Memorabilia

This is a good time to look back and be thankful, yea, even in 2020, or maybe especially in 2020. After all, this week is Thanksgiving! In fact, when our family “does” Thanksgiving, we never let the date go by without the Five Kernels of Corn ritual. we start the ritual by explaining that our plates are empty except for five popcorn kernels (to symbolize the near starvation of the Pilgrims), and then we use each kernel to remember one blessing from God. ALWAYS, I am thankful for my husband.

A few weeks ago, I was looking for supporting material for this blog, such as Eric’s love letters to me, and together we opened that Holy Spirit trunk Eric painted long ago.

I’m certain we still have them somewhere, but when we opened the trunk and sifted through the memorabilia, we only found one love letter from him to me and it was very short because he planned that the letter would reach me on the same day that I would see him. He called me "Muff" because I always wore fuzzy earmuffs.

I did find one from me to him.

Most of the stuff in the trunk was from my childhood, including awards, such as a certificate presented to me from Chaplain Hermanson for my meritorious work in the Chapel Program at Luke AFB, including the adult choir and helping in the Sunday School.

I found report cards and school pictures, baby books, yearbooks, and my old writing assignments. And, there were our military ribbons, chevrons, and dog tags.

I set aside two items that I think you will enjoy, one from my high school Sociology class and my one love letter. The first describes what I was looking for in a future mate ‒ my idea of an ideal marriage, and in the second I am considering whether Eric was “the one.” For the most part, they are unabridged and … interesting.  You can decide for yourself whether you think I got what I wanted, or what I needed. 

Exhibit A: My High School Paper on My Perfect Mate

(This was written in pink marker, and the teacher’s comments were like this: “I hope you keep this to bring out on your 25th Wedding Anniversary, and I hope Nameless measures up!” Also, “A pleasure to read and the humorous touches were a nice relief from the usual dead serious result.” Also, I got an A.)

---

Margie Atanacio

Spring of 1974

An ideal marriage is something we all, being young and mushy, try to describe and really hope to get someday; after a nice little ceremony and the exchange of vows. Of course, any nit-wit knows it’ll never happen the way we imagined and someday it’s come upon us; a drab, difficult life is suddenly replacing our dreamy fantasies.

But that’s not the point in question; it is, rather, what is my idea of the ideal? What do I dream on those days when the future seems so pleasant?

Let me describe my husband; no, I’m not supposed to tell you he’s 5’6”, built like a wrestler, with blue eyes and curly blond hair, so I won’t.

Instead, I’ll tell you about his character. The fact that he’s a growing, active Christian is a very important thing to consider. It’s what I look for first. He must not be conformed to the world; my marriage will be a Christian one.

He’s fun to be with, and his smiles are warm and sincere. His honor is important to him, and therefore, to me. He’s someone I can respect.

He’s considerate of me, not harsh or overly blunt; yet he’s open, so that we can share. He’s at least as intelligent as I am, and more mature than I am. He must have the upper hand, be able to make the important decisions; he mustn’t be too passionate, but enjoy sex the way God planned it.

He must love me, not what he can get from me; he must like children, but I refuse to give birth to a litter!

Let me tell you a little about me, now, a number of years from now, as a wife to this adorable person, Nameless.

First of all, Nameless had better not think of me as a live-in maid, a live-in babysitter, or a legal intercourse device. We’ll have to discuss this before the marriage ceremony.

And, by the way, I’m hoping Nameless is really the right one, because after the ceremony, I plan on staying with him the rest of our lives.

I also believe in such old-fashioned principals as submission to the husband, his ownership of my body, and my ownership of his. Since I submit to him, we can’t fight or bicker there; since he loves me, (See paragraph #7) his orders are for my own good.

And since Nameless and I both belong to God, Nameless is gonna be getting his orders from the Commander-in-Chief.

Now there are some freedoms I’ll requisition within the marriage; I think Nameless will be reasonable concerning most cases.

1. Freedom to enjoy the abundant life God has planned for me. I want Nameless to understand that he must let God have his way with me, and that I want to show God’s glory through that wonderful life, whether it means caring for small children, skydiving, or working in the Air Force for 30 years. Of course, working in the Air Force seems brighter than the small children, but God knows what’ll be best for me. (I do hope He wants me to work!)

2. Freedom from boredom. This almost comes under the same heading. I can relax when I realize that God’s abundant life is never boring.

3. Freedom from worry. This disappears in the act of casting my cares on Jesus and trusting Him to take care of them.

4. Freedom to teach my children in the ways of our Lord. I hope there will not be freedom of religion in our house. Our 16-year-old boy will not have the freedom to shave his head, run away, and worship Hare Krishna. But he’ll be guaranteed the right to worship Jesus Christ and God the Father in our house, and I’ll have the freedom to teach him, lovingly, from my heart.

Nameless and I will undoubtedly enjoy doing things with the family. When children are young, I’m hoping Nameless and I can sing in a church choir. (I don’t think I could take being married to a guy who can’t carry a tune in a basket. I’d become impatient. I’ve taken too much music through the years.)

As they grow older, I’d like to show them places and travel. I’m very grateful that I was not forced to spend my 17-½ years of existence cooped up in an infinitesimal corner of a state, but was able to see (so far) 30 states and a foreign country or two. It’s fun and educational. God made so much; and so few see very much of it!

When the children get older, our activities will depend on their interests. If they’re athletes, I’m sure Nameless and I could be good Little League parents. Likewise, with Band, or Scouting, or reading. We’d try to do our best to build upon their basic interests. Of course, if their interests are pornographic literature, we’d have to put a stop to it.

You see, I’d like to be, not as much a teacher to my children, as a living example. If they must be punished, I’d explain why before each time, so that they can respect me and respect the decision. They’d also be grateful if I didn’t fly off the handle and beat everybody up because they happened to be in the way. If Nameless and I exhibit Godly attributes, and show them how much fun we’re having, they have a good chance of following Jesus, too.

I want to be the kind of mother my children won’t be ashamed to introduce to their friends, in a way, as wise as my parents – looking ahead; I would not be totally based on the premise that today is all, but also seeing the effects today might have on tomorrow.

But I’d be slightly more authoritarian. Our family seems a little disorganised to me. But Nameless and I will lay down rules and consequences and stick to them. We’ll begin earlier with church and Bible stories, and try to keep all the members of the family active and growing up with God; not just learning x number of Bible stories and re-hashing them over and over again.

So now, together as a family unit, we’ll work towards a closeness and affection for each other and a greater love for God.

There’s a diagram used to explain this somehow, though love is such a difficult thought to explain.

Man and woman drawing towards each other usually doesn’t work, but when they bring each other closer to God, the gap is smaller and smaller.

Fine and Amen

---

So I know many of you who know me are LOL-ing because so much of that was the rambling of a 17-year-old totally unfamiliar with the real world. 

Then, my mother wrote a brief paper, less than a page, and included it with my assignment. She got an A+, along with my teacher’s comment that: “What a (more) delightful world this would be if more people felt this way.” Here’s what she wrote:

---

Asides or comments, as you will, on an ideal marriage.

Just remember if those future children stray or your fair haired Adonis develops feet of clay, that one of Christ’s most wonderful attributes was compassion.

Never get so organized that you can’t take time to watch falling stars on a summer’s night or stop on a ride to go crab hunting along the ocean or help a child climb a tree to see in a robin’s nest.

Never be afraid to laugh with your children, even if the joke is on you. Parents sometimes become so formidable they lose touch.

Yes, God put the world here for us to enjoy. Of this I am sure. Are there not dandelions for children to blow to the wind? Kittens who chase their tails? The happy songs of birds to cheer you and the soothing rhythmic pattern of a sudden rain shower?

God blessed the union of two people in a very special way. Nothing can be so good or so bad as a marriage, but like all things, God also left it up to man to do with as he would.

---

Exhibit B: My Love Letter to Eric

(You may not understand all the military lingo, so I’ll put a little glossary at the end.)

---

December 3, 1974

Dear Eric,

I got your letter today. Needless to say, I was ecstatic. It was the first letter I’ve received at Sheppard*. I even got to open my mailbox! I was running CQ* at the time, and I stopped by the P.O. on the way back from CBPO*. Voilà!

It said to call you today. At last I could understand what the nummy* that took your message had meant. So I sweet-talked the rope* into letting me off early, only to find out you weren’t there yet. Thus, my letter. I’m sure enough gonna call tomorrow, but you can’t say a lot on the phone when you’re in a barracks* dayroom – too much noise and / or too many ears.

So let me write my reaction to your letter. This one won’t be quite as newsy as my last, which you probably have waiting in your mailbox at Kelly*. 

It will be a little more … tender.

Do you always get inspired like that at 0130*? I mean, that was a beautiful letter. You’re right – you’re not a bad writer! And what’s great is, I think you mean what you wrote!

So I looked at it objectively. When you examine something like that, you realize that the writer’s thoughts are pretty heavy – talk of you being what he’s been looking for since he’s been old enough to look, or that he doesn’t intend to let you slip through his fingers. Suggestions of marriage are woven into it, too, and I thought, “What do I feel for him? And it’s hard to explain.

Maybe it’s love; I know I miss you a lot, so much that it’s like an aching inside, or an emptiness in me. My roommate couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to go to the Airmen’s Club, or anywhere but church.. She talked me into going to the Recreation Center last night, and I met a guy – but all I wanted to do was share the love of Jesus. I could’ve gone on all night, but the Lord wanted me home early so I could catch a girl at the right time and talk to her. I had a great time, but it wasn’t quite what my roommate expected. I think she has a personal problem.

I’ve gotta take off for a revival in an hour. I’ve just spent quite a while trying to call somebody to let ‘em know I wasn’t coming, but couldn’t get through. I guess the Lord wants me there.

But I haven’t explained what I feel for you. Sometimes, I feel that I’ve met the most wonderful guy in the world in you, especially when we’re singing, or when I’m reading your letter. Then, I try to be practical, and admit to myself that I don’t know if you’re the one I’d like to spend the rest of my life with.

Then I read what you said about letting you know if I don’t like what you feel. And I asked myself if that was the case, for if we were truly mismatched, a letter like yours would certainly have at least bothered me, and more than likely turned me off completely. Yet it didn’t. So I guess that says something in itself.

It’s as if I’m waiting, I think. I don’t know, and you seem so sure. I really loved getting your letter; it didn’t turn me off, but seemed to bring me closer to you. All I can say is, if you’re still so sure, and so determined, Eric, go right ahead. I’m waiting for a word from God. It may come in the form of an overseas assignment (which in itself wouldn’t really prove anything), or it may be a gradual deepening of assurance in my mind and greater love. Or, it could be a change in your mind, love (impossible though it may seem now!)

You wrote of being obedient to God, of living in God’s will. One thing I was pleasantly surprised to learn in California was that Baptists and Pentecostals agreed on that! I went to a Bible Study in the home of a lady from Joe’s church one week, and heard an almost verbatim Bible Study a few weeks later at the College Bible Study at good ol’ First Baptist Church of Lakewood. The points were these:

1. If the spirit feels right about it

2. If the circumstances are right, and

3. If you have a Word from God, …

Then it’s probably God’s will.

Of course, the Baptists toned it down a little:

1. If you’ve thought it through and it feels right

2. If the circumstances are right, and

3. If it agrees with the Bible.

They wanted to make sure you understood that #3 wasn’t about a prophecy or a vision or anything. But it still surprised me that they were so close.

Anyway, this is a good rule of thumb, I’ve found, and I want you to test this. Looking back, I can see I’m not sure, the circumstances are among the ridiculous, and neither of us have a direct Word from God, as far as I know. But it can change, so I’m just waiting …

***Here in the letter, I entered a brief tirade about the church I was attending in Wichita Falls, ending with:

Anyway, I’m disillusioned, but only with a group of people. Not with Jesus. He’s still never failed me or forsaken me! Praise the Lord!

I guess I’ll see you the 13th, then, huh? I’ll probably be on B shift and won’t be out of school till 1800*. More later …

I love you Eric. I’m waiting for you.

Love,

Margie

The next day – (Dec. 4)

Well, I was gonna mail it today, but today was somethin’ else! So, at 2335 hours*, while I’m waiting for my clothes to dry, so I can hit the sack, I’m gonna add to what I wrote yesterday, and stick another stamp on the envelope just in case.

It was so good to hear your voice again, Eric. Now, I realize that I may get to see you and talk to you before you ever see this letter. Oh well, it’s something to do.

I’m getting athlete’s foot, and the dentist today said my gums are receding. Would you still love me if I had a foot missing and false teeth? (Curious.)

Oh, and I do want to thank you for the notes on faith. I used some of them in witnessing to the dentist today! As for us, I do want each of us to strive for that type of faith – the faith to move mountains. (I’ll sit on a mountain if you move it to Indiana, okay?)

Bye again! I love you – Margie (with a flourish)

---

Glossary:

0130: This means 1:30 AM. Military time is a 24-hour system that starts at midnight. 1:30 PM would be 1330 (just add 12 hours). 1800 is 6:00 PM. And 2335 is 11:35 PM.

Barracks: Military dormitory

CBPO: Consolidated Base Personnel Office

CQ: Charge of Quarters

Kelly: Kelly AFB, San Antonio, Texas

Nummy: a numbskull  (not military lingo)

Rope: Trainees who have been given various responsibilities over their peers and who wear a colored braid around the arm, fastened at the shoulder. The color of the rope, such as red, green, or white, tells you about their position. There is only one red rope per training squadron.

Sheppard: Sheppard AFB, Wichita Falls, Texas

The Honeymoon Days

When I last left the narrative of my life, Eric and I were speeding along towards the east coast of the United States in March of 1975, stopping at the cheapest motels we could find. (Our resources were limited.) Within a year, I began to write my memoirs, showing how God had orchestrated everything in our life, and I had all the chapters lined up on notebook paper. It was never finished because more life kept happening and getting in the way of the last chapter.

During what I have dubbed “The Honeymoon Days,” life was fairly carefree for Eric and me, as a young couple with two incomes and no kids.  Certainly there were some less than joyous occasions, such as the poison ivy Eric encountered in the backyard, but for the most part, we were getting to know each other and learning how to get in sync.

The first thing we had to do was make it to Indiana, where I would finally get to meet Eric’s family. On the way, we stopped at little roadside inns, outside major city limits, because they’re so quaint and most especially, low-cost. We have fond memories of one such stop in South Dakota, where we turned on the shower full force until it filled up the room with a warm fog to reduce some of the March chill, but before we ever stepped foot in the shower, we detected an overpowering scent of rotten eggs – the local water had sulfur in it. I don’t think we stayed. The smell made us gag!

Finally, we pulled up in front of Eric’s home on Union Street in Lafayette, Indiana, a house his dad had built himself. It was situated across the street from a new housing development that had been an open field until Eric’s senior year in high school. Since Eric was the youngest in his family, all his older siblings had already left home.  His mom and dad hadn’t been too terribly upset that they had missed our wedding in California since they had only recently seen Eric’s siblings marry ‒ and they weren’t about to get on a plane!

I didn’t understand Eric’s parents much when I met them and it was hard for me to fully grasp that I suddenly had some new family. I mean, they were nice and all, but they seemed to be very, very ordinary. They held a reception for us at their house, where we met other relatives and got some gifts – such as a set of ashtrays. We weren’t sure what to do with the ashtrays, since we didn’t smoke, but we were informed that even if we didn’t smoke, it was courteous to have them out for visitors who did. We also got some new sheets, and that actually was really helpful!

When all the presents had been opened, these relatives settled in for cards and drinks, mostly beer. They had brought their own (BYOB). Since we didn’t drink, smoke, or play cards, we decided to get back on the road again, so the relatives, enveloped in a smoky cloud, looked up briefly to wave goodbye and stayed on long past our departure. It wasn’t really necessary for us to be there for them to have a good time.  Eric’s parents humored them - it was rather a family tradition.  Hours later, a few of them who hadn’t paid attention wondered aloud what had become of the newlyweds.  But our direction wasn’t the same as theirs ...

During the long hours in the car, I watched Eric as he drove. I had met him in October, dated him for a few weeks in November, written him many letters, and then married him in March. The picture in my wallet didn’t have a moustache because he didn’t have a moustache in high school, so I drew a moustache on the plastic sleeve that held the picture. Still, that picture was a straight-on shot, and now I was riding in the passenger seat and seeing his right side in profile. THIS was another aspect of Eric Haley with which I was unfamiliar. So I watched him and memorized him. 

Eric singing, on the road.

When we arrived at Andrews AFB, I reported to the man whose phone number I’d been given. He would be my new boss. He showed us how we could find an adequate apartment by looking in the classified ads. (Yeah, neither of us had done that before!) The cost of living in the D.C. area made our eyes bug out! We ended up in a ground floor one-bedroom unfurnished apartment in District Heights, Maryland. It had a tiny kitchen and living room, a bedroom and a small bathroom, one chair, and large sliding glass doors that led to a common grassy area out back.

We moved in all our combined earthly possessions, including my sleeping bag and bean bag chair, the hope chest, and Eric’s things that he picked up in Indiana on the way: the TV that only turned off when you unplugged it, and a bookcase with one shelf. 

The sleeping bag could be fully unzipped and spread out on the bedroom floor, and covered with the new sheets and my fuzzy blankets. Eric knew how to make a lampshade for the one bare lightbulb in our apartment, a globe made with nothing but foam cups and paper clips. The hope chest could be our kitchen table. Eric sat on the one chair that came with the apartment, and I sat on the bean bag chair. Our first home-cooked meal was Chef Boy-ar-Dee spaghetti, along with the standard sliced cucumbers in vinegar. At night, we watched Little House on the Prairie and The Waltons – not much else – snuggled next to each other in my big pink bean bag chair.

As soon as possible, we needed to get some drapes for the glass doors, though, because we were a little exposed, and the one blanket we could spare didn’t really cover them as we would have liked. Our first major purchase was a sewing machine because I told Eric that would be the most practical way for us to get curtains – I would make them. But buying fabric together showed me how different this man was from myself. He was always looking at fabric that was really wild, while I was looking at fabric that looked – well, like drapes. In the end, we finally chose something in a blue and green Polynesian print. It was a little bold, but thick enough to work, and I felt like it was a good compromise.

Both of us had some rough edges when we were first married and very basic, classic immaturity. I was only 18½ and he was just barely 20. There were many things we didn’t know, about marriage in general and about each other specifically. For instance, we learned that I didn’t take kindly to Eric’s overexuberance with winning at Risk. So, we never played Risk. Or Stratego. Or Monopoly. These were all games where the point was to completely wipe out your opponent. We decided to play non-competition collaboration games like jigsaw puzzles instead – that was much safer for newlyweds. 

As I learned how different Eric was, I tried to control him and make him more like me. From my Margie-centric worldview, this seemed to be the most logical course of action. There would be fewer conflicts if he were very similar to me. So in the beginning of our marriage, I won arguments by gaining his hand and bending his pinky backward. This was not a good strategy. Nor was it a good strategy for me to listen to him telling a story and correct the details. (“It was a horse.” “It was a mule.” “It was a horse.” “It was a mule!”)

Looking back, I wonder how I could have been so mean to him, but though I couldn’t really understand it at the time, my parents’ marriage was out of order and some of the examples they had been setting for me weren’t the path to success. In the meantime, I was a borderline feminist coming out of the public schools. Heaven help me if I had gone to UCLA!

The first Sunday after we arrived, we looked in the phone book to find a local church, and it looked like Evangel Assembly of God in Camp Springs, Maryland would be a good one, so we decided to check it out. And then, when we walked into the Sunday School class the first week, we heard someone cry out, “ERIC!” It was Iris, from back home in Indiana. We had found the right church!

Our Sunday School teacher was James Gaius Watt, who was the head of the Energy Department under President Ford. Under Ronald Reagan, Jim was promoted to Secretary of the Interior, where he drew fire from the environmentalist crowd because he wanted to use public lands for the good of the public. Jim said he wanted to be remembered as the guy who made sure the toilets flushed.  We got an autographed picture from him when he became a star.

Jim was a wonderful teacher, but he also cared about his students, including this young newlywed couple. When he found out we were sleeping on the floor of our unfurnished apartment on a sleeping bag, he was shocked that we had no bed! (At 18 and 20 years old, we thought of it as an adventure!) So he challenged the class to find us some furniture. If someone had a spare bed, or a spare couch, etc., they were to bring it to us. And they did!  We had a pretty interesting collection too!

The new (old) couch and the Polynesian print curtains

Being very young, we made good friends among the college-and-career aged youth in the church, and were excited to go to a youth retreat with them. The only problem was, the accommodations at this retreat were men over here and women over there. That was a dilemma for newlyweds ‒ separate quarters were out of the question!  Finally someone offered us a U-Haul truck to sleep in and we locked ourselves in for the night for privacy concerns. That would have been fine except that the truck was airtight. In the middle of the night, we awoke, gasping for breath, when somebody thumped on the side of the truck as a joke.

We became fast friends with a young black man named Stan and a large young white man with curly black hair named Dan. They would often spend all evening at our apartment. That gave us a great idea for how we could upgrade our living quarters. Stan and Dan could live with us in a real house and sublease rooms from us upstairs. Not only that, but everybody at church was sure it was a good idea for the two of them to live in this kind of “group home” too, so that we could minister to them if needed. Young as we were, the feeling was that Eric and I would be a good, stabilizing influence on them.

We did find a house for just the right price, at the back side of Andrews, in a quiet neighborhood of beautiful older homes in Clinton – well, quiet except for when a plane flew low directly overhead. But that wasn’t too much of a problem – I loved planes! The house was a lovely Cape Cod, with two rooms upstairs and a bathroom, and another master bedroom downstairs with its own bathroom. We fell in love with the house and called it “Jehovah-Shammah” – the Lord is there.

Dan at Jehovah-Shammah

The four of us formed the nucleus of the singing group I mentioned in my post two weeks ago, Under the Son. Dan had a twelve-string guitar and Stan had a bass. We found or wrote various songs and performed “gigs” at the church. We bought matching outfits and took dramatic shots of our group at Shenandoah National Park. Eric took an old gray footlocker and painted it with a waterfall, a dove, and fire. Then we poked a hole in the back, set our record player in the footlocker with the cord running through the hole, and used it like a console stereo, singing along with our records.

The Holy Spirit trunk

Stan was a clean freak and Dan was not. Dan lost his job and we didn’t want to throw him out but we needed him to find another job to pay the rent and didn’t know how to motivate him. We even tried not feeding him, but he made ketchup sandwiches to tide himself over. Mostly, he just wanted to stay home and invent electronic things in the basement. Stan bought his own rake to use on the freshly-fallen autumn leaves, and after every time of raking, he carefully cleaned the rake, waxed it, and hauled it upstairs to his room, along with his bicycle.

Meanwhile, at work, I was told that even though I had been trained at tech school to program a Burroughs computer, they needed me to program a Honeywell because all the command level computers (like the one at Air Force Systems Command Headquarters) were Honeywells. Back then, computers took up whole rooms and we programmers were not allowed to enter that room nor even to gaze upon the computer itself. Here’s my tech school class posing next to the windows, where you can see those authentic hanging tape drives, and I was sitting at a keypunch machine, though I never did any keypunching. This was the last I ever saw of computers for quite a while.

Programming Specialist Tech School Graduating Class, Sheppard AFB, TX, 1975

So the first thing I had to do was go to school again, only this time I was bussed to a civilian training center in Virginia. And when I learned how to converse in Honeywell, I could do my job – but then I was also eligible to move to Hawaii and program that Pacific Air Command computer too.

After a short while, with me at work and Eric at home doing the laundry like a good househusband, our savings account involuntarily began to dwindle. We just took out a little each week so we would have enough money for our food, gas, and other expenses. But a few quick calculations showed us this couldn’t go on for very long without depleting all our funds. I would miss having him do the laundry, but we had to make sure Eric had a job. 

At first, he was employed at a Kresge’s, mostly making all the shelves neat and folding clothes. (Ha! The irony!) Then his next job was working at a company that was building a prototype for a high-tech mobile TACAN system for Iran’s military. This was before the revolution in Iran that overthrew the Shah, and the TACAN is probably a rust pile in the desert now.

Mobile TACAN System by International Technical Products

On the weekends, we loved to take a drive to Shenandoah National Park to look at the autumn leaves, or just take a trip to Upper Marlboro for sightseeing. Someone gave us a beagle puppy. We named her Holly and tied her out back. 

A Sweet Puppy Named Holly

We had everything we could want – a house, a car, a dog, a church, a good enough income with the two of us working, two friends to sing with us and do the dishes when I cooked for them, a base commissary where I could get good deals on those food items and other essentials, memorable scenery such as light snow on our azalea and holly bushes, and best of all – each other. 

And then, the orders came. I could never figure out why the Air Force wanted to move me from the East Coast of the United States all the way to Hawaii, but that’s what they did. I cried, but there was no getting out of it. We had a farewell concert at the church.

Under the Son, Farewell Concert

Then, we sold everything we could in a yard sale, and the rest was packed up by the movers. In July of 1976, we found ourselves crossing the country, heading west again.

And that is how we spent our honeymoon days. Eric and I were a young, start-up enterprise with big dreams for the future, just enjoying everything about everything.  Looking back, and seeing how much we had to learn, I can tell you confidently that the Lord was able to teach it to us little by little, knowing our weaknesses and failures, but also knowing that our hearts were centered on Him as His dear children.  He took us where we needed to go, and He has never failed us.

"This Book of the Law shall not depart from your mouth, but you shall meditate in it day and night, that you may observe to do according to all that is written in it. For then you will make your way prosperous, and then you will have good success.

"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of good courage; do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go."  ~Joshua 1:8-9

Introducing Eric J. Haley!

Pastor Eric J. Haley

Now and then, one of our married daughters will say something like, “Hey, I was at the 231 Market in Camden yesterday and had a conversation with someone about canning supplies, when all of a sudden, she said, ‘I’ll bet you’re one of Eric Haley’s kids.’ That keeps happening to me! It seems like everybody in Indiana knows you, Dad!” 

Then, when he asks for a name, Eric will recall, “Oh yeah, I met her on the picket line at 4th and Romig back in 1987 …”

This is where I temporarily leave my role as autobiographer and become more of a biographer, because my husband, Eric J. Haley, is an amazing man, a legend in his own lifetime, whose story deserves to be told. I told him while we were taking a walk that whether he liked it or not, he was a historical figure in this area. 

“Like a memorial?” he asked. “Are you expecting me to die soon?” 

“No, but I might as well get all this in print now, while I can still fact-check it.”

Eric J. Haley became my husband in this narrative a couple of weeks ago. And, we're both Air Force veterans, so Happy Veterans' Day to all of us who have worn the uniform of the United States military!

But all you know about him so far is how he related to me. Let me introduce him better.

Eric was born February 15, 1955, at Home Hospital in Lafayette, Indiana, the younger son of Leonard Elbert Haley and Rejonnah Janette Haley (nee Patmore).

Eric with his older siblings and his mom, 1956

Leonard Haley was the youngest son of ten children, born after his father died from tuberculosis, and raised by his widowed mother in Lafayette’s South End, a poor neighborhood. Leonard joined the U.S. Army at age 17, and was part of the Occupational Forces that went into Japan after they surrendered, thus ending World War II.

Leonard Elbert Haley, Eric's father

Rejonnah married him just before he enlisted, as did many brides in those days, not really knowing he was younger than she was. She was literally a “Rosie the Riveter,” who made airplane parts in a retrofitted factory in Evansville during the War.

Leonard and Rejonnah had four children – Gayle, Greg, Elaine, and Eric. Gayle and Greg weren’t always the greatest role models for Eric, being rather rebellious and hard to handle into their teen years, but Elaine (a.k.a. “Lainey”) was his friend, though usually the sickly one in the bunch with chronic asthma problems. Eric was shy and quiet – until he got saved.

That happened because his brother Greg got saved. There was an instant observable change in his life that was not lost on Eric (who shared a bedroom with him), from being a rebellious teenager on the path of destruction, drinking, smoking, cussing, gambling, listening to the Rolling Stones, and wrecking his parents’ car … to a submissive and happy teenager playing George Beverly Shea albums and going to church several times a week. 

Greg wanted Eric to go to the Assembly of God church with him and Lainey wanted him to get saved at their Baptist church. Eric wanted what Greg had because he knew it was true and powerful, but he was afraid of the thought of having to walk to the front of the church to get it. He would have despaired of the whole thing except that Lainey informed him that that part wasn’t really necessary – he could ask Jesus to come into his heart right there in his bed. So, he did just that.

At age 14, Eric prayed in his bed before he went to sleep, and when he awoke the next day, he absolutely knew that he was wonderfully saved and powerfully changed. 

This change in Eric was no less dramatic than Greg’s. He did go with his brother to the Assembly of God church, where he was baptized in water the next week and baptized in the Holy Spirit a week later. But he also joined his sister in a jail ministry with the Baptist church as a vocal duet. Now, he was no longer shy and quiet – oh no!

He soon met Joe Bell, a Purdue athlete in track and field who was, at the time, setting records for hurdles. Joe had gotten saved at the head coach’s office, and as a result, he left his fraternity parties behind – he just lost all interest – as well as his plans to be a physical therapist. Instead, he occupied his time with starting a Christian coffeehouse called the Natural High, and Eric became an integral part of that effort.

The Natural High Coffeehouse

One of the things about new Christians is that, like young children, they simply believe what they’re told. Eric was told that God was a God of miracles, so he applied that faith to matters at hand, such as finding a building for a coffeehouse, and having the rattrap building pass city inspections before their grand opening when … it couldn’t have.

Eric met many friends at the coffeehouse, including Bob Whitesel, who later went on to seminary in California and was Eric’s best man when we got married. Bob has since written several books now and teaches seminars on church growth. Eric also met a young lady named Peggy Collins from Oklahoma, who soon became Joe Bell’s wife. Eric served as an usher at their wedding. Joe went on to seminary and became an Assembly of God youth pastor in Lafayette, and then a Calvary Chapel pastor, one of the first in Indiana.

Eric attended one of the earliest Christian open air concert events ever, in 1971 – the Jesus Trip Music Festival in Muncie. This gave him a great idea for having a similar festival in the Lafayette area. It was dubbed the “GodLove” festival, and was making headway. He and some others had attracted some interest from some of the churches and found a park in a very small backwoods town, set a date, produced some promotional materials, raised some money, booked some bands, and got interviewed by the local paper.

That’s when the trouble started. One of the main issues was port-a-potties. Why had these youngsters forgotten this important detail? Who did they think they were, asking people to stand around all day listening to music and speakers with no place to use the toilet? And this concert had no real sponsors. It was just a 17-year-old boy with a big idea.

Churches pulled their support. The bad press made people want to distance themselves from the idea altogether. The event was moved to Slater Center at Purdue, but finally cancelled because of the pending torrential rains. 

There was another idea that started off all right, but just didn’t last. Eric was on the editorial staff of a local Jesus People newspaper called The Agape Press that was distributed free to the churches. It was created periodically by dedicated volunteer newsmen from the coffeehouse who (back in the day) literally cut-and-pasted paragraphs onto a master copy, which was then taken to Ft. Wayne, where the local Jesus People community had a printing press. Copies were produced there and then distributed in bundles to the Lafayette churches.

As it turned out, this idea only lasted for two issues. The second and final issue contained a controversial article called “Pioneer Theology” which compared the Holy Spirit to a scout and God the Father to the Trail Boss, who drank hard liquor and cussed like a sailor. The churches began to cancel their orders and dispose of the issue because it was so disrespectful to God.

But there was no stopping Eric. Once he took the plunge and was baptized, he was determined to be a witness with everything he had in him. At school, he wrote a “What Do You Want to Do When You Grow Up?” paper, where he chose “Minister” and described the Plan of Salvation. 

His teacher, Mr. Smith, gave him a “C” because he didn’t like it, but then he kept it. And pulling it out one day when he was in trouble, he turned to God, prayed the prayer in Eric’s paper, decided to change careers to become a Minister, and was accepted at a seminary. But before he left, he stopped by the coffeehouse to inform Eric that his life was changed because of him and his paper. Needless to say, this goes against the natural order of things, but Eric was more into the supernatural.

Eric made a slideshow (early version of a multimedia presentation) for a different class at school, Sociology, teaching creatively about the Jesus Movement and about the Rapture, using empty shoes to illustrate the sudden disappearance of The Church. This was, again, the days before computers, so these were real slides, complete with a separate audio tape synchronized with the slides. They were viewed by using a projector to shine light through them and onto a screen. We still have the tape Eric made and all the slides.

The teacher, Mr. Sinclair, liked it so much that he arranged for Eric to miss some of his other classes in order to show it during three more of the teacher’s classes. Eric’s presentation on the Jesus Movement was “an event.”

Once-shy Eric joined the speech team his senior year, applied himself, and won several awards reciting a poem by Larry Norman, First Day in Church. Then he decided to graduate early. His speech coach, desperate to have him stay that last semester, offered to fix his schedule for him so he could have just speech and two art classes. But Eric decided not to. He was ready to move on.

Eric saw people saved during his high school years, hard cases, people who didn’t stand a chance by the world’s standards. One such hard case, after he was saved, turned around on the school bus to preach to everyone else about how he had been saved from the drug culture by a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, and they could too.

This tendency to go whole-hog into whatever Eric set his hand to do would later spill into our married life. At various times, we were involved in such projects as planning to purchase and operate a home for unwed mothers, Operation Rescue, and Lafayette Citizens for Decency. You’d probably love to hear about all those adventures and more, but I have decided this will probably need a book of its own, so pray for me! There are over 2500 occurrences of his name in the Lafayette Journal and Courier and most of them really are about him!

This amazing man, Eric J. Haley, is my husband, and I’ve had the privilege of being his wife and his secretary for 45 years. And you know what? Remember my idea of being a secretary in a U.S. embassy when I grew up?

U.S. Embassy, Manila, 1965

Maybe that was fulfilled after all, for Eric J. Haley is an Ambassador of Jesus Christ, and that makes our home an embassy.

Now then, we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God were pleading through us: we implore you on Christ's behalf, be reconciled to God. ~2 Cor. 5:20