definite mission, for which
I was being prepared. I did not know what it was to be. I realized I was not yet
ready. And I supposed, at that time, that it would be in the field of writing,
not speaking. I feel that many who are reading this life history may find a few
excerpts from that letter interesting.
Elder Dugger had invited me to join their church. I have explained previously
that I never did formally join it. Here are portions of that letter:
“I appreciate your kind invitation to affiliate actively with the Church of God
organization. Elder Stith approached me on the subject, also....
“However, for the immediate present, until further developments, I do not feel
led to join any organization, and feel that I should not take matters into my
own hands, or rush, or hurry. I believe the Lord is dealing with me, preparing
me for a very active and definite calling and mission, and that until matters
have developed further I should do as Jesus commanded the Apostles—tarrying
until I have received full preparation and power....I feel it is absolutely
necessary that we should permit ourselves to be led by the Holy Spirit, and not
try to launch into something half prepared, by taking matters into our own hands
before we are sure it is the will of the Lord. I do not know exactly, yet, what
my mission or calling is to be, or what the method of carrying it out is to be.
Unquestionably it will require organized effort, rather than attempting to carry
out the mission alone and unaided.
Writing—Not Speaking
“I can say this much—I feel that it is along the line of writing rather than
oral speaking or preaching.
“I believe the Lord bestows gifts and callings upon men mightily according to
their natural talents and experience, giving spiritual gifts along these same
lines....
“My whole business experience has been along the lines of investigating,
analyzing, and gaining an understanding of business problems and rectifying the
situations, and in writing. Whatever natural talent I have is along those lines.
I know something about public speaking, for I have studied textbooks on it, had
contacts with professors of public speaking at the Universities of Illinois and
Michigan, who are authors of the texts used in most colleges, and coached a
brother-in-law into winning a big oratorical contest.... But he had the voice,
and other necessary personal attributes for public speaking.
“If I am being given any of the gifts, it is that of understanding of the truth
of scripture.... But I am not fully prepared as yet.”
Little did I realize then that God could, and would, use my voice to reach
worldwide audiences of multiple millions every week. But I did “sense,” somehow,
that God was preparing me for some definite mission and He had given me
sufficient insight to realize that I did not yet know what it was and that I was
not yet prepared or ready, and that I should not rush in until it became certain
that God was leading the way. I knew I must not
take things into my own hands.
Actually, my first “sermon,” Mrs. Armstrong has assured me, was not
preaching—but just a kind of talk. It did meet enthusiastic response, not
because of any speaking ability, for there was none—but because I did
have something vital to say. It was three years after the above letter was
written before I was ordained a minister.
Even then I did not speak with any “drive” or “fire” or power. I still more or
less just “talked.” But there was, always, a vital message. After all, the
message, which comes from God, is the thing! Not
the speaker or even oratory. I remember that it was either during, or shortly
after, the first Firbutte campaign in late 1933, that the message began to pour
forth with some power. It was during one of those all-day meetings held about
once a month at the little church house in Harrisburg, Oregon (long since torn
down). I was probably more surprised than the congregation that day. I did have
a burning message—and I did feel it intensely—and suddenly the message
began to pour forth in power. I did not “put it on”—rather I had to try to hold
it in check. They told me afterward that for the first time I gestured with my
hands and arms. I didn’t realize it. My mind was on the audience and the message
I knew they sorely needed.
Today I try to teach young future ministers to be natural—to quit thinking of
themselves, their gesturing, their oratory or speaking ability. I tell them
never to try to turn on the power—but wait until after the experience when
dynamic power is there naturally.
Heckled Again
In this Alvadore neighborhood were three or four families of Seventh Day
Adventists. They attended the meetings. I soon learned that one of them was
coming for the sole purpose of learning what I was preaching, so he could visit
the others in the daytime and try to refute everything I was saying. He didn’t
seem to be succeeding very well. The others continued to come with increasing
interest.
Then there was Elder Day of the Christian Church and his wife and two late
teen-age children. Elder Day was then about 84. He was a quiet, soft-spoken,
rather scholarly gentleman. After two or three nights, he smiled as he shook
hands with me at the door, and said, “Well, I have learned something new
tonight.”
This continued through the rest of the meetings. My heart surely went out to
elderly Brother Day. When a man well advanced into his 80’s is “learning
something new” every night, he is a rare and
precious individual, indeed. Always his face lighted up happily in this new
knowledge!
But as we came into the final two weeks of the meeting, the one Seventh Day
Adventist finally became vocal. I was just beginning the sermon one evening,
speaking on the truth that Jesus was three days and three nights, exactly as He
said, in the tomb after crucifixion—and then, therefore, the crucifixion was
not on “Good Friday” and the resurrection was not on Sunday morning!
Now it so happened that, since their Mrs. White had a dream or vision in which
she claimed the resurrection did occur on Sunday morning, Seventh Day Adventist
doctrine cannot accept anything contrary.
I had hardly begun the service when this ill-advised man arose and began to
heckle.
“That passage in Matthew 12 verses 38 to 40 does not mean that Jesus was in the
tomb,” he said. “It means he was in the hands of the Roman soldiers three days
and three nights. Besides, the Bible plainly says Jesus
rose early in the morning on the first day of
the week!”
I immediately accepted his challenge.
“You mean you think the expression ‘in the heart of the earth’ means ‘in the
hands of Roman soldiers?” I asked.
“Yes, it does!” he lashed back.
“And you say the Bible plainly states that Jesus actually rose early on Sunday
morning?”
“Yes, it does,” he affirmed.
“Well,” I said. “Now I’ll tell you what we’ll do. You just be seated until the
close of the sermon, and start hunting for that passage in your Bible. You won’t
need to listen to the sermon, because you won’t believe a thing I say anyway,
and you only listen in order to go around the neighborhood trying to confuse
others and to refute everything I am preaching. Now I strongly advise you to
utilize every single minute between now and the end of the sermon hunting that
text—because you are going to need a lot more time than that to find what simply
isn’t there. Then at the close of the sermon, I am going to call on you to stand
up again and to read to us out of the Bible where it says that Christ actually
rose on Sunday morning.”
At the close of the sermon, I called on my heckler and bade him to rise, and to
read his text. He arose, and began thumbing through the New Testament of his
Bible.
I had become a little provoked by this man’s persistent opposition and
determined to make an example of him and end any influence he possibly might
have once for all.
“Come, now!” I said. “I noticed you did not heed my advice to devote all the
time of the sermon hunting for the text that is not there. You should have been
searching, then you wouldn’t keep us all waiting like this. Come, now! Read it!
Read where the Bible says Christ rose on Sunday morning.”
He merely stood there, confused, flushed in the face.
“We are waiting!” I prodded.
I let at least three minutes of dead silence elapse. It seemed more like an
hour. I purposely let it become embarrassing, to let the truth of this scripture
sink deep in the audience.
Finally, I said, “Well, while this man stands there and hunts for the scripture
that isn’t there, let’s look now at what he said about ‘in the heart of the
earth’ meaning ‘in the hands of the Roman soldiers.’ Notice, this scripture
says:...‘for as Jonas was three days and three nights in the whale’s
belly; so shall the Son of man be three days and three nights in the
heart of the earth.’ Now see how Jonah was a type of Christ. In the great fish’s
belly, Jonah says (Jonah 2:2): ‘I cried by reason of mine affliction unto the
Lord, and he heard me; out of the belly of hell [margin, Heb., sheol—the
grave] cried I.’
“Now, Jonah was in this grave—for had he not
been vomited up, it was a grave of death—three
days and three nights, after which he was supernaturally resurrected by being
vomited up—to become the human saviour from physical destruction of the city of
Nineveh. Likewise, Christ was in a tomb hewn back into the heart of the earth,
three days and three nights, after which He was resurrected to become the
spiritual Saviour of all mankind. The analogy is plain. The meaning is plain and
simple. Christ was resurrected from the tomb in the heart of the earth—He was
not resurrected from the hands of the Roman soldiers!
“Now,” I continued, “how many of you in the audience believe ‘in the heart of
the earth’ means the tomb from which Christ was
resurrected? Let me see your hands!”
Every hand, except that of the very confused man standing, went up!
“Well,” I said to him. “It sort of looks like we are all out of step but you.
Have you found that scripture that isn’t there, yet?”
He merely looked helplessly confused. Everyone was laughing at him. It was
well-deserved and ought to have been profitable punishment.
“We can’t wait longer,” I said. “I do hope this will be a good lesson to you.
You may sit down.”
This was the only time I have ever made a laughing stock out of any man before
others, to my knowledge. But this man had been spending weeks trying to
discredit me and God’s truth, and I felt it was the way to defend the truth for
the good of all.
Meeting More Opposition
One family attending the Alvadore meetings regularly, and accepting the truths
taught, was the W. E. Conns. Mr. Conn was a farmer in the neighborhood, doing
quite a dairy business. One truth which seemed of tremendous importance to them
was the fact the resurrection was on late Saturday afternoon, and not Sunday
morning.
The following Sunday after preaching on that subject, Mrs. Armstrong and I were
invited to their home for dinner. After dinner two men called. One was a
preacher—apparently an independent, or of some small local sect, who had been
serving as pastor to the Conns sometime before when they had lived in Salem,
Oregon. The other was a man, also from Salem, who appeared to be associated with
the preacher religiously. They had heard that the Conns had accepted the truth
of God’s Sabbath, being influenced primarily by the fact that the resurrection
was not on Sunday. This knocked out from under Sunday observance the only prop
which human tradition used to support it.
This preacher apparently came for a fight. He was angry. He was ready to get
tough.
“The Bible says Christ rose from the dead on Sunday morning,” he snapped,
angrily.
I handed him a Bible.
“Read it to me,” I said, simply.
He turned, as I knew he would, to Mark 16:9. But to my utter surprise, he did
not read it as it is printed. He mis-read:
“Now when Jesus rose early the first day of the week.”
“My dear sir, you did not read that as it is written. Will you read it once
again, and this time, read exactly what it says?” I demanded.
“Now when Jesus ROSE early the first day of the week,” he repeated with
heavy emphasis on the word “rose” which does not appear in the text.
I saw he was going to persist. I decided to maneuver this dishonest man, intent
on deliberately deceiving, into a trap.
“The expression ‘the first day of the week’ is merely describing when
Christ appeared first to Mary Magdalene,” I said. “Punctuation was not inspired,
but added by uninspired men long after the Bible was written. This was
translated from the Greek. The comma belongs after the word ‘risen,”’ I said
deliberately appearing to argue.
He took the bait, hook, line and sinker!
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he exclaimed angrily. “You can’t go changing it.”
“Do you mean we must accept the King James, or Authorized Version, just as it
is, without changing a single comma, or any translation?” I inquired.
“I do!” he snapped. “You can’t change a thing.”
“Well, then, why don’t you read it as it is, without changing it? Now I
want you to read Matthew 28, verse 1.”
He turned to read it. His face grew red with anger. It reads: “In the end of the
Sabbath, as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week, came Mary
Magdalene and the other Mary to see the sepulchre.”
“Yes, now read verses 5 and 6, and remember, this is in the end of or late on
the Sabbath—not Sunday morning.”
“I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified,” he read. “He is not here: for
he is risen, as he said.”
“Yes,” I added, “while it was still late in the end of the Sabbath, which ended
at sunset.”
“Oh,” he began to explain. “But that is a mistranslation. It doesn’t mean in the
end of the Sabbath, but dawn Sunday morning.”
“Didn’t you just say that you cannot change the King James translation?
Didn’t you just say that I have to take it as it is, without changing or
retranslating a thing?”
He was beginning to lose face. He had no answer.
“Now,” I said, “turn back to Mark 16:9, and let’s see whether you are honest
enough to read it honestly.”
“Now when Jesus ROSE early the first day of the week,” he shouted.
I turned to Mr. Conn.
“I dislike to do this,” I said, “but I had to show you how dishonest this man
is, and how he had been deliberately deceiving you these past few years as to
what the Bible says. Now, Mr. Conn, this passage tells what state Jesus
was in early the first day of the week. It tells whether He was rising, or
whether He already was risen, because He had risen the evening before. I
want you, Mr. Conn, to read this. Does it say Jesus
rose—or, early the first day of the week, that He already
was risen?
I handed the Bible to Mr. Conn. His hands trembled until he could hardly hold
it. He was extremely nervous.
He read, “Now when Jesus was risen early the first day of the week.”
The preacher and his companion strode angrily from the room, picked up their
coats and hats and went out the front door without a word. Mrs. Conn broke down
weeping.
“I hope I was not too harsh with those men,” I said apologetically.
“Oh, you were not,” sobbed Mrs. Conn. “They were harsh with you. But I tell you
it hurts, to have to completely lose confidence in men you have looked up
to as almost holy, and representing God, all these years. To see them show that
they are deliberately dishonest and trying to deceive us is a terrible blow.”
Another New Church
The Alvadore campaign ended. Fifteen had come with us, including the Days and
the Conns. A new local church was organized, to meet in the Alvadore school
auditorium Sabbath mornings. I ordained Elder J. M. Day as Elder, and W. E. Conn
as Deacon.
Now I was forced to alternate between Alvadore and Jeans, every other Sabbath
morning at each one, and Sabbath afternoon at our home in Eugene.
Chapter 34
“Steady Growth of Work at Eugene”
It was now spring, 1935. Holding Sabbath morning services alternately at the
Jeans school, twelve miles west of Eugene, and at the Alvadore school fifteen
miles northwest of Eugene, and Sabbath afternoon services at our house in Eugene
soon became untenable.
Purchase of Church Building
Usually, members at Jeans would drive over to Alvadore, or attend at our home in
Eugene, on the odd Sabbaths after I was unable to preach at Jeans. Likewise,
Alvadore members usually drove to either Jeans or Eugene when I was not at their
school. But this situation was not very satisfactory.
The need of a church home in Eugene to combine these three small groups focused
our attention on the place that our people had built in 1931.
The building of this little church house had begun immediately following the
close of the tent campaign held in Eugene in the summer of 1931 by Elder R. L.
Taylor and myself.
Mr. Taylor had, prior to this campaign, owned a small retail lumber business in
Eugene. Apparently, he had failed in business, but came out of it with a small
amount of lumber on hand. He now proposed to “donate” that lumber toward the
erection of a small church house in Eugene. He only had part of the needed
amount of lumber, however. So church brethren were induced to contribute funds
for most of the construction costs. A few donated labor, including a carpenter
and an electrician.
They had never completed the construction. Siding had not been put on the
outside, and plain slabs of wallboard had been nailed up inside, with
quarter-inch spaces unfilled between slabs. And there were no seats or pulpit or
furnishings of any kind.
While I was at Astoria in the newspaper business, in my final “detour” from my
life’s real calling, Mr. Taylor had written me that “we had lost the church
building.”
He was correct in saying that “we”—the church members—had lost it. But HE
had not. He had traded it and a small piece of land he owned to a Mr. Powell who
lived next door to the little church, for Mr. Powell’s house. This, in turn, he
had traded for a small island in the Willamette River opposite Eugene.
Because of the partial amount of lumber he had “donated” to the church house,
Mr. Taylor had insisted on holding the deed to the property in his own name.
Although church brethren had contributed much more than he, they had allowed it
to be held in his name. He had “sold them down the river,” and come out with a
little island in the river for himself.
Late in May, 1935, Mr. Powell was living in the little unfinished church house.
Mr. Elmer Fisher, Mr. W. E. Conn and I approached him about the purchase of the
place. The purchase was made, for $500. Mr. Fisher put in the first $100 to bind
the deal. Various church members put in, later, another $100 or slightly more,
and most of the balance was contributed by elderly Mrs. S. A. Croffoot.
Now came the question of how the new property was to be deeded. Mr. Taylor’s
action had given church members cause to question the honesty of a minister who
had the church property deeded in his name. I was determined that no such
suspicion should have grounds for being directed toward me. I insisted that my
name should not be connected in any way with the deed to this property.
In this particular case, as subsequent events proved, it would have been safer
for the church if control of the property had been in my hands. But I said,
then, “If we can’t trust such men as Mr. Day, Elmer Fisher, and Mr. Conn, then
nobody can be trusted.” Perhaps I didn’t realize as thoroughly as I do today
that God says we can trust no man.
On my own recommendation, the property was deeded to “J. M. Day, Elmer E.
Fisher, and W. E. Conn, as trustees for the Church of God at Eugene, Oregon.”
Actually, as I learned from attorneys later, this was a loose and unsafe way to
protect the property of the church, legally. Anyway, the purchase was made late
in May, 1935, after some four months of the unhandy functioning of those three
little separate churches.
Completing the Building
Immediately we set out to put the building in shape for holding services. I
asked the members to contribute special offerings to purchase necessary lumber
and paint. We purchased the siding lumber, which was put on by volunteer labor.
I filled in the quarter-inch spaces between plaster boards with the proper
plaster cement, myself, then the inside walls were painted and the outside also.
I looked into other church buildings for ideas about the seating. The most
economical way proved to be to build our own seating in the form of benches,
with a center aisle and two narrow outside aisles down the side walls. I
designed the pattern after observing various more costly benches in larger
church buildings. I sat in various ones, to determine what design would give the
most comfort. Then, with some of the men of the church helping, we built the
seats. They were comfortable with contoured backs the entire length of each
bench.
Mrs. Armstrong and Elmer Fisher painted those church seats in an attractive
brown color while I worked on other things. In the new church at Alvadore, one
of the members was a cabinet maker by profession. He built the pulpit and an
altar rail around the front of the rostrum.
On June first, 1935, The Church of God at Eugene, Oregon, held its first service
in the new building, consolidating the three groups into one church.
Convincing Atheist Communists
Soon after occupying the new little church building, I began holding every-night
evangelistic services there. We mimeographed handbills and had them delivered to
front porches all over town. We called it “The Little Church at the end of West
Eighth Avenue.” Its location, then, was a half block beyond the city limits.
While these meetings did not attract thousands, the little church house was
usually fairly well filled. One night my subject was the prophecy of Daniel
11—the longest prophecy in the Bible. It begins with events of Daniel’s time, in
the first year of King Darius. It foretells the swift conquering flight of
Alexander the Great, his sudden death, the division of the Empire into four
divisions. Then the prophecy carried along the events of the King of Egypt and
the King of Syria or the Seleucidae—as “King of the South” and “King of the
North.”
One ancient history covers the details of those events and those following in
this long prophecy. That night I read a verse of the prophecy, then a paragraph
showing its fulfillment from Rawlinson’s Ancient History, carrying
straight through to the time of Christ, the early Apostles, and on to our
present, and the immediate future.
At the close of the service a young lady who had come for the first time, with
two companions, waited to speak to Mrs. Armstrong. Her friends went on out. She
asked if she could make an appointment to talk to Mrs. Armstrong and me.
“I’m an atheist,” she said. “Or at least I thought I was when I came here
tonight. But now I feel myself slipping. To tell the truth we three girls
thought it would be good sport to come out here and laugh at the ignorant
medieval religious superstition we expected to hear. I’ve always believed
religion is a silly superstition—the ‘opium of the people.’ But tonight we
couldn’t laugh. I never heard anything like this. I have to admit no human
writer could have written that long prophecy and made it come to pass, step by
step, over so many years. What I heard tonight makes sense. It is not like any
religious teaching I ever heard. I want to ask you some questions.”
Mrs. Armstrong arranged a private talk with her for the next afternoon. She
jabbed sharp questions and pointed questions at us, but they were all promptly
answered. She continued to attend the meetings, and after a couple of weeks she
believed, repented, and was baptized. We learned that she was the secretary of
the local Communist Party! She resigned from the Communist Party forthwith.
This young lady was jeered and ridiculed for taking up with “medieval
superstition,” of course.
One day she walked into the small front room of the old Masonic Temple which I
was still using, rent free, for an office. She was actually leading a
half-reluctant man by the arm.
“Mr. Armstrong,” she said, “this man is a Communist—one of my former associates
in the Party. He’s an atheist. He says he knows there is no God. We
encountered each other across the street just now. He said he would like to meet
that weak-brained idiot of a preacher that hypnotized me into believing foolish
superstitions. He said that he would prove that evolution is true and
there is no God by making a monkey out of you. So I grabbed his arm and said,
‘Come right along. Mr. Armstrong’s office is just across the street.’ I have
marched him over here, and I have come along to laugh at the show, as he
proceeds to make a monkey out of you.”
At the moment I had a Bible in front of me. I pushed it aside.
This was a challenge that inspired fast thinking. I gave a quick silent prayer
for guidance.
“Sit down!” I said to the man in a commanding voice, and taking immediately the
initiative before he had a chance to utter a word. “So you’re going to make a
monkey out of me by proving there is no God. First, I’ll shove this Bible out of
the way because you couldn’t believe anything it says, anyway. Now you
must be a very highly educated man, with a brilliant intellect. I want to find
out just how bright you really are, and how much you know about some of the laws
of science. Do you know something about radioactivity and radioactive elements?”
“Well, yes,” he stuttered. Evidently my fast and sharp attack caught him by
surprise and he was on the defensive before he could recover.
I asked him if he agreed with certain laws of science. Of course he had to
answer that he did. I followed up the attack, snapping questions at him forcing
him to answer and commit himself. Before he realized what was happening he had
admitted that science proved there had been no past eternity of matter—that
there was a time when radioactive elements did not exist—and then a time when
they did exist. He had also admitted that life could come only from life,
and not from the not-living. Before he realized it he had admitted there had to
be a First Cause, possessing life, able to
impart life to all living organisms.
“Now,” I pursued, “you’re a real intelligent man. I’m sure you won’t deny that!
You have a mind. With it you can think, imagine,
reason, plan. You can make things. But you cannot make anything that is
superior to your mind! Do you agree to that, or can you show me that you can
originate and produce something superior to your mind?”
He was getting more confused by the minute. Of course he could not demonstrate
that he could produce something superior to his own mind, so he was forced to
admit it.
“Then you have admitted that whatever can be produced must be devised, planned,
and produced by an intelligence greater and
superior to whatever is produced. Do you know of
anything that is more intelligent, and superior, than your mind?”
I knew his vanity could never admit of anything superior to his mind.
“I guess not,” he admitted weakly.
“And yet you acknowledge that something less intelligent than your mind could
never have produced your mind and that it must of necessity have been devised
and produced by an Intelligence greater than
your mind. So you see you have admitted a First Cause having
life, and of intelligence superior to the most
intelligent thing you know, in order to bring you and
your mind into existence. Look at all the forms of
life on this planet—the way each is
constructed—the way each functions—the way each needs certain things like water,
food, sunshine, and a certain range of temperature, in order to function and
exist. Could you, without any pattern to go by,
think out, design, produce, set in motion, and impart a functioning
life to all these life forms of the fauna and
flora of the earth? Or do you think it took a greater power, a
superior intelligence, a
living creator, to design, plan, and create and
sustain this earth and the entire vast universe?”
He could take no more. “W—W—Well,” he stammered pitifully, “I won’t worship God
even if you do make me admit He exists!” This
was a last attempt at defiance.
“That’s a decision God compels you to make,” I
replied. “He won’t make it for you. He will allow you to rebel and refuse to
worship Him. But He did set laws in motion, and whatever you sow, that shall you
reap!”
The young lady did not laugh. It was not funny!
A few weeks later I met this man on the street corner. He made one last effort
at brave retaliation to salve over his wounded pride.
“I’ll never bend my knees to your Christ,” he
said.
“Oh, yes, you will!” I replied firmly. “There is a judgment day coming for you,
and the Creator that lets you breathe says every knee shall bow to Christ—even
if He has to break the bones of your legs!”
I encountered this man many times on the street after that, but he never again
discussed religion. He always treated me with respect.
My First Wedding
I must go back a bit now, to recount an incident that occurred in February or
March of 1934. It was shortly before my wife and children had moved to Eugene
from Salem.
I was asked to perform my first marriage ceremony. Ernest McGill, one of the
twelve children of Mr. and Mrs. J. J. McGill, whose names have appeared before
in this autobiography, asked me to perform the ceremony for him and Ora Lee
Wilcox.
It caught me by surprise. It was the first time, since my ordination, I had been
called on for such a ceremony. I was totally unprepared.
My first thought was to go to the pastor of some church in Eugene and ask him
for his form of marriage ceremony. But on the heels of that thought flashed in
the next second the thought that I had found the Bible entirely different from
modern-day religious beliefs, forms and ceremonies. I realized then that instead
of going to men to learn how to perform a
marriage ceremony, I should go direct to the Bible. Instead of learning from
men, I should learn of God.
Immediately I studied all I could find in the Bible about marriage. I did not
find the words of a specific ceremony written out, but I did find God’s
purpose in marriage—that God had instituted
it—and God’s requirements of both husband and wife. The wording of the specific
ceremony, itself, came naturally by putting together the essential scriptures
concerning marriage.
When the wedding day came, the ceremony was simple, plain, taken from the
Scriptures. I had seen that it is God and not
man, who joins husband and wife as one flesh. Therefore they were married, not
by me, but by God during a prayer. Everyone
thought it was the most beautiful wedding ceremony they had ever seen. God’s
ways are beautiful! That same ceremony, with very few alterations, is
still being used today, in our hundreds of churches worldwide.
But I must recount here an accompanying incident. I had, of course, written my
wife that I was to marry Ernest and Ora Lee. A little later she found our elder
son, “Dickie,” age five, missing. When he didn’t show up she became frantic.
Finally she found him hiding under a bed, sobbing as if his little heart would
burst.
“Why, Dickie,” she called, “what’s the matter?”
“I don’t want Daddy to marry Ora Lee,” he sobbed. “He married you, and he’s my
Daddy, and it’s wrong for him to marry another woman.”
Of course his mother explained. Later he, himself, performed marriage
ceremonies, and I performed his wedding ceremony.
Our “New” Office
Following the evangelistic meetings in the old Masonic Temple in downtown
Eugene, April and May, 1934, I had retained for some time, as mentioned above,
the use of one of the smaller rooms as an office. I do not remember just when,
but later—probably early autumn, 1935—Mr. Frank Chambers, owner of the building
(and somewhere near half of all downtown Eugene, it was rumored), told me he had
a tenant for the entire building, and I would have to move. Up to that time he
had not charged any rent for this smaller office room. He said he had a vacant
room in the Hampton Building, across from the Post Office (a new Post Office has
been built since) on the southwest corner of Sixth and Willamette. However, he
would have to charge me $5 per month office rent.
Well, we seemed to be getting up in the world. From no office rent we now
advanced to paying $5 per month office rent!
However, it was an inner room, without windows for ventilation. There was a
transom over the door leading into the hall. There was another transom over a
locked door leading into the Labor Union Hall adjoining. But instead of fresh
air, the stale tobacco smoke wafted regularly through this transom on mornings
following a union meeting. There had been a skylight in the ceiling, but it was
so dirty very little light filtered through.
During the years we occupied this office we were able to work only about two
hours at a stretch, then having to vacate the office for an hour or so while the
air changed a little. After some months we did manage to afford a small electric
fan which kept the stale air circulating.
There were two or three old tables in this room. Unable to afford a desk these
were used as office desk, and tables for printing, folding and mailing the
mimeographed Plain Truth. There were also a couple of old chairs in the
room.
For filing cabinets in which to keep folders of correspondence and records we
went to a grocery store and asked for some cardboard cartons. The ones they gave
me apparently contained bottles of whiskey, since they had big whiskey labels
printed on the sides. I pasted plain wrapping paper around the outside to
conceal these labels.
Into this office we moved the very old second-hand Neostyle—ancestor of the
mimeograph—and our old second-hand ten-dollar typewriter. This constituted our
entire printing equipment, on which The Plain Truth was printed for the
first few years.
I wrote the articles, then cut the stencils. The local mimeograph representative
permitted me to visit his office once a month and cut the headline on one of his
“scopes.” It was Mrs. Armstrong’s job to grind out the sheets on the old
hand-cranked Neostyle. Every sheet had to be fed in by hand, then slip-sheeted
by hand after each sheet was printed. She then assembled the pages, folded them,
and addressed them by hand in pen and ink. She maintained the mailing list—all
written in ink on sheets of paper.
What a far cry that was from the way The Plain Truth is printed and
mailed today! But in one respect we did have an advantage in those days. Mrs.
Armstrong and I were able to carry the entire mailing of the mimeographed
Plain Truth in our arms across the street to the post office—and before we
did, we always knelt and prayed over them, laying our hands on all the copies
asking God to bless them and those who received them.
Chapter 35
“Uphill All the Way”
We had come, in the previous chapter, to the spring of 1935. Now I should like
to backtrack briefly.
The broadcast had started the first Sunday in January, 1934. The first issue of
The Plain Truth, mimeographed, came out February 1, 1934. The third point
of the “Three-Point-Campaign” got under way the first of April, with the
small-scale evangelistic campaign in downtown Eugene, Oregon.
Old Notation Discovered
In an earlier chapter I mentioned that the broadcast was started with pledges
for slightly more than half of its $2.50 weekly cost. That $2.50 per half hour
on radio station KORE was almost a donation from its owner, Mr. Frank Hill. He
probably gave the $2.50 to the announcer as a slight bonus for opening the
station 30 minutes earlier. KORE had been going on the air with its Sunday
programming at 10:30 a.m. To clear time for my half hour, Mr. Hill simply moved
his operating schedule up a half hour earlier.
Now $2.50 per week may seem a little ridiculous today, as the price of a
half-hour broadcast. It was not a bit absurd to me, in those days! We were at
the very bottom of the depression. I had, only a few months earlier, given up
the $3 per week salary I had received. A single dollar was a considerable item
to us then.
When I stated, earlier, that almost half of that $2.50 radio charge per week had
to be undertaken on sheer faith, I was quoting from memory. The last few
chapters were written in England.
Since returning to Pasadena, I have researched in the dusty old files of the
years 1933 to around 1940. The papers in filing folders are still intact in the
cardboard cartons I obtained without cost at a grocery store. We could not
afford the luxury of steel filing cabinets in those days. In those old files,
stored in a basement store-room of one of our buildings on the Pasadena campus,
I have culled out a number of interesting papers, letters, bulletins, and copies
of mimeographed Plain Truths. Among them I found an old yellowed sheet on
which I had penciled notations of the pledges for the beginning of the radio
program.
Under “Pledges for Radio” are the following:
J. J. McGill $.50 Ernest Fisher 1.00
Mrs. C. A. Croffoot 2.00 T. P. Madill 1.00
John Davison & family .50 Edgar W. Smith 1.00
Mrs. J. W. Snyder .25 Mrs. Gemmel .25
$6.50
It may seem a little strange today that some were able to pledge only 25¢ or 50¢
per month. Perhaps we have been spoiled by today’s prosperity. Perhaps we have
forgotten those bottom depression days. But at that time 25¢ or 50¢ per month,
over and above tithes and regular offerings, as a special pledge, may have meant
considerable sacrifice. Anyway, those are the names that made possible the start
of the broadcasting work that now covers every inhabited continent that has,
today, probably become the most powerful broadcasting work on earth, worldwide!
And today, I say, all honor to those people for that initial sacrifice! It was
not so little as it might seem, at first glance, today! God has multiplied that
many thousands of times over!
When Almighty God does something Himself, by His own power alone, He does it in
a manner so mighty and so vast our minds cannot comprehend it. But when God does
a work through human instruments, He always starts it, like the proverbial
mustard seed, the smallest. But it grows to the biggest!
And so I honor those eight original Co-Workers. Most, if not all, are now dead,
but what they helped to start lives on—in multiplying power!
On this same yellowed sheet of paper is the notation of tithes and offerings
received of $11.75—probably an entire month’s income for my family’s living!
Also special offerings for the “Bulletin” I was then issuing, $4.25. But under
it appear the notations: “Spent for Bulletin: stencils $1.75; 1 ream paper,
$1.35; ink, $1.25; brush, $.15; postage, $1.50; miscellaneous, $1.52; total,
$6.02. That was $1.77 more than offerings received for the purpose. I presume
the $1.77 was paid out of the $11.75 family income, leaving less than $10 for a
month’s living.
I have taken this brief “flash-back” because I feel that few readers, adjusted
to the prosperity and luxuries of today, would otherwise realize the rough going
under which this work of God was forced to start.
Actually, at $2.50 per Sunday broadcast, I did have a little over half of the
amount pledged. When there were five Sundays in the month, the broadcasting cost
$12.50, and when four Sundays it was $10.00. The average cost was $10.83 per
month. The $6.50 pledged was actually 60%. But taking that additional $4.33 per
month on sheer faith was a bigger test of faith, in those days, than it
is easy to realize today!
I had no idea, then, where that additional $4.33 per month was to come from! But
I felt positively assured that God had opened
this door of radio, and expected me to walk on through it! And I relied
implicitly on the promise in Scripture that “my
God shall supply all your need according to His riches in glory by Christ
Jesus.” And although God has allowed many severe tests of faith, that promise
has always been kept!
Smashing Your Idol
I think it well that the reader be given some idea of the financial hardship
under which God’s present worldwide work got under way. Some persecutors imply
that I was in it for the money! Perhaps it is well to set the record straight.
And further because an advanced student here on the Ambassador College campus
expressed great surprise, the other day, to learn that I had been forced to
labor along for 28 long and lean years in economic hardship. He had heard that I
had been “knocked down” by God economically, somewhat as the Apostle Paul was by
blindness, and plunged into God’s service. But he had supposed that the
financial test of faith had consisted of some three or four comparatively short
periods of perhaps a few weeks or a few months.
So let me say right here something about conversion I find most people do not
understand.
The repentance required as a condition to
being truly converted by receiving God’s Holy Spirit is something far different
than most people suppose. It is infinitely more than merely “seeing” God’s
truth, or some of it, and being good enough to
embrace and accept it. It is something altogether different from merely
agreeing with certain doctrines.
Whoever you are, you have, or you have had,
an idol. You have had another “god” before the true living Almighty God. It
might be your hobby or your habitual pastime. It might be your husband, or wife,
or child or children. It might be your job. It might be your own
vanity, or the lipstick you paint on, or your
business or profession. Very often it is the opinion of your friends,
your family, your group or social or business contacts.
But whatever it is, that idol must first be crushed,
smashed—it must be literally torn out of your mind, even though it
hurts more than having all your teeth pulled out and perhaps a jawbone, too! I
don’t believe that many people experience this painlessly. I don’t know of any
anesthetic that will render it pleasurable. Usually it seems like something more
excruciating than the agony of death by the cruelest torture.
Now I had an idol. My whole mind and heart was set on that idol. I had worked
hard, night and day, for that false god. My false objective was the intense
desire—the desperate, driving, overpowering ambition—to become “successful” in
the eyes of important business men—to be considered by them as outstandingly “important”
in the business world—to achieve status. I did not have a love for money as
such.
After establishing my publishers’ representative business in Chicago, I aspired
someday to own, or build, one of the finest and largest homes in the north-shore
aristocratic suburb of Winnetka—with large spacious grounds constituting an
important-appearing estate. I wanted to be considered important by the
important.
Crashing Down to Reality
I was so zealously set on that accomplishment that it became the god I
worshipped and served.
God could not use me as long as I had another “god” that was more important in
my eyes than He. Yet tearing that ambition out of me was like yanking out, root
and branch, my very life itself. It was smashing dead everything I felt I lived
for, and worked for.
So God first took away my business in Chicago by bankrupting every major client.
Twice, later, He again swept businesses that promised multi-million dollar
rewards right out from under my feet. He brought me down to poverty and to
hunger.
But the bigger they come, the saying is, the harder they fall! And all this
swelled-up ego came crashing down, down,
DOWN! I had been so big—so important—in my own sight, there was no
room left for God! But God whittled
self-righteous Job down to size! God drove strutting King Nebuchadnezzar out to
eat grass with the beasts! God struck down Saul with blindness, changed his
direction, and then his name to Paul. And God was certainly able to knock me
down off my imaginary high perch—again, and again, and again! I had to come to
realize that all this self-“importance” was pure
illusion! I was brought down to earth and reality with a
thud!
Instead of ego, vanity, and self-importance, God
fed me, for 28 long years, on the raw and scanty diet of humiliation and
poverty!
Had God merely let me suffer financial reverses, even to the point of
experiencing real hunger, for short periods of a few weeks, I would have bounded
back and quickly set back up my idol to serve again! Had God let me suffer that
kind of humiliation and poverty even for a period of a year—or even six or seven
years—I probably would have resumed the same sense of ego once back on my
financial feet.
But God had in mind, as life-long events have since proved, using me as His
instrument in preparing the way for the World Tomorrow—for world peace—for
universal happiness, joy and prosperity, for a growing worldwide work involving
tremendous expenditures in His service. And He knew that He could never entrust
me to handle HIS money, in the administration of His
work, as long as I set my heart on money or the things money would buy.
Please do not misunderstand. It is not wrong to have or enjoy the good material
things of life. What is wrong, and therefore
harmful to our own selves, is setting our hearts on these things, instead
of on the true values! The love of material
things—the vanity of wanting to exalt the
self instead of God—of wanting the worshipful
praise of men by being considered “important”—these
are the wrong things to set our hearts upon. When the heart is set on such false
values, the soul shrinks inwardly and dries up! Thank
God! He saved me from such a fate by that 28 years of poverty and
humility!
Dying to LIVE
I was never converted until I was brought to the place where I realized
my own nothingness, and God’s all-encompassing
greatness—until I felt completely whipped, defeated. When I came to
consider myself as a worthless burned-out “hunk of human junk” not even worth
throwing on the junk-pile of human derelicts, truly remorseful for having
imagined I was a “somebody”—completely and totally and bitterly
sorry for the direction I had traveled and the
things I had done—really and truly repentant—I told God that I was now ready to
give my self and my
life over to Him. It was worthless, now, to me. If He could use it, I
told Him He could have it! I didn’t think, then, it was useable—even in God’s
hands!
But let me say to the reader, if God could take that completely defeated,
worthless, self-confessed failure to which I had been reduced, and use that life
to develop and build what He has done, He can take your life, too, and use it in
a manner you simply cannot now dream—if you will turn it over to
Him without reservation and leave it in His hands! What has happened since gives
me no glory—but it magnifies again the power of
God to take a worthless tool and accomplish His
will through it!
But don’t ever suppose it came easy. If a mother suffers birth pangs that her
child may be born, most of us have to suffer that we may be born again of
God—even in this first begettal stage we call
conversion!
And what does all this mean? It means that millions of professing
Christians have been deceived into believing in a false
conversion! It means, as Jesus said, “whosoever will save his life shall
lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.” Or, in
another place, “He that loveth his life shall lose it.”
It means that the individual must be changed! It
is a change in what you ARE! Jesus Christ never pictured the way of
salvation as the broad and easy and popular road. Rather, He said, that popular
road is the way that leads to destruction—and the many
are traveling that road. He said that many would desire to enter the
Kingdom of God, and should not be able! Why? Because they are not able to
give up this world—this world’s ways—to
give up being concerned primarily with “what will my friends—my club—my
associates—my relatives say?”
Repentance means giving up your way—the
world’s way—the world’s opinion of you! It means turning to the
way of God—the way of His law! It means
surrender—unconditional surrender—to live by
every word of God.
Since the Bible is the Word of God, it means to live by the
Bible! It means utter voluntary submission to
the authority of God, as expressed in His
Word!
When you come to fully realize what is the full implication of your rebellion
against the authority of God—of the Bible—it is
not so easy to give up! It is much more than a change of direction. It is a
change in what you ARE! That old self
doesn’t want to die! This true repentance
is excruciatingly painful. It is agony! Jesus said few
find that way!
It wasn’t easy for me. How about you?
The only people of God, going His way, that we knew at that time were at the
opposite extreme of human society from the great and the near great I had been
proud to associate with. I thought immediately, of course, of what my former
friends and business associates would think of me. They would regard me as a
fanatic embracing superstition. It was humiliating. I knew it meant giving up
all such associations. I knew it meant giving up my life’s ambitions. It meant
giving up everything I had driven myself so hard to attain. But now I was
disillusioned. All that had been pure ego—pure inflation of
vanity. It was a blown-up balloon—and the
balloon had been punctured.
When I literally gave my life over to God, I meant it! I did not count it
mine any longer. Yet, had God brought me merely to this agonizing experience of
conversion, and then restored me to economic ease and prosperity, I probably
would have reverted back to the same goals and ways. The old cocky
self-confidence probably would have returned. I
probably would not have endured as a Christian.
So God not only brought me low. He kept me that way for 28 long years!
Yet living without this former “god” was no longer painful, once I gave it up. I
had found the true God instead. I had found the
overflowing joy of receiving new
understanding of God’s
truth out of the Bible. I now plunged into the study of the Bible with an
energetic zeal surpassing any efforts I had expended in the quest of material
success. I found a new happiness and joy in the fellowship of those humble and
lowly folk that was infinitely greater than any enjoyment experienced before.
Mrs. Armstrong and I were now seeking first the
Kingdom of God, and His righteousness. We
learned that happiness does not consist of material acquisitions.
When God Opens Doors
Among old papers, letters, bulletins in those dusty old files I find a
mimeographed letter addressed to co-workers. Our little family of co-workers
making possible this work of God was still very small—perhaps a couple dozen or
so. The letter is dated December 20th, 1934.
It started out: “I am overjoyed to be able to make a most wonderful and
important announcement. The Lord has very graciously blessed the work.... And
now He has opened the way for far greater influence during 1935.... A wonderful
opportunity has come for The Radio Church to go
on the air in Portland! This may be done
by a hook-up between our present station, KORE in Eugene, and KXL in Portland.”
A few other excerpts from this letter should prove interesting.
Here is one—and how true this is, still today! “But there is one fact I want you
to realize. It has been said that if a minister would
dare to stand before his congregation and preach the plain
truth of
the Bible, he
would not have a dozen members left. That is about true, for God’s Word is
profitable for reproof, for correction (II Tim.
3:16), and the minister who will use it to reprove and rebuke (II Tim. 4:2) as
God commands, will find the time has come when people have adopted
fables! We have DARED to preach the
truth! We have not minced words, nor toned down
the Word of God. And but FEW will support such preaching.
“Yet,” continuing the letter, “we have found a peculiar paradox. We have learned
that people will listen, over the radio,
to the straight truth that would cause them to get up and walk out if their own
ministers preached it in their own churches! They will
listen, over the radio, but they will not
support such preaching! We cut ourselves off totally from their financial
support—yet they listen! And do you know, there
are millions over the United State s who will
never listen to the last Gospel warning in any way
except over the radio? They can be
reached by radio—and by radio ALONE!”
How true that has been! That is one reason God Almighty
opened the door of mass evangelism by radio and, later, by television. Today,
scores of millions listen every week—yet the numbers who support this great
worldwide work, even today, are only a few hundred thousand worldwide, and many
of them in the lower income brackets!
Yet, even from those early days in 1934, we have made financial needs known
only to those few who had voluntarily, without solicitation, become active
co-workers! We have never begged for financial support over the air. We have
never taken up collections in evangelistic campaigns. We have never put a price
on any Gospel literature! People must send in offerings or tithes, voluntarily
and without solicitation—or else tell us they wish to become co-workers—before
we consider them as such, or acquaint them with the financial needs of the work!
That financing policy was in effect from the very first broadcasting year—1934!
Every co-worker who helps support this work of God is individually responsible
for reaching thousands with Christ’s
Gospel—because only one in thousands is a co-worker!
But the point I wish to make is that, by the end of our first year on the air, Christ
opened another door! He opened the door for us to go on station KXL,
Portland, then only 100 watts.
But at that time I was afraid to walk through that door—until after
co-workers had pledged enough money to pay for
it. This very letter quoted above went on to ask co-workers for those
pledges—totalling only $50 per month, for the year 1935. A coupon form of pledge
was mimeographed at the bottom of the second page of the letter.
Our co-workers failed to pledge the needed $50 per month. As I remember, they
pledged only about half that amount. And I failed to walk through the door
Christ had opened. We had to wait almost two more years before God gave us
another opportunity for His work to expand into Portland! Later other doors were
opened, when I wanted definite pledges before walking through those doors. But
definite pledges was not faith.
We had to learn, by experience, that when God opens doors for Christ’s
Gospel, He expects us to start walking on through,
in faith, trusting Him
to supply our every need!
Whenever we have done this, God has always supplied the need—though He has given
us severe tests of faith. Whenever we have refused to follow where Christ leads
until the money is on hand, the money has never come!
And so the entire year 1935 went by and we were still on only the one little
100-watt station in Eugene, Oregon!
My First Car
During the year 1935, we continued grinding out a hand-made Plain Truth
on the antiquated Neostyle. The mailing list had started with 106 names. But
through 1934 and 1935 it continued to grow as a result of the radio program.
Evangelistic meetings continued, Sunday nights, through most of 1935 at our
“Little Church at the End of West Eighth Avenue.” I had taken out time for a
short six-nights-a-week campaign of perhaps two weeks at the Clear Lake
schoolhouse between Eugene and Alvadore. Also I had conducted a two- or
three-week campaign at a schoolhouse near Globe, Oregon, some 40 miles north of
Eugene.
A Bulletin dated March, 1935, announced the addition of 200 copies to the
Plain Truth circulation, and a radio listening audience estimated, by the
mail response, at 8,000 every Sunday.
By August, 1935, the radio audience was estimated at 10,000.
I find a letter dated September 19,1935, sent out by three members of the Eugene
church, telling members and co-workers of our dire need of an automobile. I had
not owned a car since leaving Salem for Astoria in December, 1931. For all these
meetings I had held 8 miles, 12 miles, and 15 miles west of Eugene, I had been
forced to hitch-hike a ride or be taken by someone attending who had a car.
A few excerpts from this letter may throw additional light on the circumstances
of the time. Here are a few:
“Dear Friend: We want to bring to your attention a few facts that have not been
known, about the work, ministry, and circumstances of your radio pastor and
editor.... He started this work of Bible evangelism without any money or income
of his own. He has received no salary or income from any organization, but
solely on sheer faith in the Lord to supply his needs and those of his
family.... To do this, Brother Armstrong and his family have sacrificed in a way
you little dream of.... Most of the time Brother Armstrong has been preaching
six to nine times a week. He and his wife do all the work of printing, folding,
addressing, stamping and mailing out The Plain Truth, themselves, to save
expenses.... We are three of the many who have been converted by his preaching
during the past year. Now this work is expanding.... He has urgent call to open
evangelistic meetings at once near Salem. The way is opening for him to go on
the air in Portland.... But Brother Armstrong is severely handicapped, and may
be prevented from expanding this great work, because he has no car. The time has
come when he must take quick trips back and forth between Portland, Salem, and
Eugene. He must also have a way to get around to visit more of his radio
audience, especially the sick and afflicted who call upon him for prayer. So we,
the undersigned, have taken it upon ourselves as a committee of three, to try
with the Lord’s help and blessing, to provide a car for this great purpose....
We have in mind not even the lowest priced new car, but a used car, the lowest
priced car that will serve the purpose and cover the mileage he now will have to
cover. One of the undersigned is an experienced mechanic and automobile man, and
will select the right car for the purpose. We three are starting this fund, at a
sacrifice to ourselves.”
As a result of their letter, a fund of $50 was raised. We purchased a used
1929-model Graham-Paige, in Portland. The price was $85. We signed papers for
paying the additional $35, with the understanding I was to have ten days to pay
it in cash and save the carrying charges of a year’s payment contract. I
borrowed the $35 and paid for the car. Afterward the man from whom I borrowed
it—and I believe it was Ernest Fisher—figured that he owed that amount of tithe
money, and cancelled the note.
Back in the proud old Chicago days, it would have been a very painful blow to
pride to have accepted a car in that manner.
Along in those early years, 1934 to 1936, I sometimes laughingly boasted that “I
have a suit of clothes for every day in the week—and this is it!” But
that one suit finally became threadbare. It became a handicap to the work. Mr.
Elmer Fisher decided I had to have a new one, and took me to the Montgomery-Ward
store and bought me a new $19.89 suit. It may have been a year and a half or two
years later when that one was looking equally unpresentable. At that time Milas
Helms, near Jefferson, formed two committees, one headed by him at Jefferson,
and the other at the Eugene church, to solicit contributions from members for
another new suit. They raised $35.
Through these years my wife wore used clothes her sister sent her, and how we
shifted to keep our children clothed I do not remember—except that one woman at
Alvadore stopped tithing by saying:
“Well, I’m not going to let any of my tithes go to buy silk stockings for
those Armstrong girls.” She said cotton stockings were good enough for them. Yet
all other girls in high school wore silk
stockings! This was before the days of nylons. Had our girls worn cotton
stockings, they would have been ridiculed and laughed at by the other girls.
Mrs. Armstrong did not want this to happen. She prevented it by accepting worn
silk stockings from others, with runs in them, and sewing up the runs—for both
her daughters, and herself.
It was incidents like this that soured and prejudiced our children against God’s
truth. Through those years most of the members of the church in Eugene lived
better, economically, than we.
I have a letter written November 13, 1935, showing that at that time, after
almost two years on the air with the radio program, the income of the work was
running around $40 to $45 per month.
It was sometime during 1935 that opportunity came to purchase a small house of
our own on West Sixth Avenue in Eugene. Certain of the church members raised the
down payment. On this I have to trust memory. No figures are at hand, as I
write. But I believe the price was $1,900, with 10%, or $190 down and 1% of the
$1,710 balance, or $17.10 per month payments. The church members agreed that if
I were able to keep up the payments, the property, when paid out, should be
deeded to me. It was deeded to the three officers of the church and myself, as
trustees for the Church, which made it church ownership.
More Persecution
There had come a request for me to hold evangelistic meetings of about three
weeks in the Eldreage schoolhouse on a country road 12 miles north of Salem,
Oregon.
In previous chapters I have had a great deal to say about Mr. and Mrs. O. J.
Runcorn. We had come to regard them as our “spiritual” parents. They lived in
Salem during these years. Their son, Fern Runcorn, and his family lived in this
community close to the Eldreage school, and Mr. Fern Runcorn was a member of the
school board. It was through him that permission was obtained by the board to
hold the meetings. I was invited to be his guest while they were being held.
This school was one of the newer two-room schools. The rooms were divided by
folding or sliding doors. These could be opened so that the two rooms became one
larger auditorium room.
While it was a country community, we had an attendance running from 50 to 70
each night. Among them were some 15 teenagers, including a few husky 16-year-old
overgrown boys. They did not come because they hungered and thirsted for God’s
Truth. They came for mischief. They sat in the rear seats, making loud cat-calls
and weird noises, trying to disrupt the preaching.
Mr. Runcorn had warned me about them in advance. He said that if I attempted to
quiet them or discipline them in any way, I would find all the adults resenting
it, and attendance would stop. I could not understand why, but he warned me that
the people there were accustomed to this noisy confusion, and would resent any
effort of mine to stop it.
Consequently, when the nuisance started, I stopped my preaching long enough to
say that I had been warned against trying to stop it.
“Now,” I said, “if that’s the way you people want it, that’s the way you may
have it. These boys are sitting at the rear. They are closer to you people than
they are to me. If you can stand it, I can. But if and when you get tired of it,
and want it stopped, I shall stop it!”
When these young rowdies saw they could not break up my meetings that way, after
a few nights they broke into the school one night after midnight, breaking a
window, and stealing a number of books.
Next evening Mr. Runcorn said the chairman of the school board had called a
board meeting, and he and the third member had voted to refuse permission for
the meetings to continue, on the ground that my presence there was endangering
school property. But I learned also that the chairman of the school board was a
member of a certain church, of which about half of all the residents of the
neighborhood were members, and that he, himself, had deliberately instructed
these boys to break into the school building, in order to give him the
opportunity to deny the use of the building to me.
That rather aroused my indignation. I was to be allowed this one more service
that same night. At this service, I announced to the congregation what had
happened. I told them I did not want to be a party to a religious war in this
religiously divided community, but I believed God would give me wisdom to handle
the situation. I felt confident the board decision would be reversed before the
following night, and advised all to come.
Next morning I drove to the Sheriff’s office in Salem. I asked him if his office
was willing to uphold the Constitution of the United States which guarantees the
right of peaceful assembly.
“Mr. Armstrong,” he said, “if there is anything this office will stand firmly
behind, it is the right of peaceful assembly. What’s your trouble, and what can
we do for you?”
I explained what had happened. I asked for two deputy sheriffs to be present
each night, beginning at the time of the meetings, until about two hours after
midnight, to prevent further breaking in or destruction of school property. He
assured me his men would be glad to put down the disturbance of these young
ruffians by arresting them and taking them to jail if they disturbed the
meetings further, provided I would prefer charges. It was agreed. The deputy
sheriffs were to remain in the school play-shed just outside the school.
Next, I went immediately, with two witnesses, to the home of the chairman of the
school board.
“Now, Mr. X,” I said when he came to the door, “I understand that your only
objection to my meetings is your fear of destruction to the school property, and
your desire to have the property protected. Is that correct?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” he replied.
“And of course,” I pursued, “there is no religious persecution or bigotry in
your action, is there? You are not trying to start a religious war in this
community where half are of your religion and half of the other kind of
Christianity?”
“Oh, no, of course not,” he said, his face turning red.
“Well, then, since you are not doing this as a matter of religious bigotry and
intolerance, but only to protect school property, I’m sure you’ll change your
vote on this, for there will be no further danger to the school property. I have
seen to that. The sheriff’s office is sending two armed deputy-sheriffs out
every night from here on. They are going to guard the school property until long
after midnight—as long as there is any danger. So you have no other objection,
now, have you?”
“Well,” he stammered, “I - I g-guess n-not!”
“Thank you,” I said. “These men are my witnesses that we now have your
permission to continue the meetings.”
We left, and drove to the home of the third board member. I told him what had
happened.
“You might as well make it unanimous,” I said, “since the other two board
members have given permission, anyway.”
He was glad to do so.
That night we had a good crowd.
“At the outset tonight,” I said, “I want to say that I am sure, after this
breaking into the school building and the robbery, that you people will be with
me in demanding the constitutional right of peaceful assembly. There are two
sheriff’s deputies just outside this door. The first one of you young bullies
that makes a single disturbing sound is going to be yanked right out of your
seat, and thrown in jail for the night, and I will appear against you and demand
the severest penalty of the law!”
At the end of three weeks, the interest had increased, and the meetings were
continued for six weeks.
Chapter 36
“Broadcast Work Expands”
We come now to the year 1936. The meetings being held 12 miles north of Salem,
Oregon, had started around the 12th of December, 1935. Originally scheduled for
three weeks only, they were continued an additional three weeks because of local
interest—especially after the episode of bringing two sheriff’s deputies from
Salem to guard the school property every night.
Going to Heaven?
One night I spoke on the reward of the saved. Most people, of course, suppose it
is a matter of destination—going to heaven. In other words, a matter of
where, instead of what we are to be.
I had shown that Jesus Christ came to “confirm the
promises made unto the fathers. “ Whatever the
promises made to the fathers, Jesus confirmed them as the reward
of the saved. Then I showed by both Old and New Testament Scriptures that
Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob were “the fathers.”
Next, starting with the 12th chapter of Genesis, I showed that Abraham was not
promised heaven, but rather this earth for an everlasting possession.
The words “everlasting possession” simply mean eternal life. The same promises
were re-promised to Isaac and Jacob. This was confirmed by Christ, who preached
eternal life as the gift of God.
Of course most people have been taught, and carelessly assumed, precisely the
opposite of the Biblical teaching on this, and many other basic truths. The
Bible says: The wages [reward of] sin is
death; but the gift of God is
eternal life, through Jesus Christ our Lord”
(Rom. 6:23). Yet nearly every professing Christian believes exactly the
opposite. Most believe the wages of sin is eternal life—in
hell fire. They do not believe eternal life is the
gift of God—the reward of the saved. They
believe we already possess eternal life. They believe the pagan Plato’s teaching
that we are “immortal souls” living in a fleshly body which is merely our
temporary cloak we have put around us.
The original Hebrew word translated “soul” is nephesh which
means animal life—mortal existence,
subject to cessation in death. The very word “soul” has the opposite
meaning to eternal life. The expression “immortal soul” is as impossible and
self-contradictory as that silly poem circulated some 50 years ago, about the
“barefoot boy with shoes on” who “stood sitting in the grass, while the rising
sun was setting in the west as it rained all day that night.”
The Bible says positively, and
twice: “The soul that sinneth, it shall DIE”
(Ezek. 18:4, 20).
Teaching the Teacher
Many do not realize that the idea of going to heaven did not come from the
Bible, but from pagan superstitions. Anyway, in the course of the sermon, I
offered $5 to anyone who could show me any place in the Bible where it gives any
plain statement or promise that the saved shall go to heaven.
After the service, one of the two teachers of that two-room country school house
came to me, and with a tantalizing grin said, “Mr. Armstrong, I’m just mercenary
enough to take that $5 from you. Here, read this.”
She had a Bible opened to the Beatitudes in the “sermon on the mount.” She
pointed to verse 3 of Matthew 5: “Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is
the kingdom of heaven.”
I smiled, too.
“Well,” I exclaimed with a glint in my own eye, “now please read verse 5.”
She read: “’Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.”’
“Now that is a plain statement of what they shall
inherit—the earth.” I said. “Doesn’t that contradict your idea of
going to heaven? How do you explain that?”
“Well, I don’t know—unless,” she said, suddenly jumping to an explanation,
“unless the people who are meek have to stay on earth, but the poor in spirit
get to go to heaven.”
“Now, come you know better than that,” I smiled. “Are you not one of the
teachers in this school?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, now,” I persisted, teasing her a little, “do you think you are qualified
to be a teacher, when you don’t know the difference in meaning between the
simple little words of ‘in’ and ‘of’? You have heard about the famous “Bank of
Morgan” in New York, haven’t you?”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
“Well, is that bank inside of Mr. Morgan?”
“I see what you mean,” she smiled. “The word ‘of’ denotes ownership—it is not
the bank in Mr. Morgan, but the bank he owns.”
“Right! And the Kingdom of heaven is not referring to a kingdom that is in
heaven, but one that is to be on earth and owned
or ruled by heaven. Now turn to Luke’s account
of the same saying: ‘Blessed be ye poor: for yours is the kingdom of God.’
Here the expression is ‘Kingdom of God.’ It is
not speaking of a kingdom inside of God’s person—but the earthly kingdom
God rules and
possesses!”
Then I explained how Matthew consistently employs the phrase “Kingdom of
Heaven,” where Mark, Luke and John, often quoting the same words of Jesus,
always use the expression “Kingdom of God.” Both expressions mean the same.
“Now do you still think I should give you the $5?” I asked.
“No,” she replied, “thanks for the free lesson.”
As always in the evangelistic meetings I held through those years, we reaped a
“harvest.” There were conversions. The little group was formed into a small
local church—but there was no pastor to leave there to “feed the little flock.”
The details of what followed that campaign are very dim in my memory now. A
general mimeographed letter to Co-Workers dated March 30, 1936, shows I had been
continuing to spend some little time visiting converts and interested people in
that vicinity.
But it was the same experience as other evangelistic efforts. There were
results—converts baptized—but without a local minister, the “flock” was soon
devoured by the world, the flesh or the devil. Few seem to be able to endure
without a minister to feed them spiritually, counsel with them in their
problems, and keep the “wolves” away. So far as I know, just one of that group
who attended the Eldreage school meetings continues to endure at the time of
this writing!
Still, this voice of experience did not sink into my consciousness sufficiently
to produce the solution until ten years later. It was in 1946 that the Eternal
God finally got through to me the fact that He intended to use me in founding
His own college, out of which were to come forth the ministers and pastors so
direly needed for the growth of God’s Work!
This same general letter also records the fact that there had been no issue of
The Plain Truth for several months—since starting these meetings. Still,
I find in this mimeographed letter the statement: “As you know, I have never
begged for money over the air.” And, “For more than two years we have conducted
this Radio Church on sheer faith.
The latter part of May or early June Mrs. Armstrong and I drove our aging
second-hand car to Hawthorne, California—a Los Angeles suburb—to pick up a tent
which the “Sardis” people had purchased the year before. We towed it back on a
trailer. I set it up in a good location on the edge of the downtown district in
Springfield. Springfield adjoins Eugene to the east—a somewhat smaller city.
Of course we had a good radio following in Springfield. The tent seated around
400. We had a nightly attendance that must have averaged 150 to over 200.
However, just as interest was increasing, at the end of two weeks, the “Sardis”
people needed the tent. One of their men was going to hold meetings in the
little town of Stayton. They had a small tent, maximum seating capacity fifty
people, which they brought me to replace the bigger one.
For the remainder of the Springfield meetings we were forced to raise the side
flaps straight out, with 50 people seated inside, and 100 or more having to sit
outside—except the night it rained. Then only the first 50 obtained seats. The
others had to return home. Meanwhile, it was privately reported to me that most
nights over at Stayton there was no attendance whatever—one night two people
came, and another night there were four, who had a full sermon preached to them.
This was just another of the many experiences trying to co-operate with these
people.
A Tough Lesson in Faith
In the preceding chapter, I quoted penciled notations from an old now-yellowed
sheet showing that $6.50 per month was pledged by eight Co-Workers to start off
the radio broadcasting. Actually, the original pledges were only $5.50. Three
others, totalling $1 per month were added a little later.
When the first opportunity came to go on the air regularly, the owner of station
KORE, Eugene, Oregon, offered me a Sunday morning half hour at the astonishing
low rate of $2.50 per half hour. During a four-Sunday month that totalled $10,
and in a five-Sunday month, $12.50. Actually, before starting, only $5.50 per
month was guaranteed by pledges. That is, roughly, only half the required
amount. But, in active faith, I did walk right on through the radio door
Jesus Christ had opened.
And I have explained how, in those bottom-depression days, this took real living
faith! When 25¢, 50¢, and $1 per month was all that people felt they could
afford to pledge, you may realize how big the unpledged balance appeared.
At that time Jesus Christ opened the door! I walked through it. I
trusted Him to keep the balance coming. He kept it
coming! Sometimes the necessary $2.50 was not on hand up to 30 minutes
before broadcast time. Then one of the brethren might knock at our front door
and just happen (?) to leave some tithe money, or an offering, at that
psychological minute!
Never once did Christ fail to provide. Never did we have to miss a broadcast!
Real faith requires the courage of believing, and acting on it! This, let
me explain, was not like going in debt for something consumed and unpaid for. We
didn’t go into debt. We trusted Christ to send the money to pay before
each program, in advance.
But I had not yet fully learned this lesson of active faith.
By December that first year of broadcasting—1934—Christ
opened a second door. His time had come for the broadcast to leap to
Portland, with ten times the potential listeners. In fact, a hook-up was opened
to us for two additional stations, KXL, Portland, and KSLM, Salem—both at
that time only 100-watt stations. The cost was to be $50 per month.
But I had grown more cautious, apparently. I wanted more than Christ’s
assurances—I wanted tangible pledges in black and white that I could see! In the
preceding chapter I quoted from the letter sent out December 20, 1934, asking
for those pledges. Not enough was pledged. I let the opportunity slip. Then it
was too late!
On September 3rd, 1936, after almost three years of broadcasting, I sent out a
letter to Co-Workers. One paragraph said: “Do you realize that KORE, our present
radio station, is only a small local station of 100 watts? That it reaches only
50 to 75 miles from Eugene? Did you realize that people north of Salem, south of
Roseburg, east of the Cascades, are never able to hear the message being
broadcast? Yet, over this local station, in this small territory, we have
established a regular weekly audience of around ten
thousand people.”
Did God reject me because I had not yet learned that lesson in faith? No, I had
exercised faith in other ways many times, and answers had been miraculous. But
He let me pay for this mistake! I had to wait two more whole years
before Christ again opened the door to Portland! Here we were, September, 1936,
and still on only that one little local station!
Yet, on the other hand, I had worked hard and remained faithful. I had held
repeated evangelistic campaigns. I had kept up the publishing work, with Mrs.
Armstrong’s full-time help. Scores had been converted and baptized. I had
preached God’s truth fearlessly.
From another paragraph in this general letter of September 3, 1936, I quote:
“Nero fiddled while Rome burned! Many churches and religious broadcasts are
today giving the people a sleeping potion in the form of nice, soothing,
pleasing, comforting programs—lulling the people to sleep—while the
judgements of God
are fast coming upon them! Why, in Jesus name, do they not wake up and
fearlessly shout the warning? This is no time
for soft and smooth platitudes. It is time to awaken
people! It is time to warn them!”
And that is precisely what this program was doing then—and is doing on many
thousands of times greater power, today! Even
then, in that little section of one state, it was like a voice in the
wilderness—the only voice on the air fearlessly
proclaiming Christ’s own Gospel message of the
Kingdom of God!
No, God did not reject us. But He did try us. He did let us suffer to learn
lessons. He did let us go along on that one low-powered station, unable to leap
out into greater fields, for two additional years!
At Last—Into PORTLAND!
This same letter of September 3,1936, told Co-Workers of how I planned now to
get on Portland’s most powerful station. Actually, Christ
had not opened that door. Herbert W. Armstrong tried to open it. Here is
another excerpt from that letter:
“Consequently, the Lord willing, we plan now to extend the radio broadcasting to
a powerful Portland station—if possible the most powerful station in Oregon.
This station has fifty times the power of KORE.
After sundown this station reaches out all over Oregon, Washington, Idaho. After
6 p.m. the cost is just double, but if we are able to secure a 30-minute
period between 5 and 6 p.m., Sunday evenings, which will be after sundown in the
months just ahead, we can send the program out over this large territory at a
cost of only $110 per month.”
But again the pledges fell short—less than half!
Christ had not opened that door. I had to learn to wait until He did, and then
to walk on through the doors He opens!
But by November 8, another letter to our Co-Workers shows that Christ finally
had opened the door once again in Portland. Not the door of the biggest,
most powerful station in Oregon. The same identical door He
had opened two years before—the smallest power of only 100 watts, as it
was then, KXL!
Here are portions from the letter dated November 8, 1936, which tell the story:
“I was in Portland this week, and learned that, beginning November 1st, KEX (the
station I had wanted) goes off the air on a silent period at 4:45 in the
afternoon, before dark. We cannot afford to pay their high rate for a day-time
broadcast. We now have subscriptions for only about $40 per month, and it began
to look like we would have to give up the whole program.
“And so I am sure you will rejoice with me to know that the Lord has opened
to us a better broadcast than would now be
available on station KEX, and at half the cost. The owner of another smaller
station, KXL, who also owns the Salem station, made me a proposition for hooking
up by wire hook-up with both these stations, at our regular Sunday morning time,
10 a.m., over KORE, at Eugene, at a reduction of one-third from the regular
rate. These three stations form the Oregon Network, and are connected by wire
hook-up.... It is not as big a program as we had hoped for, but it is what the
Lord has provided, and will multiply the number of listeners to between seven
and ten times the number we now reach.... It is a stepping stone. Often
the Lord does not let us progress as rapidly as we would like, and He
knows best. I believe that this will soon lead to other larger stations,
so that soon we shall be covering the entire Coast, and later the entire
nation.... We can now hope to start off this extended program by next Sunday.”
The next Co-Worker general mimeographed letter in my files is dated December 9,
1936. It tells its own story:
“Greetings in Jesus name! I know you will
rejoice with me that the extended broadcast over the Network is already bearing
fruit!
“We are now in the second month of this broadcast, and are receiving letters
from listeners every day.
“I have just returned from Portland, with good news that I know will cause you
to rejoice as it did me. The way is now open, as soon as finances permit, to
extend the broadcast still further, into Washington.”
Once we broke out of Eugene, and learned to follow through where Christ
leads in His work, we were allowed to begin
expanding with increasing momentum.
Chapter 37
“A Costly Lesson Pays Off!”
Before going on to the year 1937, I’d like to backtrack again for just a moment
to point out some very important lessons.
Our Sons Start School
By September, 1935, we were living in a small church-owned house on West Sixth
Avenue in Eugene, Oregon, as I have recorded earlier. At this time my wife
decided to start both our boys in school together.
“Dicky” (Richard David) was then six, and to reach his seventh birthday in
October. “Ted” (Garner Ted) had reached five the preceding February. We might
have started “Dicky,” as we then called him, in school in September of 1934. He
was then within about six weeks of reaching six. But Mrs. Armstrong had her mind
set on starting the two boys in school together. They each had little sailor
dress suits—”whites”—and of course we thought they looked very cute together.
They really were pretty “sharp” in those neat and immaculate white suits.
I did not think well of putting both boys in school together. The matter had
first come up in August of 1934. We discussed it a great deal. Both Mrs.
Armstrong’s sister and one of her brothers were school teachers—her sister of
first grade. They advised strongly against putting the two boys in school
together.
I am mentioning this, because the problem might confront some of our readers,
and I should like to help them to profit from our experience.
My wife’s brother and sister advised definitely against starting little “Teddy,”
as he was then called, when he was barely past 51/2 years—and also against
putting the two boys in the same grade when one was a year and four months older
than the other. Had they been twins, it would have been different, of course.
Although I thought it unwise, it seemed to mean so much to Mrs. Armstrong to see
the two boys starting off to school together that I acquiesced. So, on what
probably was the morning after “Labor Day” in September, 1935, I saw my very
pleased wife walk with her two smartly attired little boys on the way to school.
However, we did come to feel, later, that it had been a serious mistake to start
the two boys, more than a year apart in age, in school together. Most of the
reasons for this I shall relate farther on. Little “Teddy,” during the growing
years, was much shorter than his brother “Dicky.” Richard David was at
least of normal height for his age—but Garner Ted was short for his age—until
maturity, when at last he grew up to exactly the same height as his elder
brother.
Because he was so “little” during those years, his women teachers thought
“Teddy” was cute, and he was continually pushed to the front. This, naturally,
resulted in giving “Dicky” an inferiority complex.
Later, during noon hour the day the boys started Junior High School, they
themselves changed their names to “Dick” and “Ted.” And at age 13, I took Dick
in tow with me at the time we were starting on the air daily, in Hollywood, and
managed to apply a treatment that snapped him completely out of his feeling of
inferiority. That, however, I shall leave to be related when we come to it. It
was a most interesting experiment. And it worked!
The Costly Lesson
I have already mentioned how Jesus Christ, the real
head of this work, had said in advance (Rev. 3:8) that, at this time, He
would open doors that His Message might go to
the world in power! And, further, how, after first opening the
mighty door of radio—just the narrowest start
of an opening first, in January, 1934, on one smallest-powered station—I had
lacked the faith to walk on through when it
opened a little wider, in November of the same year.
Instead of trusting God fully, I wanted the assurance of
men. I sent out letters to our few Co-Workers,
asking monthly pledges. I have mentioned how
that door then swung shut, and did not again open to us for two and a
half years.
But that was not all. We were really punished much more than that. I didn’t
recognize it as punishment at Christ’s own Hand, then. It seems plain, looking
back on what happened, now.
God says, plainly, “Whatsoever is not of faith is SIN” (Rom. 14:23). And
“without faith it is impossible to please Him” (Heb. 11:6). Of course this was
not knowing or deliberate sin—but it certainly did not please God, and He
impressed the lesson.
Not only was the expansion of the broadcasting withheld two whole years, but
The Plain Truth was suspended from publication, also! After I failed to
trust God by
going on KXL when He opened its door to us, we were allowed to print and send
out only two more issues of The Plain Truth—March and July issues,
1935—and then The Plain Truth
was entirely suspended for two and a half years!
After the issue of July, 1935, there was not another issue that year. There was
not a single issue of The Plain Truth during 1936. There was not one
number of The Plain Truth all during 1937. Not until January, 1938, did
The Plain Truth appear again!
We were dramatically reminded of the lesson that
God expects His people
to trust Him in
living faith!
The Lesson Applied Before YOUR Eyes!
We learned our lesson! That is one reason why, today, the radio log shows
many very powerful and leading radio stations broadcasting The World Tomorrow,
worldwide.
Our living and guiding Head, Jesus Christ, has
begun opening radio doors more rapidly than ever before. He has also been
opening other doors for the expansion of this work in an amazing,
breathtaking manner! Even in times of economic recession—when
our faith has been most severely tried! Even when we have felt the
imperative need of reducing expenditures in the work, not increasing them. God
has provided the means.
When a radio station agrees to accept our program, and clears a definite time,
that means take it—walk through that opened door
now—or the door will be slammed
shut—perhaps forever! Forty years of experience
has taught that stern lesson. Every time I glance at the current volume number
of The Plain Truth and see those two years missing, I have to be reminded
that God taught me a
stern lesson—when He opens such doors He expects me to walk on through,
trusting Him!
Would you say this takes courage? Well, not
exactly. Not after so many years of experience learning that
God can be trusted!
It’s a mighty practical lesson!
Chapter 38
“Work Grows-Despite Hardships and Persecutions”
Now we come to the year 1937. I’ve explained how, in about mid-November, 1936,
we started on KXL, smallest-powered 100-watt station, in Portland. With it,
using Postal Telegraph wires for a hook-up, we included station KSLM, in Salem.
This was our first network!
Truth About Networks
I think it will be interesting here, to give our readers a few facts they
probably do not know about radio networks. The telephone companies have a very
efficient system of network broadcast lines feeding the various major network
stations—CBS, NBC, and ABC—coast to coast.
These are very special lines, specially engineered, and of far greater
efficiency than ordinary telephone lines. They are specially boosted at
intervals of about every fifty miles. This is necessarily a very costly
service—but the quality is as near perfection as human technology can make it.
Sound is carried instantaneously from originating stations in Hollywood, New
York or Chicago, to all parts of the United States with no detectable loss in
tonal quality. The voice is transmitted as naturally as if the speaker were in
your living room or your car. Music, at both highest and lowest frequencies, is
transmitted just as naturally.
The installation and maintenance of these special lines is a costly operation.
In 1936 and 1937 we were not able to afford such perfection in network lines.
But at that time the Postal Telegraph company offered far less costly lines.
These were just the ordinary telegraph wires—far, far from the quality of
telephone special network lines. There were no boosters along the way, and even
the lines themselves were inferior, for our purpose. Often they would fade down
or out. Frequently they didn’t work at all. The reception at the other end was
far from perfect. But we were on our first network, nevertheless! We
called it the “Oregon Network.”
Everything God starts through humans must, it seems, start the very smallest—and
sometimes the crudest. But it was a start! And,
once started, the work
of God never stops! Not only that, it never stops growing!
We were to use Postal wires in immediate future years to Seattle and Spokane.
Later, the Postal company was absorbed by Western Union. But they helped us get
a start while they lasted!
Even at that time I had my sights on extending the broadcast into Seattle and
Spokane, though I was forced to learn patience, and wait until God opened those
doors. I knew we could not call it the “Oregon Network” when it extended into
Washington, so, in my mind, I had it named already the “Liberty Network,” ready
for the future!
Gospel to the Holy Land
Meanwhile, I was continuing to hold regular Sunday night evangelistic services
in our little church building at the end of West Eighth Street, in Eugene.
Interest and attendance gradually were increasing.
It was either the last Sunday in December, 1936, or the first Sunday night in
January, 1937, that a former leader of that Church of God we find described in
Revelation 3:1 as the “Sardis” church—with which I was trying, in those days, to
cooperate—appeared with a professed converted Jewish evangelist.
This particular church leader, whom I will not name since I can say nothing good
about him as an individual, had a scheme to get the Gospel to the Jews in the
Holy Land. They had arrived a day or two before, and explained their plan to me.
It sounded real good. In fact, the idea, itself, was good.
The reason evangelists generally were failing to convert the Jewish people to
Christ, he explained, was their wrong approach. This may not be the whole
reason—but the approach of most evangelists assuredly had been wrong!
They customarily started by trying immediately to preach the name of Christ to
the Jews. But, explained this Jewish evangelist, all Jews have been taught from
babyhood to virtually hate, despise, and reject the name of Christ. To mention
this name was to set up immediate prejudice. It raised an immediate impenetrable
barrier.
This evangelist, being Jewish, said Jewish people would not be prejudiced
against him, but would listen. Instead of preaching Christ, direct, he proposed
to approach them with the Jewish Scriptures—Old Testament only. After
arousing their interest with prophecies being actually fulfilled today, he would
then turn to a few passages such as Isaiah 53, Micah 5:2, Isaiah 7:14,
describing how the Messiah was to be born as a baby, of a virgin, in Bethlehem,
to grow up as a child, to be despised and rejected and crucified.
He said that when he approached Christ from the Old Testament
Scriptures—from the Jewish point of view—they would listen.
Whether or not many would listen very far, this was the only possible
approach, I knew, that had a chance.
The plan was to raise enough money to send this man to Jerusalem, from where he
would work throughout the Holy Land in getting the Message of the Saviour to the
Jewish people there. I agreed to help.
The Deception
On that Sunday morning I interviewed both this church leader and the Jewish
evangelist on my radio program, and announced public meetings where the
converted Jew would speak at our little church on Sunday night.
That night our church building was filled. I sponsored the idea of the tour of
the Holy Land, and asked for liberal donations. Never, except for something very
special like this, did we take up offerings in any service. The response was
liberal.
The next night we had a packed house at Harrisburg. Again, the donations were
liberal, and the evangelist was on his way.
But a year later, after other unpleasant experiences with this church leader
during 1937, the Jewish evangelist again visited our home in Eugene.
He had a sad report to make. His effort had not been altogether honest and
sincere. It had weighed on his conscience. He knew he ought to return the money
I had helped raise, but he didn’t have it to repay.
He had gone to Jerusalem, all right. But he had found that the church and church
members supposed to exist there were nonexistent, he said. The man whose name
was used as a representative of the church also proved, he reported, to be a
representative for other churches, drawing financial compensation from all of
them.
The “converts” being made in the Holy Land, he reported, were not Jews at all,
but Arabs—who were not really converted.
The procedure used in the Holy Land, he reported, was this: These supposed
missionaries, evangelists, or “representatives” who drew money from several
Protestant denominations, and reported “large harvests” of “converts,” each had
a small tent, in which they served tea and cookies. Like a barker at a circus
sideshow, they shouted, beat tin pans, made noises to attract a crowd,
announcing free cookies and tea. When the crowd gathered, the “missionary” went
through a short two- or three-minute “spiel,” after which he offered the free
cookies and tea to all who would raise their hands and say they accepted Christ.
The natives all raised their hands, partook of the tea and cookies, and then
proceeded to the next tent where they got “converted” all over again!
Well, as the saying goes, “Live and learn!”
I have learned many lessons, in more than half a century in Christ’s
ministry—and I have been completely disillusioned in regard to the sincerity of
a lot of professed religion in this world!
Radio Audience Grows
In a letter to Co-Workers who were regularly supporting God’s Work with tithes
and offerings, dated February 12, 1937, it was estimated that the listening
audience had grown to some forty or fifty thousand, every Sunday. It was
steadily growing “toward our goal of 100,000” the letter reported!
What a goal!
That looked mighty big, then! Yet today our
listening audience is immensely larger.
But the point is, as I mentioned once before, I did not, in those days, have any
remote idea that this work ever would reach even a fraction of its power of
today!
I think I have stated, before, that I did have vision. I did, at that time, look
forward to going on small stations in Seattle and Spokane. My horizon had
expanded to include the entire Pacific Northwest—and at times I even envisioned
the entire coast. But the vision of a God-empowered work on the vast worldwide
scale of today was that of our living Head and Chief Director, Jesus Christ—not
mine! This is His work. I, and our Co-Workers with me, have been merely
instruments in His hands! But the present size and scope and power of this great
work is testimony to the power of
God to build, and increase His
work, and keep it growing until, like the grain of mustard seed, it
fills the whole earth!
Whatever plant my heavenly Father has not planted shall be rooted up!
But God says He will never stop the work He
has begun! Whatever is of man is destined to
come to naught! But whatever is of God cannot be stopped! Through the
years we have met hardship, persecution, disillusionment—every obstacle! But
none could stop us, or prevent this work growing and
multiplying in scope and power!
Compare the mail response of the broadcast today with 1937. A general letter
sent Co-Workers on March 19, 1937, reported the following “big”
mail response: In the past 21/2 weeks, 26 letters from KXL, Portland; 20 from
listeners of KSLM, Salem; and 12 from KORE, Eugene. Total 58. The letter then
asked: “Brethren, is this worth while?” That seemed
big then. Today, we receive tens of thousands of
letters per week. And that is from the United
States, only. Besides this there is a receipt of mail at our
offices, worldwide, much larger per day at each office than we then had
in 21/2 weeks back in 1937.
This letter of March 19, 1937 started out: “I am more than gratified at the
evidence of rapidly increasing audience, growing power, and mounting influence.”
This mail count inspired us to increased activity then. And, by comparison with
what God now grants us, that same report gives all of us, whose hearts are in
God’s Work, great inspiration to further increased activity, today!
I wonder if the reader can realize, as I read over these letters and reports
from dusty files of long ago, how much deep down satisfaction and inspiring
gratitude to our God it gives me, today! It was
a real struggle, then. It always has been! But the results with which we have
been blessed—the assurance of continued multiplying growth from here on—mighty
gratifying and worth all it has cost many thousands of times over!
There is a reason for this rapid and consistent
growth over the years. That reason is partly stated in a letter dated April 8,
1937: “This is not just another religious broadcast. It is utterly
different! as I’m sure you realize by this time.
It dares to proclaim the
Bible truth
straight from the shoulder! It dares to warn
people of the fast—approaching dread day of
the Lord, and to
preach the only true Gospel—the Good News of the
Kingdom of God!
It dares to correct modern fables!”
The same remains true today!
More Persecution
On Sunday, May 2, 1937, the program on the three network stations was dedicated
to high school students. By arrangements with the Principal of Eugene High
School, the combined boys’ and girls’ glee clubs of that school furnished the
musical portion of the program. The Message was directed to high school
students, in their own language, captioned: “Getting a Real Kick Out of Life.” A
special notice was sent on the Monday preceding to Principals of the High
Schools of Oregon and southwestern Washington, asking them to announce the
program to students in assembly.
About the first week in July, another six weeks’ campaign was started in Eugene.
The attendance was good—averaging 150 to 200 per night. As usual, there were a
number of converts.
August 20th to 29th, inclusive, a camp meeting was held in “Cabin City,” on the
highway just north of Eugene.
This particular camp meeting was the last of our cooperation with the Salem,
West Virginia branch of the Church. The son of one of the so-called “12
apostles” of that church informed me of a plot, hatched at a meeting he attended
with his father, in which the so-called “leading ministers” of that group
intended to use this camp meeting, of which we at Eugene were hosts, to attempt
to discredit and ruin the radio broadcast.
I had announced the camp meeting over the air, weeks ahead, and invited all
listeners to attend. Immediately, on learning of the plot, I appointed a
Committee to be in charge of the camp meeting, and had them go to the “leading
ministers” who already were in Oregon, demanding that all antagonisms and
derogatory insinuations against me personally and the radio program be withdrawn
from their plans. They refused, saying other ministers from the east coast were
coming, whom they could not muzzle, and they were determined to ruin the
broadcast if possible.
Thereupon, I announced there would be no camp meeting. In two days the “apostle”
customarily in charge of these annual camp meetings arrived in Eugene from
Southern California. He came straight to our home.
What was this, he asked, about my threatening to call off the camp meeting?
“That’s right,” I said, explaining to him the conspiracy to defame the broadcast
and ruin it.
“But you can’t stop the meeting from being held,” he exclaimed.
“But I can, and will,” I replied. “You see, I have rented this
camp grounds in my own name, and I alone control it. I will not allow the
grounds to be used. I have the entire member mailing list. I shall send out
notices informing all of the facts, telling them
it is cancelled, and not to come. About 85% of all expected to attend are
members of the two churches at Eugene and up at Jefferson, of which I am
Pastor—and they will do exactly as I say. There is no other possible place where
such a meeting could be held. On next Sunday, I shall announce to the radio
audience that the camp meeting, to start that night, has been cancelled. Nobody
will come! Now tell me, please—how are you going to stop me
from stopping the camp meeting, and saving the broadcast?”
His wife intervened, and advised him to realize that I “had him over a barrel.”
He then begged me not to stop it, promising there would be no attacks
against me or the broadcast from the pulpit or otherwise during the meetings.
But I remained adamant.
“Do you question my word?” he asked, a little indignant.
“It isn’t your veracity but your ability to stop this vicious and evil
attack that I question,” I replied.
He reminded me that he was a cousin of the leader in the church, who held all
these ministers under his thumb. He said he would guarantee that nothing hostile
would occur. Finally, on this, I relented and agreed to let the meeting go on.
But there was an undercurrent of bitterness and hate. Whenever I preached, the
next minister to preach devoted his sermon to an attempt to refute, disagree
with, and tear down everything I had said. I tried hard to preach on subjects
that could not be disputed or disagreed with—yet they found a way to twist what
I had said and attempt to cast reflection against me.
Then, at a ministers’ meeting, this very “apostle” who had always appeared so
friendly to me, proved himself willing to give a “Judas kiss.” Having the floor,
he said, in pretended sympathy, that dear Brother Armstrong had worked
so hard, and was so overworked, that they decided to “help” me by
relieving me of some of my “burdens.” Therefore, they had decided to appoint
another of their ministers (one totally hostile to me), as pastor of the church
up at Jefferson. He almost wept crocodile tears of pretended sympathy.
One elder and one deacon of the Jefferson church, shocked and thoroughly aroused
at this so evident subterfuge and bit of
deceitful hypocrisy, as a plot to “take over” that church, and thus rob the
broadcast of its tithes and offerings, resigned immediately.
All of us at Eugene church, and half the members at Jefferson severed all
connection and effort at cooperation with those who had proved themselves
willing to serve Satan and their own personal greed, and to injure the very work
of God! I am going to
end all comment about that group here, with the epitaph that—like a dead
tree—they have since split and resplit into so many little tiny groups, all
hating one another, that no one seems to know where all of them are.
These harassing events were unpleasant. It really did hurt Mrs. Armstrong and
me, and all loyal to God’s true Work, very deeply to see some we loved very much
willing to be misled by greedy and self-willed little powerless preachers. But
such is life, and such is this world!
Jesus Christ said the gate is narrow, and the road hard, difficult, that leads
to life, and only the
few find it. We certainly have found His words true! It has not been an
easy road. I know why Jesus was a man of sorrows. It was not because of
persecution against Him, or personal suffering, but the anguish of seeing
those He loved reject the truth and be willing to turn the wrong way to their
own perdition! It hurts, deeply, to see people drop by the wayside!
But in the Work of God, the great blessings outweigh the sorrows 100 to 1.
Chapter 39
“The Plain Truth Revived!”
Using Postal Telegraph wires, we continued on the local network, feeding the
10:00 a.m. Sunday morning program from KORE, Eugene, Oregon, to two
additional stations, KXL, Portland, and KSLM, Salem.
These, like our original KORE, were the smallest-powered commercial stations in
operation—a mere 100 watts.
Weekly Portland Jaunts
But we stayed, at that time, with KXL for only about ten months. On September
5,1937, we moved up to a 500-watt station, as it then was—KWJJ. The new time on
KWJJ was 4:00 p.m. Sundays. We continued on KORE and the Salem station.
This not only was another increase in power, it started weekly trips to Portland
that were to continue several years. Later these trips were extended on to
Seattle.
At this time I put the program on KORE, broadcast simultaneously by wire hook-up
over KQLM, Salem, at 10 each Sunday morning. Then came the 123-mile drive to
Portland for the 4:00 p.m. broadcast.
By this time we were using a mixed quartette on the program. As the program
started out, our concept had been to condense a regular church service into a
half hour, using radio techniques. The program started with a fast-moving theme
hymn, then two verses (never more) of a lively hymn, followed by prayer during
which the singers usually hummed—or followed it with a threefold “Amen”—then
announcements about the program, The Plain Truth or other free
literature. Then followed a sermon of about 22 minutes, then sign-off with a
closing theme hymn.
In using this type of programming, in those early days, I was merely following
the custom of religious programs generally. Nearly all other religious programs
on radio have continued that format to this date. But later, as we branched out
onto larger stations in larger areas, we began to learn that this style of
program is all wrong.
It is based on the assumption that a regular Sunday church service is being
brought to people in their homes. It assumes one of two fallacies: either, 1)
that all radio listeners are church-going people who want to sit in a
church service—which is true of not more than 2% of radio listeners, or, 2) that
radio is the proper medium for holding a church service with our own particular
church members.
We discovered later that such type of programming causes about 98% of radio
listeners to tune to some other station, or tune out. The minute the average
person hears a hymn, he says: “Oh-oh! There’s another one of those sentimental,
pestering religious broadcasts!”—and he flips the dial.
It was some years later, but eventually we learned. Then we began programming
for the other 98%—the people who are not religious—the unchurched—instead of
what radio men call “the religious audience.” Years ago we dropped off hymns and
singing altogether.
But in those days, and for some years to come, we did use singing. Our mixed
quartette was hardly of Metropolitan Opera quality—yet, as religious programs
went, it was very creditable. Some of the time we used eight voices in a double
mixed quartette.
Customarily, however, we used the four singers, which included my wife and
eldest daughter. The quartette, a pianist, and I drove directly from the studios
of KORE to Portland, usually taking lunch along to eat in the car en route.
Portland Tabernacle Offer
Shortly after going over to KWJJ, opportunity came to purchase a tabernacle in
Portland. This brought us to the crossroads decision for the entire future of
the work.
I had to learn, here, that all that glitters is not gold. This offer glittered.
It flattered. It was tempting.
A Portland radio evangelist, Willard Pope, had built this tabernacle a few years
earlier. He had now built a new and slightly larger tabernacle and vacated his
former one. He was conducting one of these local religious broadcasts, holding
nightly evangelistic services in his tabernacle and regular Sunday service for
his church members which this program brought him.
The idea of having what then appeared to me as such a nice large auditorium of
our own in Portland was enticing. This tabernacle seated 800 people.
But soon I began to realize that, although this tabernacle was offered on terms
that amounted virtually to rent, with no down payment for about a year or so, it
would change the entire direction and future course of our work.
It would mean tying me down to Portland—preaching in Portland six nights a week
to those attracted by the radio program. It would mean trying to
build a local church. It would have tied me
down, locally, in Portland. I had from the start realized that the first and
major commission to which I had been called, was not to build up a church
and to bring in members, but to proclaim the true and original Gospel of Christ,
which the world had rejected and lost for 181/2 centuries. I saw our commission,
in Christ’s prophecy of Matthew 24:14. The Gospel was to go out, not to
cram it down people’s throats—not to try to force conversion on them,
but as a witness—perhaps even a witness against them!
Of course I did see that Christ had said it was to go into all the world,
and as a witness to all nations; but I had no delusions of grandeur—I
never thought of myself as reaching more than a segment of the whole earth. I
assumed God would raise up others to reach the rest of the world. But I did
realize I was called to preach that very Gospel to as many as God made possible.
This tabernacle offer, I began to realize, would mean diverting the work from
that path. I began to realize that it might prevent the radio work and The
Plain Truth from expanding into wider areas. And already I envisioned a
program expanding to reach the entire west coast—and possibly even, in time, the
entire United States.
For some three or four months I weighed the matter, prayed over it, sought
advice and counsel from those whose judgment in such matters I respected. And
finally, on the grounds it would divert us from our divinely ordained course,
which I felt sure I realized at last, the tabernacle offer was turned down.
It was a wise decision. It was a test in wisdom. I think I have mentioned before
that I had discovered, very early in my ministry, that I lacked natural wisdom.
I had always craved understanding. I had
absorbed a reasonable share of knowledge. But
wisdom is ability to put both of these together
and form a right decision. I had read God’s
instruction in James 1. If any man lacks wisdom, he is to ask God for it; and,
believing, he shall receive it. I had asked God for wisdom. God granted it. But,
even though it comes as His gift, He lets it develop gradually, and through
experience. This was one more experience in wisdom.
I have always been sure the decision was God’s. The work would not be where it
is today, otherwise.
Atheists at a Funeral
In February, 1937, I had sent out a letter to Co-Workers saying that the mail
response indicated a radio audience of between forty and fifty thousand each
Sunday—growing “toward our goal of 100,000.” By April the mail response
indicated 60,000 listeners. By November 26th we had reached our goal—100,000
weekly listeners was announced! We set new goals—and continued to grow!
On November 30, 1937, the father of the former atheist Secretary of the local
Communist Party, whose conversion was recorded in a preceding chapter, died.
This precipitated a nerve-testing experience.
The mother of the young lady ex-Communist had also come into the Church. But it
was a fairly large family, and nearly all the other members of the family were
professed atheists. There was some kind of a controversy within the family
concerning who was to officiate at the funeral. The professed atheist members
were violently opposed to me. They wanted a Mr. Herbert Higgombotham, pastor of
the Unitarian Church in Eugene. However, in deference to their mother, they
acquiesced.
“Oh, well,” they said, “we’ll sit there and endure the ignorant, superstitious,
medieval mouthings of this stupid God-believing minister, and then we’ll have a
good laugh picking to pieces his ridiculous ‘funnymentals’ after it’s over.”
I realized what I was facing.
I spoke on the meaning of death, and the question of life after death. I
mentioned that among men there are various ideas—the
immortality of the soul, which is pagan; conditioned immortality and the
resurrection of the dead; and the atheist idea that death ends all. Then I
pointed out that the reasonings and inventions of human imagination carry no
weight of authority—they are only ideas—and other people have
different ideas. Nobody has ever yet come back to tell us his experience,
except the resurrected Christ whom they deny. Science can contribute
nothing. We, therefore, have one of two choices:
1) accept the revelation of the Creator God—who knows—in the Bible, or,
2) admit we are absolutely IGNORANT!
The pagan, I said, is ignorant—he has only his
imagined and superstitious ideas. The atheist, I affirmed, is even
more ignorant—he has only his prejudiced
refusal to accept truth, without any proof or scientific knowledge
whatsoever; he has no authority; he, like a fool, ignorantly believes what he
wants to believe, because he is unwilling to believe the truth.
Then I said that I would now read to them what God
says, and that we have the choice of accepting this authority or confessing that
we are ignorant.
En route to the cemetery from the mortuary, I rode on the driver’s seat of the
hearse, and with us was a cousin of the sons of the deceased.
“Mr. Armstrong,” he said, “you probably didn’t know it, but you had several
professed atheists and scoffers before you today. They came to ridicule and
scoff, but you certainly closed their mouths! They intended to go home and pick
your sermon to pieces—but their home will now be as quiet as a morgue!”
Of course, I did know what I was up against. I had prayed to the God they
denied for wisdom. I believe He granted the request. They fell into the pit they
had dug for me—being labeled ignorant. They had
no answer.
Our Car Gives Out
By December, our old second-hand several-year-old Graham-Paige car laid down on
the job, like a worn-out, tired old horse ready to lie down and die.
At this time we had one secretary—Mrs. Helen Starkey. She was working without
salary. Later, I think, we managed to pay her $5 per week, but even that was
only a fraction of a salary.
Without my knowledge, she sent out a letter over her own signature on December
21, 1937, asking Co-Workers for a special love-offering for a new second-hand
car to enable us to continue the weekly broadcast trips to Portland. It was that
or go off the air.
Enough came in to purchase a 1934-model used Graham—on monthly payments!
It lasted until 1941.
Helen Starkey died in 1959, faithful to God’s work to the end. But a year or two
before she died—having moved to Pasadena—I learned that she and her husband were
trying to purchase a small home, but lacked a few hundred dollars of being able.
It was a very rewarding privilege for Mrs. Armstrong and me to be able now, at
last, to pay her the few hundred dollars as back salary she had really earned,
some twenty years before. She lived in the home they bought the short remainder
of her life.
More Tests of Faith
There had been no issue of The Plain Truth since July, 1935. The reasons
have been fully explained before. During this period, I did manage to turn out,
frequently—though not monthly or with regularity—printed sermons that had been
broadcast.
These had been months of trial and hardship, persecution, plots by the very
ministers I was working with to wreck the broadcast, struggle to meet rising
expenses and keep the work alive.
I will mention briefly one such incident. On November 22, 1937, I had managed to
afford enough paper and ink to mimeograph a printed sermon. But we lacked enough
to pay for postage to send it out until November 26. Here are a few brief
excerpts from the letter I sent along with it. This letter was sent only to
those who had become regular Co-Workers:
“Again, with the printed sermon, I send greetings in the Lord. I want to thank
you from the bottom of my heart for your interest in God’s truth. But this month
I must take you into my confidence about some of the problems we are facing in
this work. Right now Jesus Christ is opening up the most wonderful opportunities
for the expansion of the work. And yet, instead of taking advantage of these
opportunities, I am faced with having to stop what we are doing, and going
off the air altogether, after next Sunday’s broadcast!
“Most of you must have thought that with our vast radio audience, so many people
would be sending in money that we do not need your
help. A hundred thousand listen, every
Sunday, but only a very FEW of them send any money. And I have never
asked for money over the air! We preach the Word of God—and the Scriptures are
profitable for reproof, correction, and instruction in God’s way. It is not a
popular Gospel. People do not pay to be told their sins—to be reproved and
corrected. They would walk out of church if their pastors hit them with the
Bible truth. Their pastors would lose their
jobs. Yet we have found that people who would not tolerate such preaching in
their churches, where their friends see them being told their sins, will
listen privately, in the secrecy of their own homes by radio. For some reason,
they cannot resist listening—over the radio! But
they will not support it with their money.
“The cold facts which I must face are that we have not been able to send out
this printed sermon earlier because there has not been enough money to pay
postage—we do not at this writing even have enough money on hand for the trip to
Portland for the Sunday broadcast, and must trust God to send it before Sunday
morning. I do not like to tell you these things. Brethren in Christ, this is one
of the discouragements I must face—the responsibilities I must carry—in order to
bring you the spiritual benefits and blessings
so many of you have written you are receiving from this work.
“I wish you could sit at my desk a few days, and read the letters that come in.
Some of them would tear at your heartstrings! You would come to really
realize the wonderful amount of real good this
great work is doing—already on a large scale, covering most of Oregon and
southwestern Washington. Thousands are hearing the true Gospel and God’s
warning, who never heard such things before!
Conversions are actually taking place while our program is coming in over the
air!
“When I look at this world and see the people hurrying here and there, absorbed
altogether in their worldly cares and pleasures—yet really miserable and unhappy
and lost—heedless, knowing
nothing of the terrible things soon to come on
those who have not put themselves under God’s protection; and when I look into
my Bible, and see how real these things are, and how soon they are coming, I am
appalled, and my heart burns to shout out the
warning to more and more people, before it is too late!”
I felt it might be worth the space to reprint the above portions of that
letter—just to show what we faced, and how we felt, at that time.
AT LAST—a Plain Truth
But, patience, faith, and struggle were rewarded—as they always are.
January 1, 1938, we finally were enabled to bring The Plain Truth back to
life! It was the first issue in two and a half years!
But it still had to be a hand-produced mimeographed “magazine.” A letter sent
out with it said: “We cannot, yet, afford to have it printed. So we mimeographed
it ourselves. This work has been done mostly by Sister Helen Starkey, Mrs.
Armstrong, and myself, with a few of our good friends coming to the office for
volunteer work the past few days, to help with the folding, addressing,
stamping, .” Mrs. Starkey was still working daily without salary.
A bulletin sent to local Oregon church members, dated January, 1938, announced
the Plain Truth mailing list was now 1050.
It had outgrown Mrs. Armstrong and me. It was becoming too large to mimeograph.
In February, 1938, we were forced to reduce The Plain Truth down to 3
pages—its smallest size ever. There were two sheets of paper, and the back
page was devoted to a letter!
At this time I learned that we could have the March number printed, at a
local printing plant, on cheap paper, 8 pages, for $30 more than the cost of
mimeographing. But we didn’t have the $30!
So the March and April numbers were still mimeographed.
March 18, 1938, I sent out a letter showing that the expenses of the work
(including our family living) had risen to $300 per month. But we were running
behind on part of the family living. Legal action was being instituted to
foreclose and take from us our small home! In some manner I do not now remember,
this trouble was met, and we managed to keep the home. But this only added to
the harassing discouragements in the struggle to keep the work going.
First PRINTED Plain Truth!
Finally, after more than four years on the air, we managed to produce the
first really printed Plain Truth!
This was done by combining May-June into one number! It had to be printed on
inexpensive newsprint paper. The page size was larger than the present magazine,
but it contained only 8 pages.
This was the first issue that carried under the masthead the slogan I had always
wanted: “a magazine of understanding.”
(To be continued in Volume II.)