Christian Reformed Layman’s League

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INTRODUCTION

Project Thank You (PTY) began during the Vietnam War in 1967 in the midst of societal disorder over the massive confusion of the war. This booklet is a recollection of facts that took place during our efforts to befriend our fighting men in Vietnam. Many of these facts have never before been exposed to the public because we wanted to avoid any knee-jerk reaction, e.g. church discipline, an implied threat, back then.

In my opinion, the Christian Reformed Church (C.R.C.) was pretty much a strict Dutch denomination in those days and not widely known—still isn’t—probably because today it’s more ethnically diversified and more broad minded; which (to the faithful) give impetus to splitting; and in that process, the old strict discipline has been mitigated by its offenders running off to other denominations sooner rather than later, making effective discipline, today, nearly impossible. But that stuff is not our subject here.

Back in 1967, the C.R.C.’s Synod decided it was time to form a layman’s league hoping to involve the laity into the ministry of the Word through various moralistic programs by those in the pews—the laymen of the church. We gave them Project Thank You, and boy, did we ever!

Those of us, who were too old or too young for the Vietnam War, were forced to follow it on television.

Some young Americans visited Canada—for years at a time, while others marched on the Pentagon. Television, then as now, gave undeserved credence to those who blatantly ripped their draft cards, or burned their draft notices as a public expression of their hatred for the war. Confusion about why we were in Vietnam preoccupied many Americans. Our country was being torn apart—from the inside. Families were split over disagreements about patriotism, and what it used to mean. It went to unbelievable extremes; do you remember any of those radical days?

Back in the 60’s, there was a voiced disregard for the patriotic Americans who obeyed their government’s call to arms—then—and now again. The anti-GI movement became focused in a negative media. The Doves rallied to publicly accuse the Armed Forces of cruelty toward our men, and the end result was so effective that even the Hawks wished for something better for our GI’s—and some politicians began to demand withdrawal from the swamps of Vietnam. Yes, like father, like son!

It was against this mixed and troubled background, that "a little old lady" from Hudsonville, Michigan came into my dental office with a newspaper clipping of a U.S. Army soldier sitting in wet grass with dirty hands and face.

Let me think about this for a while Sadie. Maybe I can find someone else to take this on. Let me check around, okay?"

"Don’t check too long," she warned shaking her index figure at me. "These guys need help right now," as she walked out the door.

We had patients there in the waiting room while this entire discussion took place in front of them. When Sadie closed the outside door of the building, they gave her a round of applause indicating their agreement with what this sweet soul was doing for the forgotten, and sometimes condemned, men serving our country in Vietnam.

That same night, we had dinner with Marty and Alice Hamstra. Marty, a graduate of Calvin College Seminary, chose not to become an ordained pastor, arguing that the ‘salvation’ of the church is in the pews, not the pulpits. His sermon on that score went like this: "unless the laity of the church becomes involved in living and acting out their faith and salvation, preaching will only fall on people stuck in the rut of the traditional comfortable pew." So instead of pastoring a church after his graduation, Marty took a position with the Home Mission Board of our denomination instead. He headed up the Public Relations Department of Home Missions—another term for fund raising.

He was very good at it! His first endeavor was to raise money for a small Christian Reformed church in Harlem, New York. He found a picture of some local boys playing basketball in the streets using three or four braided-coat-hangers for a hoop. He laid out an advertisement showing this scene, asking every Sunday School throughout the denomination to take collections for these kids in Harlem so that they, too, could have a normal basketball court on which to play—something good with real

Sadie Blauwkamp explained: "I’ve been sending towelettes to these guys but I can’t keep up with it any more. These guys want socks and other things and it’s getting to be too big a job for me to continue with it. Look, you belong to the Jaycees, and you guys do noble things for others, do this one for the guys in Vietnam."

Little did anyone know that this interruption would lead to the changing of countless lives, both at home, and in Vietnam, nor that Sadie’s name would be traveling all over the country for the next five years.

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hoops and nets. The response was overwhelming. Soon Marty had another cause, and another. Each plea was focused (heart to heart) to just one reader, and then multiplied thousands of times over.

Each effort also brought in large excesses. Finally, according to Marty, people at Synod began to question the huge sums collected by the Home Board and asked them to slow it down a bit.

We told Marty about "the little ole lady" from Hudsonville. His eyes lit up as he reached for a paper-place-setting from the next table, then into his pocket for a pen, blurting out: "Okay! I’ve got an idea!" Those who have ever worked with Marty will agree that whenever he says "I’ve got an idea," watch out! His ideas usually required the assistance of many hands.

Eyes still beaming, he continued, "Why don’t "we" ask for three hundred thousand donated wash-n-dry toilettes? That’s approximately how many servicemen we have in Vietnam. We’ll send the towelettes to the front lines of Vietnam," he said.

"Who’s `we’?" I asked.

"We’ll get volunteers to fill up the basement of your church. They can address bundles of towelettes to GI’s. We’ll ask for sixty to a hundred volunteers to process and ship them off to Vietnam."

Just listening to Marty’s ideas usually wore us out. Everything falls into place in Marty’s mind, but who’s going to do all this and who will take the criticism from critics who attack anything "new"?

The following Sunday our pastor, Rev. Henry Van Wyk, delivered a sermon on Psalm 121. He preached his sermon with a patriotic flare stating that this Psalm became his favorite text during the days he served in the United States Marines.

Naturally, we thought of the guys in Vietnam and wondered if they too would be as blessed. Psalm 121 reads:

After the church service that morning, we began to reflect: if we were to send towelettes to the men in Vietnam in the same box they came in, even if we sent millions, we (as Christians) could be doing no more than the Boy Scouts or Jaycees could probably do better.

However, if we included a witness of some kind, we could make a statement of faith. For instance, if we could somehow include Psalm 121 with the towelettes, we might have a positive witness in the Psalmist’s assurance that God cares, as well as the material blessing of the towelette. So, the words: REFRESH BOTH BODY AND SOUL seemed to sum up the idea and we had twenty-five thousand stickers printed up (not three hundred thousand) ready for volunteers to apply them to each towelette packet. But who would sponsor and carry it out? Surely not the Home Mission Board!

The Synod of our denomination had, a few years earlier, asked the churches in North America to form a Christian Reformed Layman’s League (C.R.L.L.). Nothing much came of it at first—with one notable exception: Roger Roodvoets headed an effort to build Wayside Chapels for those traveling the highways.

Mr. E. R. Post (former principal of Grand Rapids Christian High School) headed up Synod’s C.R.L.L. and the first major project was what grew out of Sadie’s idea; namely Project Thank You.

This event is included here, not to cast aspersion on them (E. R. or Leonard), since I had also been forcibly removed from every school I attended after that for one reason or another (none my fault, of course) with one major exception: The University of Michigan School of Dentistry. By that time we had two of our three daughters and their existence demanded a new performance on my part if I was going to be able to support them.

We are weaving a story together here, because: exactly three days after Sadie Blauwkamp left my office, and twenty-one years after E. R. Post removed me from Christian High, Mr. Post called my office and asked me if I would visit one of the C. R. L. L.’s meetings.

What? He had to have called the wrong guy! But when asked, he claimed he knew who he called. I was intrigued enough to accept his invite to come to one meeting and sit in. Little did we know that behind the scenes God was weaving His own story of how thousands of Sadie’s GI’s would be positively impacted with God’s love and Word for years to come.

Volunteers from all over western Michigan began calling Sadie and our church to offer their help in applying the sticky labels containing Psalm 121.

Through God’s intervention and guidance, the volunteers received a guarantee from the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. that each towelette would be delivered to the men on the front lines of Vietnam. If it were not for our volunteers, none of this could have happened!

After they had sent the first thousand towelettes to Vietnam, we began receiving "Thank yous" from the soldiers--asking for more, and for additional items. A list of the most requested items was researched and compiled by a Hudsonville Christian School teacher named Crystal Unema, who volunteered hours to accomplish this task.

The bag itself saved the life of a man shot in the chest, unable to breathe without breathing in blood. They covered the wound with the plastic bag and he could again breathe through his mouth and nose. Without this, the medics claim he would have died. The tiny red TIME pencil is missing from this photo, as it went missing years ago!

We put together a 30 second commercial with the music of The Battle Hymn of the Republic in the background. Then we contacted Peter VandenBosh, manager of WJBL in Holland, MI. We had just rented an old building We at 951Wealthy Street in Grand Rapids, MI. We asked Pete to come there to listen to a commercial that we would allow him to air at no charge--that’s how much we knew about the broadcasting business!

Peter marched to a different beat than most, even back then. He agreed to drive 40 miles, but warned us that if we were wasting his time, we’d pay dearly for it. With the stirring music in the background this is what he heard:

"RIP UP A DRAFT CARD? JOIN A SIT-IN DEMONSTRATION? NO, WE’VE A

BETTER IDEA! WE ARE NOT INTERESTED IN DISCUSSING THE FACT THAT OUR MEN ARE IN VIETNAM. WE ONLY RECOGNIZE THE FACT THEY ARE THERE SACRIFICING FOR US. BUT ARE WE REALLY CONCERNED FOR THEM? PROJECT THANK YOU SAYS WE ARE! PROJECT THANK YOU IS A THANK YOU PACKET CONTAINING THE NINE HIGHEST DEMAND ITEMS REQUESTED BY THE MEN THEMSLEVES, WITH DISTRIBUTION IN VIETNAM GUARANTEED BY THE PENTAGON IN WASHINGTON, D.C. EACH THANK YOU PACKET CONTAINS THREE OR FOUR PACKAGES OF PRESWEETENED FLAVOR-AID, SEVERAL PREMOISTENED, PRE-MEDICATED TOWELETTES, A PAIR OF DRY SOCKS, A POST CARD TO ORDER MORE, A TINY TIME PENCIL, SEVERAL SHEETS OF

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STATIONERY, AND THE GOSPEL OF MARK; ALL WRAPPED IN A RESEALABLE, WATERPROOF PLASTIC BAG. PROJECT THANK YOU ISAMERICA’S WAY OF SHOWING CONCERN FOR OUR MEN IN VIETNAM, SHOWING CONCERN FOR THEIR PHYSICAL AND SPIRITUAL WELFARE, SHOWING ENOUGH CONCERN TO LET THEM KNOW THAT WE STAND BEHIND THEM. HERE IS YOUR OPPORTUNITY TO BE CONCERNED AND TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT, SOMETHING CONSTRUCTIVE, SOMETHING THAT WILL BE APPRECIATED. OUR MEN IN VIETNAM DON’T WANT TO BE THERE ANY MORE THAN WE MAY WANT THEM THERE, BUT THE ARE THERE, DOING THEIR JOB FOR US, AND THE LEAST WE CAN DO IS SAY THANKS. JOIN WITH US, AND PROJECT THANK YOU, BY CALLING IN YOUR PLEDGE RIGHT NOW. FOR EVERY TWO DOLLARS YOU PLEDGE, YOU WILL BE SAYING THANKS NOT TO ONE, BUT TO THREE MEN ON THE FRONT LINES OF VIETNAM."

As the voice over ended, the volume (on the "AMEN" of the Hymn) swelled causing goose bumps to run down our necks, arms and legs.

Marty and I looked at Pete in silence with eager anticipation of a positive answer. Pete just sat at the head of the table, looking down. Finally, he took a deep breath, then raised his open hand high over his head, and slapped it, palm down, on the table as hard as he could, exploding with: "THAT’S IT!" A long pause followed.

Finally he continued: "This is the best thing I have heard! This has got it all! I am excited, men! We are not going to go with just a free commercial; instead we are going on the air for the entire day!"

"We can’t afford that," I hastily suggested, not wanting anything to do with an all day affair.

I just looked at Marty and he glanced at me and my distraught face. I blurted out "there’s no way we can fill a day; we can’t play that thing all day long!"

We don’t have to," Marty demanded, "all we have to do is tell the story of how this whole thing got started, and why we are doing it. The listeners will do the rest when they call in pledges on the telephone."

"We’ll need additional telephones installed for that day," Pete concluded.

"Hey, wait a minute," I said, "who is going to sit there and dream up something to say in front of a live microphone all day long?" I asked.

"You!" they said in harmony.

"No I’m not! It took hours to put this one tape together. It wasn’t spontaneous!"

Pete asked Marty: "You want to do this, don’t you?"

Marty agreed, without even a glance in my direction!

"I’ll be at the microphone with you," Pete assured me, "I’ll be on the air with you." Then looking at Marty he added "I think a Saturday is the best day to do this." Marty immediately agreed--AGAIN!

"Now just one more thing," Peter Vanden Bosch added, "I want to know if either of you has any skeletons in the closet and I want the truth! I am not going to lose money all day and be embarrassed later. I will be making heroes out of you guys, and I don’t want to find out later that you are bums! Any skeletons? Any divorces? Convictions? Anything I should know about? I’m dead serious!"

We quickly assured him we were "clean."

Pete cancelled the Michigan State Football game that Saturday, November 25, 1967! That’s dedication! We went on the air at nine in the morning, and kept going until sign off time at sunset. The studio was full of phones that had been installed just for this day.

At one point, during the live broadcast, children began collecting money from door to door. One young boy did it on his horse! Then he came to the radio station and Pete let both a boy and his horse into the studio through the back door so that he could interview the kid on the air.

Marty was a "James 1:22 doer." While I was totally preoccupied behind the microphone, Marty would spend time on the telephone in another room, out of sight. During this first broadcast, he was only calling other radio stations and telling them what we were doing in Holland—on W.J.B.L radio.

Soon these other stations began running news updates on Project Thank You and our totals every hour. It didn’t take long before we had everyone who was listening to any radio station, listening to us, and calling in their pledges also. There’s a point to be made here. As we learned later, broadcasters are not stupid. Pointing one’s own listeners to a competitor-station’s event, is not "good business." What made them do it? It was Peter Vanden Bosch’s example of contributing airtime and dumping all commercial income that prompted their participation.

It didn’t matter if you were a Republican or a Democrat, black or white, Christian or non-Christian; pro-war or anti-war. No one was passing judgment on the war.

Folks began arriving at the studio from as far away as Benton Harbor and Traverse City. We interviewed every one of them on the air.

Soon the churches in the area began calling in donations. That seemed "strange" to me. After all, this was Saturday, and hardly anyone knew that we were going to do this marathon. How could the churches have a collection ready to pledge? At first it was mostly the C.R.C.’s calling in with their pledges, and they were very substantial gifts! Soon, the Reformed churches of the area started doing the same thing, then the Baptist, Methodist, Charismatic and Catholic churches all began piling on the band wagon.

It was usually the Pastor who did the calling, and one of them was my own Pastor Henry Van Wyk. I asked him—on the air—"How did you manage to get this gift together on a Saturday?"

Oh, when there is a need like this one, there is always a way to meet it. Never fear," he answered with a chuckle in his voice.

Thinking it best not to pursue it any further— especially on the air--we moved off the subject. Marty in the meantime was laying ground work for a call to Vietnam, but he couldn’t make it happen before sunset. During that first marathon, all of western Michigan was electrified. More people got into their cars and drove down to the radio station to hand deliver their contributions. Marty had prompted other radio stations to call back to learn how we were doing. Then he got other Pastors excited and that is what started that snowball; but true to his nature, Marty didn’t quit there. Now he was on the phone to Washington D.C. talking to Representative Gerald R Ford (R-MI), [without my knowledge]. Ford agreed to call the station back and congratulate the people of western Michigan, his district, for the way they were responding to our servicemen in Vietnam.

Our accountants would interrupt us in the middle of a sentence to update us on the total pledges so far. This chaos over open microphones led to heightened excitement and ultimately led us to the establishment of hourly goals.

The studio came apart when the goals were not only met, but blown to smithereens. Radio marathons were not as common then as they are today. So, in our case it became a game. Every goal blown-apart was reckoned as a measure of our lack of faith in the good folks back home and their desire to do something positive, something constructive, for our men in Vietnam. Listeners had fun calling in to prove our "lack of faith."

In the studio, after we went off the air that first night, everyone was ecstatic! Peter Vanden Bosch was beside himself, pleased and proud of the entire "red, white and blue effort." "This project must be taken across America!" he said with determination wanting a commitment to do just that right on the spot.

And wouldn’t you know it? Within a nanosecond Marty agreed and the rest of the board, answering the phones and talking with the donors, unanimously agreed as well.

"Somehow, this effort had to reach the rest of America," they said. By no means was ‘Project Thank You’ fully born that day.

Radio and television marathons were only the up-front aspect of what turned out to be a highly organized volunteer effort, whose volunteers were so outstanding in every way that they were ultimately written up by U.S. News and World Report. These willing and enthusiastic volunteers enabled this project to achieve its highest goal: serving those who were serving us in the armed forces of our nation—on the front lines, no less!

Someone’s human hand had to meticulously assemble each Thank You Packet that went to Vietnam. Our fantastic volunteers had to take three packages of Kool-aid and place them on top of a folded pair of white-cotton-socks, then add a hand-full of towelettes, tuck a tiny red Time pencil in alongside a pen bearing the name and address of Project Thank You, and place all that on top of some hand folded stationery with a self addressed (free postage) post card slipped in-between which offered more of anything they wanted to Refresh Both Body and Soul. On top of that, the Gospel of St. Mark was placed, and finally, all of it was carefully and neatly slipped inside one of the plastic resealable bags with the name of the donor also included, so that the GI could write back and say thank you to them.

The bag was then sealed and thrown fifty feet into a large cardboard box. Why fifty feet? As you may know, re-sealing a lock-type plastic bag in the late sixties was not as easy as it is today. There were none of these blue and yellow sealing-strips that show green when properly sealed, so we had them toss the "sealed" bag at least fifty feet to confirm the seal. If the bag was not sealed properly, the contents would spill out, and would then have to be repacked by the next volunteer crew. Perhaps the tossing of the completed packet was the greatest pleasure for the volunteers.

Our volunteers consisted of thousands of western Michigan boys, girls, men, women, church groups, retired people, and folks from rest homes. School buses full of kids getting out of school early to package caused a few traffic jams in front of our building. These eager volunteers were the "local army," working for our men on the front lines of Vietnam. They were really the guts of Project Thank You. Without them, nothing would have happened except a lot of empty hoopla.

All the packaging had to be done in an old building at 961 Street, where the C.R.L.L. rented space from ‘The Evangelistic Literature League’ (T.E.L.L.) Volunteers assembled each gift packet in a dimly lit basement with exposed wiring and naked light bulbs screwed into electric sockets laced with cobwebs. It was dry down there and warm, and it was soon cleaned up by the volunteers.

It wasn’t long before we had more volunteers to package the packets calling us every day, and we needed someone to run the office. We finally managed to talk Marty into resigning from Home Missions to join us full time and begin by coordinating the volunteer schedules. He was made the National director of the C.R.L.L.

From that point on, I had very little to do with the packaging, and was doing marathons every weekend instead.

We really had a fantastic Board of Directors (B.O.D.). Every board member had a valuable contribution to make in the management of funds coming in each week from the marathons as well as maintaining a smoothly run organization.

Yet, even with excellent reports of our doings swirling around the media, and outside accolades pouring in; there remained some anxious hearts within the official-church-hierarchy that was both annoying and humorous to our board; yet, we had fun with it! Maybe too much at times. You see, Synod had inadvertently "created" a new Christian Reformed Layman’s League without giving it any mandate, or guidelines—nothing but a free shot to do whatever we felt like doing.

John answered, "Just hang on tight!" and walked away laughing.

Why did they have to be there at all? It wasn’t that we were doing damage to the denomination, nor being careless or reckless; instead it was, in my opinion, the fact that the NAME of the Christian Reformed Church was receiving an inordinate amount of print-publicity from the Grand Rapids Press, and United Press International, who serve radio and television stations across the country. It became obvious we were getting things done faster than any existing church-committee, and they figured that demanded an overseer. Admittedly, we also did more than our share of eliminating tradition (for tradition’s sake) out of the C.R.C., which really ruffled some feathers.

Because it would waste too much time to move a new idea through Synod who only meet once a year, and it would take forever to have a committee review it further. In addition, if one had carefully evaluated the caliber of our board members, the depth of expertise present, one would readily recognize the Designer of the board as the Lord we served. It is safe to say we had a Christ centered B.O.D. who were totally dedicated to doing all this for His sake, and His Name was lifted high in the process! We met every Monday morning at six in the morning for breakfast, a debriefing of the last marathon, reporting total pledges, and accounting for any after-marathon cash contributions. These breakfast meetings were a joy, and a supplement to our regular board meetings. Here we would also plan our next marathon. Each marathon had to be set up by an advance person flying to the city where we would be three to four weeks in the future. Local Jaycees were always willing to stuff grocery bags announcing the marathon. Local Pastors would be invited to meet with us regarding their involvement. This all had to be accomplished in two days. We had volunteer staff who would soften up the area via phone calls ahead of the advance person’s arrival.

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CHAPTER TWO

Some accounts, following, have never before been told (for what will become obvious reasons) while others need reiteration to establish the characteristic background and drama of Project Thank You. Marty Hamstra and I worked closely as a team— mostly by telephone since the majority of his time was spent in our Grand Rapids office, while I did most of the marathons with one or two other (rotating) board member.

Marty was a close friend (knew him since he was 10 years old while I was in the service stationed in Seattle WA 1950-1953), but I was never overly thrilled when the board of directors assigned him to escort me on a trip, because it surely meant more devious surprise bombshells while on the air.

Digression is hard to handle when singular-focus is the order of the day.

Imagine yourself at a marathon broadcast. Patriotic music coming in our earphones, the microphone is open, we are on the air. Thousands of people are listening. I begin speaking softly and intimately— close to the microphone saying, "We aren’t here today to discuss the right or wrong of the war. . . . Rather, we are here on behalf of our young men in Vietnam. None of them WANT to be there—but, the fact is they ARE there, doing their jobs for you and me. Can’t we put aside our differences long enough to just say THANK YOU to them? Join with so many other Americans and call in your pledge right now. Let’s join together to be a part of som e t h i n g p o s i . . .

When something like that happens, when someone pulls the plug on your train of thought, it triggers an annoyance with a tad of frustration mixed in. It was very disruptive, and the more I showed my feelings, the worse it got. PRESIDENT doesn’t tell me anything! President of a local college, President of some large corporation in town? President of the Lions Club or Jaycees? President of Synod?

And then our eyes hit the top of the stationery where these incredible words appeared:

That letter, when read on the air, caused an avalanche of calls and pledges. So many, in fact, that the phone lines froze-up, meaning we had just blown a circuit somewhere between the telephone company’s switching stations.

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We began begging people not to call. Telephones throughout the rest of the studio were okay. We always had extra phone lines and phones installed for each marathon. So we redistributed our telephone volunteers to working phones, and began giving out those numbers. Each incoming call took about three minutes to complete because we had to precisely record the person’s name, address, and city, state, zip, the amount of the pledge and then on a separate card, reconfirm the caller’s name and address explaining that this second card will go inside one of the packets and a serviceman may write back.

After about twenty minutes, we were back to normal, and could make the announcement that our lines had been repaired.

With all that confusion, I forgot to get angry with Marty for another of his distressing antics— those unforeseen interruptions.

After President Johnson’s letter was made public, the United Press International News Wire Service (U.P.I.) carried it and our story from around the world; along with the news that General William Westmoreland, Commander of the troops in Vietnam had also endorsed Project Thank You that day.

A few days later, Willis Timmer received a call from Western Union. We had received another telegram. The operator suggested this one should be picked up personally. Marty volunteered. The moment he saw it he took it to Kwik-print and had it duplicated a hundred times. Telegrams didn’t just happen either. Rather, they were the result of a lot of work on Marty’s part cultivating the ground work for it to happen.

Did that mean we were we to sit back and wait for all this to eventually happen without even suggesting the idea to the sender? No! Rather, it may well have been a situation that occurred on our second marathon in Los Angeles. Marty ran into some mild objectors (draft dodgers) on the streets, and took it as a threat, which when reported, came across as a real threat to damage the building from which we were broadcasting. There may have been some purposeful embellishment involved, but we do not know that for sure. Point being, this is probably what motivated John Hulst to give us warning—which was graciously accepted (and heeded) by the board.

Back to the telegram: It wasn’t until the middle of the next Saturday’s marathon that I heard anything about any telegram.

Marty had given the telegram to Gord Piersma who accompanied me on this one. He was instructed to pull the same stunt on me while on the air. Gord was a fantastic helper. He was all over the studio talking to people, making sure everything was going as it should, when he remembered the telegram! He exclaimed to me, while on the air, "Holie Yoota! I almost forgot, here this is for you."

Having letters and telegrams thrust into my hand wasn’t all that much fun, especially while on the air. We wanted something the audience could HEAR. So the board decided that Marty and I should go to Washington D.C. to procure taped endorsements that could be played on the air under my timing.

So we contacted Ade De Vos From Grand Haven, MI., and asked to borrow his high quality professional tape recorder, so that could really impress the politicians in Washington. He graciously agreed.

The first person we tried to see was Representative Gerald R. Ford. But he was out on the House floor, so Mr. Frank Meyer (his right hand man) let us into his inner office to wait for Jerry to vote and return to the office.

Marty kiddingly suggested that since Jerry wasn’t around anyway, I should take his seat behind his desk. I did. I put my feet up; on top of a pile of paper work, leaned back, stuck one of his many pipes in my mouth, folded my hands behind by head and leaned back for Marty to take a picture.

Just as Marty was ready to push the exposure button, Jerry Ford walked into the room.

"What the hell’s going on here?" he asked— maybe not aware that Frank had let us in. What would you have done? They didn’t have disposable diapers back then.

I snapped to my feet so fast that his papers flew all over the place. I must have opened my mouth at the same time, because his pipe fell to the floor also.

Marty tried to explain, and the further he got into the reasons for this ridiculous scene, the harder Jerry laughed—making that day the beginning of a long and smooth friendship with Jerry Ford.

Jerry was happy to give us his endorsement, but was also in a hurry, so he pumped out this short message.

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After recording it, we had the nerve to ask him to call Senator Everett Dirksen’s office to arrange a meeting for us with the Senator. I distinctly remember a moment or two of hesitation on Jerry’s part before actually picking up the phone to call Dirksen. I still wonder why! Was Dirksen that unapproachable? Surely Jerry Ford wasn’t concerned that we would pull any stunts. Or, was he?

We entered the Senator’s office and stood in awe as we gazed upon an expansive and beautiful crystal chandelier hanging in the center of his large board-room-table, behind which sat the white haired Senator with arms outstretched on the table in a gesture to us to be seated and talk.

We spoke about trivia for the first three or four minutes, almost reverently—certainly with awe. He was a strikingly delightful person. Then, after another two or three minutes of interrogation from him, he said, "Let’s turn that thing on and talk about your Project."

After setting it up, I asked if he would give me a "level" so that I could adjust the volume. He counted to ten. Then—without warning he said in that golden voice of his:

"Man, you’re good!" I said in my mid-west naiveté—feeling really dumb the moment it came out. He just smiled in appreciation, and we packed up and left like cordial gentlemen, and with professional dignity.

We only made it down the corridor fifty feet or so, before the excitement overwhelmed us. We were laughing so hard, we ended up hitting the wall, and sliding down it to the floor where we just sat there and listened to his spectacular rendition over and over again.

After gathering up a few more Senators (talking them into it by letting them listen to the copy of Dirksen’s message) they began calling their colleagues.

These are facts, not elaborations or embellishments-- though it is and was nearly unbelievable! As one congressional aide put it, "Everyone will want to get on this bandwagon! You’ve discovered the perfect way to fuse two opposing points of view by giving us an opportunity to pull together for the men themselves."

At the airport, on the plane, just before they were to shut the door of the plane, Marty got up and spoke to the stewardess. Then waved to me and said in a loud voice, "Senator, we need you up here," motioning for me to get up and walk to the front of the plane.

Doggone him! With a big smile he said: "I just explained that I was supposed to have taken your photo on the steps leading up to the plane, Senator. Please step out and stand at the door while I walk down to the tarmac."

Soon after our Washington trip, the board bought a complete taping studio and installed it in my den, giving me state-of-the-art capabilities for duplicating and editing audio tapes. This newest technology (back then it was mono, not stereo) allowed me to individually and precisely place each endorsement on a cartridge ready to fit into any radio or television station’s audio equipment. We hauled them around the country in two large custom-made (75 pounds each) wooden crates. We could now conduct a radio marathon as though all of Washington, Hollywood, and the sports-world were standing right there in the studio with us.

"Hello Doctor, how are you?" the voice came back, and it was unmistakably a voice I thought I recognized, but didn’t dare guess over the air.

I’m fine, how are you?" I responded.

"Well I’m just fine, Sir. I’m here in St. Paul..." Now I knew it was the Vice President of

the United States, Hubert Humphry!]

"Thank you Mr. Vice President, thank you very much!" (I thought he was finished, but . . .).

We were pleased, at the conclusion of the conversation, to learn that "the whole nine yards" had been taped for us in the control room by Marty. Even so, we edited the tape down for all other broadcasts. Still, what a difference his endorsement made!

In this chapter you will read about a marathon incident that nearly got us arrested, and had that happened, we would have been finished!

Here’s what happened: We had set up an innovative arrangement with the White House that involved the President and his staff in the press room, as well as the Press Secretary, himself. Without some new plan, the White House would never have continued to indulge us from city to city each week with marathon messages. However, before explaining how that worked, a little background—with which you can relate—has to be established.

Each radio station, without exception, donated one hundred percent of their day to us. This was done at great cost to the stations, since they also had to agree to cancel one hundred percent of their commercials. This was a rigid stipulation of our C.R.L.L. Board of Directors, and it was never once compromised. Only one station tried to break the "no commercials" agreement, by "sneaking" one in before the first hourly news break of the marathon. We prepared to shut down, by collecting and packing up all the cartridges from the control room.

Since it was a "continuous" broadcast from sign-on to sign-off, the only breaks we allowed were news breaks at the top of each hour.

The station manager became upset at seeing us pack up after the first hour of a daylong marathon. When we explained why we were doing this, he claimed he wasn’t informed about our policy, and assured us that he’d be happy to comply, since everyone else had. Full documentation was sent to every station manager prior to any agreement. Strange that he would claim not to have been informed.

More background: Prior to our new arrangement with the White House, we had to call them each week (during a song) to ask for a new release. We would tell them where we were, and they would have to call back with a release approved by the President . . . no matter where he was. Sometimes this took a long time. This was getting to be a nuisance for the White House and us, every week. So, we suggested that (instead of chasing the President down every week) we make one standard endorsement that we could use week after week, one city at a time, thus saving everyone valuable time and a lot of chasing around. A win- win situation.

NOT FOR RELEASE BEFORE ______________(time) ______________(date).

PRESIDENT LYNDON B. JOHNSON CONGRATULATES THE PEOPLE OF _________________________ FOR THEIR PATRIOTISM AND PARTICIPATION IN PROJECT THANK YOU. MANY OF OUR YOUNG MEN ARE DEMONSTRATING THEIR PATRIOTISM IN SOUTH VIETNAM. THEY DESERVE OUR APPRECIATION AND SUPPORT.

AS PRESIDENT, I SALUTE THOSE OF YOU IN ____________________________ WHO ARE DEMONSTRATING YOUR PERSONAL APPRECIATION BY SUPPORTING PROJECT THANK YOU.

(Released (TIME)

by the President’s News Secretary,

George Christians,

for President Lyndon B. Johnson.

Before I tell you the rest of this story, we should arrive at an understanding of our purpose for telling it. We were moralistic Christians, working in the world. We did not become part of the world. We had a singular mission: that of raising funds to send Thank You Packets to our men in Vietnam that contained the Gospel of Mark. Of equal importance: we were "guests" on various broadcasting stations, and our hosts didn’t always share our Christian perspective.

That said, as a warning for what is to follow, come with us into the real world, where clean and decent language is thought of as old-fashioned and ineffective. This particular station manager insisted on sitting right next to me most of the day. He was congenial, but he stuck inordinately close to me. I didn’t know if he was concerned that maybe some Michigan dentist wouldn’t be able to handle a full day on his station, or what his problem was, but there he sat—listening.

It was getting close to 9:50 A.M. and I wanted to get this news release squared away for this city, so I would have it ready any time I thought it could be used to our best advantage. We did have the liberty of calling anytime, and either placing that time on the release or a later time—whenever it fit best. I headed in the direction of a phone two or three times, but each attempt was stymied by the manager, who got up to sorta follow me within seconds of my departure. I had to divert into the john each time.

Finally, just before the one o’clock news break, I got the call in while HE was in the john. I hadn’t paid attention to how long he stayed in the john. Nor did I notice whether or not he had ever come out of the place. When I hung up after talking to the Press Room at the White House, I just waltzed back to the microphone, and opened it as soon as I sat down. We were in the middle of a stirring patriotic march. "Ladies and Gentlemen: we have just received this news release from the White House ...," and then proceeded to read it straight from my pocket, referring to the proper date and time and city on a piece of note-paper in my other pocket. We always followed the President’s release with "Hail to the Chief," (pre-recorded on a cartridge) giving the audience the thrill of their lives, along with the phone numbers to call. It really went well—again!

Or, so I thought. As soon as I closed the microphone, the manager (with two staff members and one skinny-security-guard in his late seventies and in a uniform three sizes too big) came to my chair and surrounded me. They insisted I accompany them into the manager’s office while one of the station’s announcers slithered into my seat. Now what? I wondered, never having thought that any of what followed would ever happen—not even in a nightmare.

&%!*# bunch of fraudulent hypocrites. I’m gonna expose you and your project, and run your ass right out of town."

He paused, and then continued, "No, better yet, I’m going to turn you over to the federal authority’s right here and now. I’ll have you arrested right here in my station! Ya, that’s what I’ll do," as he reached for the phone, he went on some more, "Damn! And I gave you all my income for the day, to boot! You made a *@&! sap out of me and every one of our listeners. Now it’s pay-day for you!" He started dialing. "Hey! Wait just a cotton-pick’n minute," I interrupted. "You don’t have the picture straight."

"I’ve got the picture, all right!"

"I’m sorry, but you don’t. Here, call this number. It’s the White House. Only let me talk to them first," I said thinking that I had to explain to George Christians why HE would have to divulge our confidential arrangement, and never thinking of how terribly "suspect" that sounded.

"Oh sure!!" he said with a smirk on his face that immediately confirmed something different to each of us: my stupidity to me, and my sure "guilt" to him.

"Sorry," I said, "I’ll explain later. Go ahead and call the number and ask for Press Secretary George Christians yourself. Ask HIM what President Johnson released, and then play your tape back to check it out. (Radio stations always recorded the entire broadcast for their own public relations, news casts, and F.C.C. requirements.)

"I KNOW DAMN WELL there was no release, I checked the wires!"

"Just call the White House," I urged, knowing that my explanation, even if I tried to give it to him, would never be accepted in his uncontrolled anger.

"Damn right I will. And when I find out there is no release, I’ll slap a suit against

you and your Christian ... your Christian ... whatever you call yourselves."

He was trying to concentrate on dialing as he continued, "And I’ll have the Fed’s impound all contributions from day one, got it, hypocrite? Damn, what gall you got!"

The White House switch board answered, and he was off on another demanding, obscene, outburst, using the same uncivil voice. He shouted his request to speak to the Press Secretary.

"He’s what?" he yelled into the phone. "That figures!"

He slammed the phone down, mumbling more obscenities.

"Call the police," he instructed the yo-yo security guard, who looked to me like he was in his fat brother’s uniform. He was so skinny (the poor old man) that his thin neck was swimming in his shirt collar. He looked more terrified than I did.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I just proved you wrong, Christian!" Then in a singsong voice, added: "The Press Secretary isn’t in and that means there was no release." He paused, then with conviction said: "You’re a convict, you ... you ... *@&! Charlatan!"

"Look, you are making a serious mistake, believe me. Call them back again and this time ask for the Press Room. I just called them. Maybe I talked with his assistant. Go ahead, call again!" I suggested.

"What the hell do you mean, ‘You just called them?’ "

"That’s how I got the release, but let them explain it to you."

"You’re nuts, man! Hmm. Okay, I’ll make another call just to humor you. Ha, then I’ll really nail you."

I had to bite my tongue. Now I have become a public-enemy, who talks with the President. Was this guy nuts, or was I having a bad dream? This had better never get out to the public, or I’d be dead and so would the project, and maybe even the church whose name we represented.

"Well, this crook claims that somebody gave him a news release about Project Thank You within the last half hour. What shall I do with this lying no-good *@&! Who claims he’s a nice Christian boy?"

There was a long silence.

"What?" he yelled. More silence. Then, "Yes he did. I think it was . . . "

I could hear something on the other end, but couldn’t understand what was said.

Another very long pause, all this time his eyes were riveted on his desk.

Finally: "Thanks for your help!" and he hung up.

The next few seconds felt more like minutes as he just stood there with his back facing me, staring at the telephone, then out the window. He finally turned to me and said with a puzzled look written all over his face and said: "He read me the same release you put on the air. Why didn’t you tell me you called them? I checked the wires. You made me look like a *@&! fool! Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?"

"With all due respect, Sir, you were in no frame of mind to accept anything I would say as truth. I felt you had to hear it firsthand. May I explain all the details to you later? Right now, if you are satisfied, I’d like to get back to the marathon."

"Hell, no! You just sit right there and tell me how this happened behind my back."

"Didn’t whomever you talked to in Washington just now explain it to you?" I asked.

"Yes, he did. In detail! Now YOU explain it just as precisely as he did. Then I might believe you!"

After my lengthy explanation, he said (in the softest tone I had heard all day): "Doctor, I am really sorry. I accused you, ah, it was just that we, well, we didn’t want any trouble. You understand, don’t you? We were taking you at your word and I, ah, I had not taken the time to personally check you and your organization out first. It’s not your fault, the blame rests on us. I really want to apologize, and I am sorry. I really am!"

"And I joyfully accept your apology, Sir. Now, do you think we can get back on the air? If you are comfortable with it, I’d like to get back to raising some money for the GI’s."

"By all means!" he said.

going with essentially the same release city after city with only the city name changed and the time of release recorded on the dockets in Washington, just in case something like this would ever happen.

Washington, later, stated that they expected this might happen sooner or later.

This same manager took all of us to dinner that night to "make up for the hard time I gave this guy." When I say he took us all out, that included all the telephone answering volunteers, and his entire staff. That night, he bought dinner for fifteen.

The station personnel marveled at the endorsements and then began to chide their manager for what he had done.

I tried to nip it by asking, "You hadn’t seen any of this before, right?"

"I saw it, but didn’t have time to read it. I put you on because it sounded like it would be good public relations for the station . . . like the best advertising we could get. I really should have read through it. It would have prevented my outburst."

"No problem . . . now that it’s over!" I said with a smile of pure relief thinking secretly that this guy surely wasn’t motivated by the guys in Vietnam, or their needs!

The next day, the gravity of what "could have been," began hitting home, and we really began to feel vulnerable. Might there be other misunderstandings, other innuendoes, threats, mis-spoken words, or questions about the worth and integrity of the project in the future?

Then, on Monday, during my lunch break, Marty popped into the dental office. He had some letters that he pulled out of our mail bag from the office. We saved some of them, and can now share them with you.

socks, made of wool, rot before they can be washed. They DO prefer all cotton."

up in the Pontiac Press."

social security check to help three soldiers."

We had to quit worrying about managers who didn’t take time to read the material we sent them, and focus instead on the men in Vietnam. We also had to stop worrying about Dr Danhof, Rev John Hulst, Synod, and any other doubting Thomas’ out there.

Support for Project Thank You grew in multiple leaps right after that. Time Magazine donated the tiny "Time-pencil" that fit perfectly through (and thus could clean out) the sights on an M-1 rifle. The lead (graphite) in the pencil lubricated the sometimes wet moving parts of the weapon. This tiny Time pencil saved a man’s life once, when he used it to lubricate his jammed gun, just before having to get off a lifesaving shot.

Time-Life Corporation was headquartered in New York City. One of their broadcasting properties was in Grand Rapids, MI: W.O.O.D Radio and Television. I’m not absolutely sure of this, but I believe W.O.O.D called Joe Garagiola, at N.B.C. sports and probably suggested that Joe have us on as guests. Joe hosted a Saturday radio program on N.B.C. called "Monitor." NBC invited us to be a guest on Monitor. We had marathons scheduled way in advance, so I quickly flew to New York one Friday afternoon, where Joe interviewed me on tape so that it could be aired on that next day.

Imagine the confusion. The next day, we just happened to be on a C.B.S. affiliate station live in San Francisco, while it would sound like Joe was interviewing me, live from New York on N.B.C. at the same time. Hints of paranoia had to be shaken off again.

Letters of thanks increased in frequency from every possible quarter including the Secretary of Defense, the Department of Defense, the Department of the Army, the Office of the Assistant Secretary of Defense, others in the State Department, and from Richard Nixon, who decided to run for the Presidency. He sent a nice telegram, but was thoughtful enough to include this taped message:

During one marathon, we asked listeners to call friends living in other States, to get them to call in from all 50 states. We only made that goal twice, but came close often. One of the States that turned in pledges from all fifty States, was the State of Nevada.

During each broadcast, we pointed out (at least once) that the world, including the church, is full of stumbling sinners, Christians included. The exciting contrast between the world and the Christian is that believers become forgiven stumbling sinners; having received the righteousness of Jesus Christ when He gave us His own pure righteousness in exchange for our filthy sins on the cross.

Then, if there was no obvious opposition from the manager of the station or those in the studio, we would go on saying, "It’s only through the blood sacrifice of Jesus Christ, who took the believer’s sins away, past, present, and future sins, that Christians are forgiven and given Christ’s righteousness in exchange."

Within the first hour of any marathon, we could pretty much tell if the station was sympathetic to the Gospel’s message, or not. If they were, we could go on explaining our purpose for doing these marathons week after week.

We had some unique responses to all this, to be sure, and I we could sense when eyebrows were on the way up. When that happened, we’d get back to the patriotic theme just as quickly as we could. After all, we were "guests" on someone else’s station, and had been invited because we were "red-white-and-blue", not because of our "faith" beliefs.

Here’s how we received Billy Graham’s endorsement: The C.R.L.L. was invited to attend the U.S. Congress for Evangelism in September of 1969 in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

We managed to locate Dr. Billy Graham there, hiding in a back room in preparation for his speech that night. It wasn’t a typical Billy Graham message, since he would be speaking to devoted Christians.

The C.R.L.L. had a booth there along with many others, but Marty saw to it that we would be remembered by everyone there, by arranging for free Coca Cola for all the delegates and a free copy of "THE WAY" magazine—a C.R.C. publication written by Dr. Cliff Christians. Yes, Marty Hamstra managed to have the Coca Cola Co. donate all the Coke the thousands of attendees could drink!

After knocking on Billy Graham’s private hide-a-way room (a small ball room with several empty tables set up) I heard a muffled voice say, "Yes, come in!" I opened the door and there was Billy Graham, busy studying. I had just somewhat thoughtlessly interrupted him. I don’t know if I really felt bad about disturbing him, or if I chickened out, but I said, "Oh, I see you are busy. I’ll come back later."

"No, you are here now, what can I do for you?"

I introduced myself and the project, and said, "We sent you a packet with a request to . . . ."

"Oops! I didn’t know he had already contacted you. I have a tape recorder with me if you have a minute..."

"Well, your request is on my desk back home with a lot of others. It wouldn’t be fair if I did yours now."

"I understand," I said as I began to turn and walk away, thrilled to have just seen and talked to this great and humble man of God.

"On second thought, come back. Sit down. Show me how this thing works. You folks are doing such a great job and I really do want to help you. Let’s tape something. How long do you want it?

"We try to keep them within thirty seconds," I said with a smile on my face, thinking that I didn’t know a single preacher that could do that.

A few seconds later this is what ended up on the tape:

Rev. Graham’s endorsement was exactly twenty three seconds long with some stirring music in the background.

By this time, in the life of the project, we were only hitting the largest stations in a given market. Ron Plekker (my brother, now with Jesus) was in charge of lining up those stations and would go for the stations that charged the most for their commercials, since this was a good indication of listenership potential. We were on some large wattage stations, and clear channel, stations!

One of those was W.J.W. in Cleveland, Ohio—on a clear night it could be heard in all the southern states from Florida to Texas. We had just explained why we included the Gospel of St. Mark in the packet and followed that with Billy Graham’s taped endorsement. The station personalities were sitting across from me and would chime in every once in a while. After hearing Dr. Graham’s endorsement, one blurted out (on the air): "You know, that Gospel in there? . . . that’s a hell of a good idea!" I was caught-up, with nothing vigilant to say and my mind was preoccupied with the image of Dr. Danhof, stated clerk of the C.R.C. and what he would say if he heard that remark.

Rolling with those punches was easy compared to what I am now about to expose for the very first time. (And this is what kids shouldn’t read!)

It happened in the wee hours of the morning when normal people are asleep. We were in Las Vegas, Nevada — October 25, 1969 — on K.O.R.K. radio with lots of hourly television up-dates. We did the marathon all day and into the evening until one in the morning.

During the day, most of the stars that were appearing on the Vegas strip had come to add their endorsements. Remember weeping George Gobel? He spent four or five hours with us and really contributed a lot of humor and concern, in a most tasteful mix.

We were introduced to another celebrity named Brigitte Babbow, or something like that. She was extremely helpful and sat with me on the air and really made sincere emotional appeals for our men in Vietnam. She stayed in the studio for at least two hours giving out the phone number, helping at the adding machine, getting on the air from time to time. She was really good at it, and she made the phones ring!

She concluded her volunteer time on the air, by issuing us a verbal and very public, invitation for us to attend her performance—as her guests—later that night—two in the morning to be exact, which was one hour after we would sign off.

Free tickets for a concert! Why not? Here’s a chance to sit back and enjoy hearing and seeing someone else do all the work as we unwind. We arrived at the right place that night and were not too surprised to see that it was a gambling casino; after all, we were in Las Vegas.

Just so that every reader understands the circumstances that follow, I wish to make it clear that we went to the performance thinking it was a musical show of some sort; surely nothing that would involve us—not after pushing the marathon for 17 hours! That’s very exhausting work and I was personally concerned I might fall asleep and embarrass this performer. Oh, how wrong I was. Oh, that we would have just gone to bed ourselves!

When the limo (someone had arranged for us) arrived at the door, we were greeted by the Manager of the Casino, and ushered by him into a large dimly lit theater, then between and around many round tables, to a table right next to the stage. My chin could rest on the edge of the stage; though I couldn’t see where the hole in the floor was, through which the orchestra would slowly rise being automatically elevated up to the stage level.

Then just before the lights dimmed, we noticed a sign on our table that read:

I turned to Marty Hamstra who had worked the marathon with me that day, and whispered, "Look at that sign! It broadcasts who we are all over the place."

We didn’t particularly want anyone to know that this concert was in a gambling joint, as were we!

Marty quietly tipped the sign over on its face as a fix.

Then, over the loud (extremely loud) speakers came this deep masculine voice:

29 30

"O-Boy!"

The spot lights hit us immediately. We stood as the audience broke out in applause. We gestured back our acknowledgment, but with a big-time remorse that we had come. As we sat down, I was confident that our red faces didn’t show that much in the bright spot lights; and the chances of any CRC people witnessing it was minimal.

In the dark, we agreed never to tell a soul about how we had just embarrassed the church. We agreed to shut-up for a minimum of thirty-five years! In that way, Dr. Danhof, Rev. Henry Evenhouse, Rev. Vander Ploeg, or Rev. Marvin Baarman or even Rev. John Hulst would ever find out that the Christian Reformed Church had been publicly welcomed inside a casino in Las Vegas; and if they did, they probably wouldn’t care anymore after thirty-five years. We didn’t realize how many CRC’ers would be frequently visiting a casino for a good deal on the food they serve thirty five years later.

Nevertheless, to my knowledge, our secret has been kept—until this writing.

Marty passed away August 23, 2003. The thirty-five years are up, it is now forty years later. It’s about time to tell you what else happened that night! Brace yourselves. This will be graphic.

Softly, the music began...dreamy, relaxing music but I couldn’t find the orchestra in the dark. Big deal, at least we can just sit back and finally unwind. Next, a very dim light appeared on the stage and we could see the faintest hint of a silhouette in the distance. It was a deep stage. The figure was standing way at the back of the stage. The silhouette began to change. It was moving. Soon, as the light slowly increased to make the floor of the stage visible, we recognized our friend, Brigitte Babbow, now slowly walking (slithering) up the stage toward the front.

My seat was so close to the stage that I could rest my chin on it. Marty was way to my left on the other side with his nose nearly on stage.

She began to maneuver in rhythm with the music and toward the audience. It was this nice girl who helped us all day, who gave us these free tickets!

Then she reached for one of her black gloves that went way up past her elbows, and began pulling on her fingers. Marty whispered, "Is she gonna do what I think she’s gonna do?"

After she removed both gloves, she reached for the top of her evening gown.

She was going to STRIP!

"Can you believe this," I said to Marty? "Let’s get the heck out of here, NOW!"

She was singing and crawling across the stage, waving her two assets at the same time.

As though Marty wasn’t aware, I said: "Golly Molly, she’s coming straight for us!"

But she was not coming straight for us; she was heading right for me!

She had her eyes glued on me. How could I distract her, stop her, or make her turn around?

There was no mistake about it, there was going to be a head on collision in just a few more seconds.

"We’re not moving one inch, Bob!" Marty commanded. "Just stare her down."

I ‘froze’ instantly. Maybe she thought I had just died, because she yelled, loud

Was I now part of the act? What was I supposed to say back? My blood-pressure must have gone through the roof, my head was spinning with pressure to solve a problem over which I had no control. I was getting dizzy.

She leaned over the edge of the stage, extending her face far enough to plant a kiss on my cold, wet forehead!

Before I realized what had happened, she began to stand up to the laughter and applause of the audience. All I could see now were her ankles. I didn’t dare to look up lest she start over again.

She continued her dance over the rest of the stage, as Marty was laughing as hard as he could! Toward the end of her dance, she came down about six steps into the audience.

They didn’t have 911 numbers back then, not even cell phones in those days. Maybe she would get Marty this time, and I could have my little laugh. She squeezed between some other people to stand next to me again, and she just stood there; I kept my head horizontal. Then she turned toward the audience—I thought.

Just as I was inhaling a sigh of relief, not even exhaling yet, she plopped herself dead center on my lap—without ever turning around to see if I hadn’t left the building. She began to run her fingers through my hair as she sang another long song—on my lap! Songs usually take around three minutes. Surely she wouldn’t stay that long!

I think I blacked out for those three minutes, because for the life of me I do not remember another thing—not even her getting up off my lap.

I have related this story to you (in spite of some concerned warnings from a few of my friends and family, suggesting to omit it) because it was the most embarrassing, exhausting, and counter-productive thing that ever happened to us on all the broadcasts we ever did. To omit it here, would mean that we hadn’t told it all. We waited a long time to tell it because (besides not wanting to get into trouble with the church) it was extremely painful and nothing to be proud of.

This incident totally robbed Jerry Ford (and the irate station manager) of our most embarrassing moments.

As we left that evening, people in the audience started shoving cash into our hands saying things like: "Send the guys some packets for me too." "Hey, how can I get your job?" One guy said, "Here, you’re doing a great work," as a roll of money was shoved into my hand . . . it was a thousand dollars wrapped with a ten dollar bill on the outside, held together with a twisted over twice rubber band!

This type of spontaneous giving always made it difficult for us when we came home to report how much was pledged because so much of what we received could not be properly receipted, because it came in after the marathon was over; plus the public wasn’t at all interested in receipts.

32 33

While on the air, we had the public write their check to the local radio or television station. After two or three weeks, the station would send us ONE check for the total amount counted by their bank. The final check was always more than the final amount pledged on the air. It had been that way since the first marathon in Holland, Michigan.

They insisted that we had to be more accountable with the Lord’s money. Cookbook stewardship, we called it. The quip "Get a life" hadn’t been invented yet.

Amazing, isn’t it? How hard we try to please everyone all the time, knowing it’s impossible. Our critic-brothers continued to press their point on receipts, and we continued to "work on it" but, neither point of view was ever resolved, and no one was totally satisfied. One day in Providence, Rhode Island—April 12, 1969—I left the microphone during a marathon in a shopping mall to chase a lady down the mall in hopes she would accept a receipt. She thought I was nuts! She ended up writing her name on a pledge card so at least we could insert that into a plastic bag and some GI would know that it was she who cared.

We did so many marathons that we lost count—but never physically went to Vietnam. W