1 Southwest Kenya-1947

I didn't want to go to Kenya to be a missionary. I wanted to play baseball for the St. Louis Cardinals . I logically went down the checklist to assess my chances of making it in the big leagues. I had to admit that I didn't have a great arm. I also had to confess to myself that since I couldn't throw the ball very well that's probably why the name Buzz never stuck. I was also slow of foot. On the positive side, though, I could hit just like Ozzy "The Man" Musial . But was that enough? I couldn't say, but I wanted to find out . I wanted to play little League and high school ball. Going to Kenya was not in the plan.

Ben didn't know what he wanted to be but, like me, it certainly wasn't a missionary. Maybe it was a precessional prankster, if you could get paid for that kind of stuff. But our parents obviously felt a calling of some kind that we boys didn't fully understand. We had to go along, however reluctantly.

The southwest border of Kenya contours the shape of the great inland lake of Africa. Named after the queen of the British Empire during the nineteenth century, Lake Victoria is one of the world's largest inland bodies of water .Just to the east of this vast water basin lies Masai Land.

The Masai are an ancient, indigenous tribe of proud nomadic warriors . Living off their herds of cattle and little home garden , historically and periodically the tribal family units would migrate and set up tiny homesteads on any land available.

The Masai Mara is a huge tract of flat land spotted with acacia tress , waist deep in sandy tan grass , and rife with wildlife. Lions , leopards, elephants, rhinoceros, and herds of zebra roamed freely, coexisting with the land and the tribesmen.

Today, transecting the plains of the Masai Mara is a national border , south of which is Tanzania and North of which is Kenya. Both of these nations , at the time of this story , were British colonies: Kenya and Tanganyika. The indeginous people, designed Masai in Kenya and Massai in Tanzania, could not understand why an imaginary line should separate their clansmen from one another. Standing high on the bluff of Olempito , one could see the Masai Mara stretched out to the splayed horizon.

The Masai were not the only tribe in the area . There were the Kissi , the Luo , the Kikuyu , and others . Being a British colony , Kenya's official language was English; African Swahili and the particular tribal languages were also spoken .

These were people that my mom and dad wanted to reach with the Gospel. Coming from the Midwest, armed with a purpose, my family sailed from New York to England. Commisoned under the auspices of the African Inland Mission, we made it by steamer around the Cape of Good Hope , up the Eastern side of Africa, landing at Mombasa. Taking the night train west through Nairobi, the Kenya capital, to Kisumu on Lake Victoria, we aimed to be missionaries to the Masai . Or at least my parents did.

Upon arriving in the Southwestern town of Migori, Kenya , we settled into a crude hostel in order to acclimate ourselves to the culture. The hostel was got for traveling dignitaries: plaster wall sleeping Chambers , a crude kitchen-dining room area, and a pit around back in the bushes _very luxurious.

To begin with, we took day trips, traveling by van or on foot out into the bush , accompanied by white church Representatives and local black pastors . Everywhere my folks looked, they were not disappointed in what they saw. As they had heard , there was a pressing need for medical services as well as teaching facilities. The British government encouraged representatives from Western aid groups to help in the betterment of the locals . We also saw a great need for agriculture assistance and education.

My dad found the greatest destitution among the indeginous Masai was the urgency for mobile medical clinics . There were people out in the bush who could never_ or would never_ go into Kisumu for medical care due to either their lack of money or their abundance of fear.

It was a risky way of life for a typical tribesman. One of the Masai rites of passage was a solo pilgrimage out onto the Mara with nothing but a few cakes made from a cornmeal mush called ugali, an urungu cudgel weapon , a loincloth, and a brighter red, thick fabric wrapping for protection from the elements, both animal and climatic. If he survived the ordeal , at this time a Masai man could establish his identity and find his place in the universe. He was then expected to come back to the group and settle down and raise a family. He would more often than not acquire multiple wives and inevitably practice such rituals as male and female circumcision.

There were, of course, the local medical practitioners referred to by Western types as witch doctors who, in order to maintain a living, required the native clientele to remain unhealthy, unsafe , and dependent on their services. Besides universal circumcision, some of the therapies prescribed by the local witch doctors were shocking to my parents.

"I've never seen anything like it," Dad volunteered one night around and open fire.

"What's that ?" Mom asked .

" I saw a man today with an application of ox dung mashed together with a red plant dye and applied to an open wound , then bound over with a less-than-antiseptic bondage. Apparently this remedy was prescribed by a local witch doctor," Dad said.

I winced.

"Needless to say , germ theory is high on the list of Educational topics . The demand to impress upon these folks the necessity for clean , uncontaminated drinking water is also high on that list."

Mom and Dad were interested, as well, in the spiritual well-being of the people. The local tribe members believed in spirits. According to them , the spirits were everywhere and influential.

She. talking about another person in their Village, tribesmen would , at night , refer to that someone only by a nickname, believing that the spirits could overhear the proper name of the fellow villager and possibly do the person harm. Some of the tribes believed in night runners , who supposedly would climb up into tress and urinate on passersby.

Upon examining one ailing child , my dad inquired , "What's this ?"

He had noticed three scars on the young boy's lower arms. A local practitioner called a doctari responded , "That witch doctor medicine. He come into Village last year and do that to stop evil spirits."

"What?" Daddy asked.

"Evil spirit not enter through here." The doctari continued pointing at the scars. "That keep child from wicked ghosts ."

"You can't be too careful. Western medicine good, but got to use old ways, too. Why not do both , just in case?"

My father learned that in many cases a local witch doctor would be hired to enter a household and " innoculate " a child against evil spirits by making three cuts at the at the base of the neck, the wrists , and the snkles_naturally Leaving scars. This belief that evil spirits could enter the body at these points because of the scars, coupled with the practice of wearing black bracelets to ward off the malevolent specters , was extremely vexing to my parents.

Despite the discouragements that faced us, we Miller boys soon began to make the best of things. Mzungu was the Masai name for "white man." We made friends rather easily with some local young men who found Ben and me to be interesting mzungu.

One of the native boys , Elio,said, "You ever play rock game?" I asked, "Rock game?" Maybe if I learned to play their game , they would let me teach them baseball.

Some of the kids chattered in their tribal language, then, smiling, Elio said "Come with us."

We trekked for some distance out onto a rolling plain with random acacia tress and knee-high brown grass.

"Got to find sleeping rhino."

I looked at Ben. I was worried; Ben seemed intrigued. That was just like him .

"Wait here," Elio said.

We and most of the Masai adolescents stood still as Elio and one other boy did some reconnoitering.

When the Masai boys slunk back , I noticed that they both gripped a couple of hand-sized rocks. Elio whispered to me, "If you want to be Masai, you got to put rock on rhino."

"What rhino?" I swallowed hard.

"Follow me."

Around a large bush and down in a shallow valley, we came upon a sleeping behemoth: a single large black rhinoceros snoozed in the grass.

Elio handed me a rock and jerked his head in the direction of the dozing beast.

I dropped the rock and worldlessly stepped back.

One of the African boys took another rock and slowly advanced on the animal. Deftly he placed the stone on its right foreleg. He sneaked back and was silently congratulated by all. Eyes turned back to us , the Americans boys.

Elio whispered, "You put rock on sleeping rhino."

I shook my head. But Ben picked up the stone that I had dropped and anxiously moved forward.

"It's okay, rhinos don't eat people, just leaves and twigs," Elio said. "They can't see too good either Still got to be careful."

Ben crept close enough to the animal and in a death-defying move, he lightly placed his rock on the right rear leg of the sleeping Goliath and quitely retreated.

The rhino snorted in its sleep and ticked a bit.

Each boy, save me, took his turn , but it was Elios' rock that finally woke the rhino. The snorting animal shot up and was after us like a Brahma bull out of the shoot. I speculated that the rhino's anger was engendered by embarrassment at being taunted as much as anything, so the beast ran hard at first until finally give up the chase . He sleepily snorted and turned back to his bed. We outran the armored animal _ with me, of course, being the slowest.

This was just one among the many activities into which we enjoyed being initiated. The winner, it turned out, was the one who placed the last rock before the hulk awoke . Elio had won. a dangerous game, one would say, if one were merely minimizing the pastime.

We would have Mick battles where groups of boys would team up and play at war games with Spears , shields, and urungu clubs. A special high honor was placed upon a young man of others witnessed him holding aloft the tail of a lion , the acquisition of which was another dangerous practice.

I almost had a cardiac arrest one evening while I was strolling across the sullen Savannah. On my way, a lion roared in my ear from behind a clump of acacia tress just off to my left. The moon was full above the horizon. I'd never heard such a menacing sound, the deep guttural sigh of a man-eating beast who had his supper in sight .

I froze; beads of sweat formed on my forehead. Finally, I broke into a cold run. My usually leaden legs churned faster than I'd ever thought possible, streaming into camp with my side splitting in pain, only to find Ben rolling in the dust , laughing. Resting my hands on my knees, bent over from frantic first to third that fast.

"Just trying to help you on the baseball diamond," Ben grinned, tear streaked dirt staining his smiling face.

My brother, true to form , had hired a group of Masai boys o make lion sounds in the dusk. Another triumphant practical joke . I laughed afterward to myself. Maybe Africa wasn't so bad after all. If only I could interest the boys in baseball.

The whole family moved from the hostel and temporarily stayed in an outlying Village at the home of Elios' father, a Masai elder named Theodore. Theo was a very wealthy man. He had over two hundred head of cattle, four huts , three wives , and seven children_in that order of importance. Yes, indeed, Theo was a man of means who considered himself to be progressive and interested in helping to establish our family in area. You see, my dad wanted to start a clinic to attend to the health needs of the village. He also wanted to work with the local christians to found a church in the area.

I would never forget my first night in Masai hut.

Elio was Theo's oldest son. He had been educated in Migori and was versed in English.

"Karibu."

"Karibu," I responded, returning the welcome.

"So, what's it like in United States?" Elio wanted to know one day. "Do you live in a big mansion?"

"No," I said, "We lived in a house with three bedrooms and two bathrooms.No a mansion at all."

"Bathrooms inside the house and not a mansion?" Elio said, S if expecting more of an explanation.

"Well, not compared to some homes I know of."

"Is it made of mud?"

"No," I said, "it is made of wood , lath, and plaster."

"What's lath?" He inquired.

"Woods strips that reinforce the walls."

"Ah, I see. We have sticks packed with mud that make the walls of our homes," he said.

"Sort of the same thing with us , only we call it plaster instead of mud." Each hut in the village was approximately twenty feet in diameter, a round hut was divided into three compartments. One room was the combination entrance and sheep pen, to keep the animals safe at night from the roaming of carnivores. The next room was a common area with a fire pit in the middle . And the third space was a sleeping chamber raised cots on crude wooden stilts for sleeping two people. Ben and I slept in the common room, while Mom and Dad slept on the raised cots.

That evening, we all stood under the stars _amazing view.

"Which one is that?" I asked, pointing at something I didn't recognize.

"That's the Southern Cross," Dad responded. "You can't see it North of the equator."

"You can't see it North of the equator," Ben echoed.

I retarded Ben, "I heard him."

Dad said, "The cross of Christ."

Mom nodded and sighed . It was a still, hot night, so Ben turned to Elio. "Can we sleep out under the stars tonight?" He inquired.

Elio laughed. "Bad for your health. If the hyenas don't get you, the Lions will."

We stepped over a foot-tall threshold into the sheep pen and bolted the door behind us with a wood plank hasp. The thick wooden door was almost airtight, allowing for no ventilation. It was stifling. I could not get any shut-eye. I was afraid to sleep uncovered due to the possibility of bugs and varmints. So I covered myself with my army surplus sleeping bag and consequently was way too hot to get any rest. I lay there all night long, imagining crawling bugs and yearning for circulating air.

The next morning, Ben and I got up with the first break of dawn and hustled outside to catch some fresh air. We witnessed one of the wives milking a cow, producing a small skin vat of yellow white liquid, fresh from the source . Just minutes later, in the main hut, we were offered morning tea with fresh milk in it. I watched my father tilt his head to the host, who looked expectantly at the white visitors. I hesitantly took a little sip of the beverage and immediately felt sick on my stomach. What vile , disease ridden matter is in it ?

Ben, and I would accompany our father to the makeshift clinics set up in the bush. Elio, serving as our interpreter, went as well. The doctaris would tag along and occasionally a local black pastor or colonial representative accompanied the clinicians. Mom usually stayed in the village and developed relationships with the local women. This pattern went on for weeks.

A word about doctari: they were locally certified medical practitioners who had passed a six-month course of study at "medical school" in Kisumu. They cared for many poor patients who would normally receive any medical attention, but the level of care was extremely deficient by Occidental standards.

One morning and entourage of Masai elders, including Theo, went with us and our company. This particular morning, Mom had decided to join the crew.

"Where are we going this morning?" My dad asked.

"To a little Village on the edge of Masai Land", responded Elio . "We heard last week there has been trouble in this particular place."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Land dispute between Masai and Kisii," Elio stated curtly.

" Is that why your father and the other elders have brought along the machetes?"

"Yes."

"Do they intend on using them," Dad asked after a pause l, "On the Kisii?"

Elio laughed. "Not as weapons", I don't think. Maybe just as, how you call it in Britain, negotiating tools."

"We are British, we are Americans."

"All the same."

"We want to help with medicine and spiritual guidance," Dad added.

"All the same," Elio said.

"How far . Eighteen kilometers" Elio stated calmly, as he flipped a small black snake out of the path with his staff. "Asp, very dangerous."

The vehicle was ready, so we got in. We traveled African style, which meant eighteen to a van, carrying with us our own water that had been carefully boiled the night before. It was still warm, but it was water. The sun was already high in the sky when our group came upon this little provisional village. A long line of gentlefolk was already queued up to receive medical care.

"Some of these people have traveled overnight to be here for the medicine", Elio said. "Most of them have never seen a doctor_ or a white man, for that matter."

"What tribe are they from?" Dad asked.

"Mostly Masai, some Kisii."

Ben and I went over to some young children waiting in line and offered a hand of friendship. Several little kids squealed and hid behind their parents. A few adults gawked at the white Americans.

A couple of the local official-looking types stood at the beginning of the line and took a small amount of money from each patient.

"I don't want to collect any money from these people," my father said firmly.

"I want to render this medical service freely."

"Got to," Elio said. "Keeps out the riff raff. If you don't make them pay something, people from miles around just stand in line to stand in line. Nothing else to do."

"Who gets the money?" Dad wanted to know.

"The elders."

" I want to help them for free."

"Don't make trouble. This is the way it works." Elio shook his head.

This specific day, I could clearly read as never before the concern on my father's countenance. I was, vicariously through my father's distress, intensely sensitive to the great need for which my family had come to this part of the world. There were lepers, people with horrific medical needs, untreated tumors, open neglected sores, untended broken bones, skin diseases run amok that required ardent medical care. The results of dung covered wounds were now evident. A little baby had a severe burn on the top of her head that had been ignored and was now a gaping infection exposing the skull while oozing pus. Goiters, skin lesions, scabies_my dad sat a man down, without anesthetic, and pulled several rotten teeth that were infected and had caused his jaw and cheek to swell up like a balloon. On another individual, cancer lesions left unattended had eaten through to the bone , which was exposed and quite painful, I am sure. Malaria, typhoid, yellow fever, dengue fever_ the list went on and on, as did the line. I recoiled at this parade of afflictions as my father and the local doctaris did what they could with limited resources. I remember being thoroughly impressed with my father, my kind, gentle dad, and his calm resolution to aid the sick and dying. I wanted to be like him. I wanted to be good.

The morning conversation was helpful. Through Elio, we had learned that there was, indeed, tribal trouble. The Kisii were at odds with several of the Masai over boundary issues. The Kisii used their land for agriculture; the Masai , for grazing.

The Masai elders were going to walk to the nearby Kisii Hamlet to try and negotiate an agreement. Ole asked us if we would like to join their party. My father declined, seeing the long line of patients.

Midway into the afternoon, a local Kisii witch doctor showed up. He began to rant and rave to the elders of the village. Several henchmen with machetes backed him up.

"This is not good," Elio said.

We paused in our ministry and sidled over while the crowd listened in. Elio muttered a broken translation to us.

Elio cocked his head. "Kisii witch doctor, Uru, want to know what's going on. Why are some of his people over here in this village seeing white doctor ? You ," Elio said, looking at Dad, "taking his business away from him. He is much angry at elders and you."

"I thought this was Masai Land," Dad responded .

"Some say Masai, some say Kisii."

"We certainly don't want to get involved in a tribal dispute. All we want to do is help these people," Dad said.

"Witch doctor Uru say you will not help people, but bring poison to people and invite evil spirits to rest on village." Elio looked squarely at Dad and asked, "Is that true?"

"Of course not, Elio. You know I just want to help. I bring with me a message of Hope and health."

"Witch doctor say white doctor and Masai make trouble for Kisii."

"We don't want trouble."

At this point, the witch doctor looked directly at my father and uttered something fierce in his direction.

Mom closed her eyes. She appeared to be praying. My dad stood his ground.

Ben and I were stock-still. I was terrified.

The witch doctor ranted and spat, brandishing his machete and advancing threateningly toward us, while spewing a venomous tirade in Dad's direction. Uru's cronies backed him up with similar histrionics. They pounded their chests and jumped up and down, flailing their arms and legs. Their banshee cries coupled with machete blades slicing ferociously through the air sent shivers through my body.

Everyone turned to look with wide eyes at the western doctor.

My father remained placid and immovable.

The witch doctor and his henchmen gave a final lambasting and stormed off into the bush , unsatisfied with the encounter.

At first, everyone stood Frozen in silence. Then after much discussion and grumbling, some people left the line of potential patients, but most of the crowd continued to wait for medical assistance. Dad dismissed the incident and went back to the line of needy people.

About forty minutes later, a Jeep carrying there well armed British soldiers pulled up. Dad had met these soldiers once before in Migori and he was familiar with them.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Trouble down the road," One of the soldiers said. He pointed in the direction that the Masai elders had gone earlier.

"What kind of trouble?"

"Tribal squabbles, nothing new."

Another soldier said, "Best keep a low profile in this part of the Mara, Doctor. Stay to the east, where it's safer."

Dad scanned the line of pathetic clientele in need, and said, "Thank you." He turned back to his work.

Mom said, "We'll stay."

The soldiers shrugged and drove off in the opposite direction from which they came, leaving a trail of dust.

That day, instead of dwindling, the line grew even longer. Mom, Dad, and the doctaris worked into the early evening. The line was still long when Dad decided to quit for the night . The elders of the village came up to him and begged him to stay for another day. After a brief discussion among the physicians, they all decided to spend the night and work again the following day. It was too late, anyhow, to journey back to where we were living, so we agreed to stay in the huts of the local elders.

In the dark of the evening, the local elders issued small chits of paper with numbers on them to hold the places in line for the sick people. After a long day, the evening meal by the open fire was a welcome respite.

Ole and Masai elders returned late with worried, silent demeanors. They chatted with no one.

Ben and I , along with Elio, bunked down in one of the elders' huts while my parents stayed I. another.

It rained that night, hard. The rain was actually welcome, but as usual, when it rained it poured ; too much rain or not enough. The rigors of the day made my sleep deep. The rain on the thatch was a soothing background.

In the morning, Ben and I were awakened by loud shouts coming from outside. Elio was not in the hut.

"Don't go outside," Elio said, rushing in. "It's plenty bad." Elio dashed out again waving his hands wildly.

There was screaming and wailing, feet stomping in the dirt outside our hut.

We rubbed the sleep from our eyes and rushed outside to investigate.

We were immediately drawn to a crowd in the center of the village clearing shaded by a large acacia tree. Hanging from a thick branch of the tree were two bodies. I elbowed my way through the crowd and strained to make out who they were, but their skin had been stripped off, leaving bloody, indistinguishable corpses dangled in the morning breeze. Blood dripped onto the piles of flesh lying under their stubs. Swarm of flies maneuvering for position buzzed furiously around the mounds of human skin that matted the muddy dirt.

I stood frozen. I touched my own face to test the solidity of the moment. Was this real event or was it just a nightmare ? I did not understand why the villagers were backing away from me in wide-eyed revulsion. The macabre scene struck me as being beyond grotesque. "I wonder who these wretched people are," I said to Ben. "We need to get Dad out here to help them." I couldn't tell whether these poor unfortunate souls were hanging upside down or not. Villagers skittered around in babbling horror. Jabbering elders threw handfuls of mud onto the ground in disgusted gyrations. Imprecations and accusations spewed from their mouths. The womenfolk were on their knees in the wet dirt, keening back and forth and moaning an appalling drone. The pitch of the screaming noise grew to the level of my having to clap my hands over my ears for my own sanity: wailing and gnashing of teeth.

I looked around and thought, Where are my folks ? Surely they're awakened by all this commotion. A frigid shock ran through me. I looked around again. Why weren't my parents coming? The townfolks were pawing at me and my brother with gestures of quivering apology. What does it all mean ? I thought. Are these dangling things Mom and Dad? It can't be ! I ran to the hut where I knew they had slept. It was empty.

The realization swept over me like an icy tidal wave. I shuddered. Those bloody masses hanging up there were my parents! The village was in an uproar of deploring Lamentation. Yelling and turmoil back and forth among the villagers rattled down the chain of creation: first the cosmic universe, then the tribal Hamlet, and finally my own personal realm.

"Kisii medicine man, Uru, they say... bad business... very bad business," Elio said, shaking his head.

My own mom and Dad were slaughtered at the hands of the people they were trying to help! I stood in open-mouthed horror, captivated by the sight of the suspended corpses. A feeling gradually overcame me, emanating from deep down in the remoteness of my lower being, one of desperate isolation. I thought they were invincible. This couldn't happen, not to them. It was impossible. I was petrified with inaction. Elio tried to drag me back into the hut.

But both Ben and I were immovable.

"Are these our parents?" Ben asked blankly.

"Yes," Elio said, "Kisii witch doctor, Uru, came last night with men from Kisii village to butcher white doctor and wife. Bad business...bad business...very , very bad."

I stood there for a time , contemplating what to do. I did nothing. It could have been hours. I didn't know. All at once, I turned and ran ack inside the hut. I fought to breathe, my chest refusing to inflate. Once I finally drew sir, I howled from sheer terror. My screaming and shaking drew Ben back into the hut.

I curled up in the corner of the hut, intermittently sobbing uncontrollably. Elio hurried into the crude hovel after us and attempted to offer comfort. It was no use.

I reflexively threw up several times. Between the bouts of heaving, I raged, "Mom and Dad came to these people in the name of Jesus_ and Jesus dumped them." I felt like my heart would burst with abandoned fury. "What kind of God would let this happen? Where is Jesus? Is he not here? Is he careless? Is he helpless?" Ben cried while I rambled , my anger rising. "God, why? Why mom and Dad?"

After a while, I caught my breath and looked out the open door through bleary eyes at the mud, thick and impassable, at the ugly mud mixed with blood. It was dangerous and godless outside.

Flies continued to buzz in relentless swarms as the villagers worked quickly to remove the bodies. What was left of Mom and Dad fell to the ground with a full thud. That very day some local pastors improvised a Christian memorial service, and my parents were hurriedly buried on the Masai Mara.

Ben dragged me out of the hut to stand me up by their graveside. I saw myself standing there: me, Camilo , standing beside that hole in the ground, seeing nothing but blackness. Although my heart, mangled with hatred, confusion, and profound dismay, was churning inside like a helpless soul being ground beneath the wheel, there was nothing on the outside. Ben wept. I was too overwhelmed to even cry.

The Kisii witch doctor was never punished.

That day , someplace deep inside my spirit congealed, like a large block of ice that refuses to threw in the middle of summer. It was thereafter bitterly bereft of joy, peace, and comfort.

Some place deep inside me, the unfathomable place I thought of my soul , froze solid that day. It became a place. I could never go to for comfort, for peace , for joy. This hideous event destroyed something at the core of me. I resolved in covered silence, right then, to be by myself, alone forever. I pledged to never let go of this dreadfully unfair incident, to hold on to it for all it was worth ; to do otherwise would be to betray the memory of Mom and Dad.

That very day, I made a vow against the outside. I would trust no one, least of all God. This was God's fault. I would build a safe fortress for myself. I closed my heart to the outside world and to God, and determined to find comfort in my own interior.

Ben couldn't help but notice an immediate and convincing change in my demeanor. He was unable to extract any conversation from me.

I overheard Ben's conversation, "He's changed, Elio, different."

Elio said , "You get over it in time. You will see."

In my enveloping shell, a thousand secluded thoughts raced through my brain.

I thought of the Robinson narrative. I had believed the author intended that the shipwrecked victim be pitied because of his misfortune at being isolated and all alone on that spot of land in the middle of ocean; the story depended on it. But now, to my way of thinking, Robinson was to be envied. What a release it would be to be alone and inside and shielded from civilization on my own little private island.

Ben and I went silently back to the United States. We lived with our aunt and uncle, Richard and Stella , in St. Louise , Missouri. I regarded my Bible ,the one given to me by my parents on my twelfth birthday, as a pariah. I turned my back on that Bible, literally refusing to touch it.

Ben and I went through high school together, but I was always alone. He went out with friends, and I stayed home in our room. I was quiet and studious, staying to myself. I lost all desire to play baseball; sports required other people and being outside of myself. I followed the Cardinals from afar and went to an occasional game, but I knew I would never throw baseball again. Ben gave me a baseball for my birthday one year. I put it in a drawer.

Some things in life were dependable and safe; some things were not. I learned to count on nothing but my own knowledge and my own efforts . Everything else as of no use to me. Ben and I , at the behest of our aunt, went to a local community college; I grew further apart from my brother, enjoying my own introspection and isolation in growing amounts. By the time we transferred to four-year college, we had gone our separate ways