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THE THIEF! from Everybody’s Danish
By fred | May 16, 2009
It would be so nice if everything in life was fun, that all of our memories were pleasent, of good times, happy things that happen to us. Unfortunately many of us are scarred by certain memories that will not go away. The period of my life that I had to spend in the prison that to me was Trinity German Lutheran School left memories that still create nightmares.
Sorry that they are related here, but they are a part of family life and so included in Everybody’s Danish. Soon however we will get to Poly High, to me the most wonderful period of my young life.
And so ———— back to my youth in the misery that was Trinity Lutheran——
CHAPTER – THE THIEF
Mom was always after me to make more friends at Trinity, so when a notice came out that they were setting up a Scout Troop at Trinity she insisted that I join. The old guy that was supposed to be the Scout Master seemed like a very likeable guy, he liked to joke around, was always laughing, very unusual from the usual stiff German dignity that most of the male teachers and parents displayed. So I joined. Meetings were in that half basement under the classrooms, once a month.
I remember being very interested in getting the Merit badges. In the Boy Scouts they have all kinds of stuff you can learn, if you do enough and earn enough badges, and you can become an Eagle Scout. I figured that would be a big deal, and was working much harder on that than any homework. The guidance of the old man, our Scout leader was wonderful, the one thing I really enjoyed at Trinity. Of course, the only church thing, or school thing was a prayer, but what the heck that was O. K.
At a meeting the Scoutmaster introduced a young man in his early twenties – he was learning to be a minister in the German Lutheran church. The Scoutmaster asked if we would like to go on a two-day hike in the mountains. A church member had a rustic cabin and would let us stay there for the two-day weekend. The old Scout Master said that his legs weren’t so good so Gerhart, the learning to be minister, would take us up and stay with us for the weekend and through all the hikes. Several parents had offered to help drive all of us up to the cabin, and on Sunday afternoon would drive up and help take us back. That was the beginning of probably one of the worse weekends of my young life.
We were all so excited, we met at the school and packed ourselves, our gear, our sleeping bags into the cars, here was over twenty of us. We were going to have a ball, we would be sleeping in our sleeping bags in the cabin, not in the outdoors but that was O. K. were would have a great hike the next day. Since we were not going to play baseball and I would not be hitting the ball over a fence some of the guys were even friendly.
We got to the cabin, got the fire going, and all of us helped with some canned beans, hot dogs, and fun stuff to eat. We were all tired as heck and wanted to be ready for the big hike tomorrow, so soon we wrapped ourselves in our sleeping bags and were asleep. Most of us had dumped all the stuff from our pockets on the big dinning room table before we took off our pants. I fell asleep immediately after a lengthy prayer by the young minister to be.
The next morning, I awoke to a yell; “My pocket knife is missing!” Who the heck is yelling, I wondered. I looked over by the table and the young minister Gerhart, was standing, he was pointing to the table. “I left it here last night, when I went to sleep, and now it’s missing. Who stole it?” Not did someone borrow it, or loan it, but right away, “Who stole it!”
That son of a bitch from then on made a nightmare of our trip. We all had to kneel on the wood floors and pray for the sinner that had taken the knife. Several of us said that maybe it was just lost, so we tore that cabin apart from top to bottom, no knife. The knife in question was like a knife I had, but different, it must have cost all of two or three dollars. One of the guys said, “Why don’t we take a collection and give you the money.” Gerhart would have none of that. No, there is a thief among us and he must repent, we must pray for him. Pray we did or were supposed to be. I don’t think many of those twenty guys did, but we were on our knees for hours, and hours and hours – the truth.
No hike, Gerhart said that the thief had ruined the weekend for us all. Well, the thief hadn’t ruined anything for us, but that son of a bitch Gerhart sure did. For hours he would not even let us put the fire on in the fire place, the only heating system for that ice cold cabin, he said the cold would make us think of the sinner. He preached constantly about the sinner among us, one kid peed in his pants because he was not allowed to go to the toilet.
This went all day, and into the night, the dinner was a sad affair, very quiet, and after dinner we got another long sermon about not taking what is not ours. He went on and on and on.
Sunday morning, we walked around the cabin, it was freezing cold, no hike again today, Gerhart said that we could not have pleasure follow sin, or some such thing, the strain and stress on all of us was horrible. I remember watching my watch constantly; the parents were to come at about two P. M. to take us back to Trinity. Time was going so slow. Gerhart yelled for us all to come in the cabin, “We must pray once more for the thief, for that misbegotten sinner.”
While on our knees a very young kid, really just a child, that had just joined the Scouts a month ago, barely of age, started crying, he was crying so hard. He pulled Gerhart’s two dollar knife from his pocket and dropped it on the floor, he said, “I got up early, and I just saw it and wanted to look at it, then you yelled and made such a big deal out of it I got scared, I didn’t mean to steal it, I’m sorry, so sorry!” The kid was crying his heart out.
Did it matter to our Gerhart, our minister to be–hell no? He knelt to his knees and said, “Lord find it in your heart to forgive this sinner. We pray for him, that he learn the righteousness of his ways, Oh Lord!” He just kept up this crap for the longest time. The kid was a mess, several of us took him to the bathroom and tried to get him to stop crying, he couldn’t. I cannot to this day stop thinking about that rotten son of a bitch Gerhart. A man that went on to minister to a flock of people, if that was the mercy of God taught at that church, I wanted nothing of it.
We made sure that the kid was not in Gerhart’s car, but he couldn’t stop crying not even when he got to the school where his father and mother were to pick him up.
The kid did not show up for school the next day, his father did, and we could hear him telling off Mr. Dankworth, the school principal, all the way in our classroom. The mother and father were also members of the Trinity German Church, the grape vine, from kids that knew the family said his father and mother resigned from the church, exactly what I would have done.
I have to think that that poor kid was scarred for life. All he wanted to do was look at a pocketknife. Such a big deal was made about it, that it scared him to death.
A few years later the worst coach at Poly High, the track coach, gave me hell for dropping a baton in a relay, called me names, tore me apart for losing a race in the city championships while I stood there in tears. My teammates never said a word, except to pat me on the back, but the man that was supposed to guide and teach his students good sportsmanship, wanted to win so bad that a kids feelings did not matter. I bring this up because I know I woke up many a night for years later, in a cold sweat, crying, rerunning a race long forgotten. I only bring this up because I often wonder about the awful scars that the young kid had to injure at the hands of that young trainee minister, a monster that should never lead anyone, much less a church. I have a private hunch that the young boy’s life was scarred forever. I only hope and pray that with the support of his parents somehow he made it.
A month later, Gerhart came to a meeting, he wanted volunteers to go on a hike for a weekend, the weather was good, and he wanted to go. Not one kid raised his hand to go. Gerhart looked around and turned and mumbled something like, “To bad you are all busy.”
Strangely enough the old Scoutmaster said that he would take us to the sea shore for a day, hot dogs and a day at the beach, also a time some of us could get some outdoor Merit badges. All but one of us raised our hands. The old scoutmaster smiled and said, “I think now I understand.” Gerhart never visited our Scout troop again, I heard that the old scoutmaster told the Trinity minister about the matter and that the kids did not want him around. Very soon after he left the Trinity Church for another assignment, good riddance!
I have to say here that I during my lifetime I have known, seen, talked to, played with many so called ‘Men of God’ – ministers to others – be it a Catholic priest, a Lutheran minister, a Jewish rabbi, whatever. All were good, solid, decent and in most cases really fun people to know. Gerhart was the only exception. Why I was so lucky to be one of twenty scarred by this bastard is something I deeply regret. I am not big on praying, but I did pray many a night that the child so scarred by this bastard was able to put it to rest and lead a normal life.
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