Published and available!

 My baby was born a month ago!

So much has been happening since then that I failed to make the announcement here.

Everything about this phase is new, a steep learning curve for me

Only today I realized that the eBook had not been added yet, and awaits approval, which may take a couple of days.

Meanwhile, February 28th we had a well-attended book launch event at the Upland library. Since then I have been responding to requests for autographed copies daily.

Coming soon!

The long process of turning a blog into a publishable book is almost over. I began working with Tisha Martin Mills, editor and project manager a year ago. Cover design and final author read is done.

1964 - Changes

1964 was a year of many changes. My family, the Hoyts, were in the USA, yet Argentina was in us. How did we adapt or adjust to the unknown? Life and customs in the US were now the foreign culture, especially to us kids. 

    Coming from the heat of summer, we arrived in the cold of winter. How did we manage the  necessary wardrobe change overnight? A vague image floats in my memory of walking off a plane wearing heels and a summer dress and jacket onto an icy windy airport walkway.

    The decades have erased the details of settling into a new world. The transition drained our time and energy. Few letters remain to record the stories. I am grateful for the miraculous survival of my vast correspondence with Mirtha, my dearest friend. Years back when my brother and sister-in-law lived in Argentina, on one of their return trips to the US, they brought the letters that I begged to borrow for the duration of their visit. During that time, our house burned down and the binder-full was among the archival items recovered!

    I wrote one letter to Mirtha in 1964. It saddened me to realize that it was only in February that I began a response to her letter. She was the first to write after our family's departure in December. I was even more chagrined to note that it was not till July that I finally completed and mailed my letter, by then four long pages. 

    I thanked her profusely, and chided her, "Why did you write me such a beautiful letter when I haven't even written you in months?" then proceeded to explain: 

I only have 10 minutes before lights out. Because I don't know if you knew that I am in Grace College, Winona Lake, Indiana. I am studying and working. I barely have time to breathe. . . I've been waiting for free time to open up to write to you, but now I realize that it will never happen, so I decided to use the little moments.

    From what follows I understood that there was one person I was corresponding with faithfully, the boyfriend I had left behind.

I will not be able to tell you everything about how I came to be here, but if you wait a little, when Julio arrives in the Bible Institute [March] he will be able to tell you much more.

As I said, I am here. . . My parents wanted me to come, and I also wanted to do something rather than be home without anything to do, so here I am.

I am very grateful that since I moved out, away from my family, the Lord has guided me wonderfully and provided all my needs more than I could ask or think. . . I know that He placed me here.

He also gave me a job in an amazing way. I work part time for Spanish World Gospel Broadcasting, Inc.

 I worked part-time doing secretarial tasks for the founder and director, Florent Toirac from Cuba. 

    But, what was college life like for me? I had to find my way in the new academic setting without much orientation. I jumped into the middle of the school-year—second semester began January 27—and landed in a small dorm room in the Westminster Hotel. I didn't know whether I could relate to the beautiful, well-put-together roommate I was assigned. However, only a couple of weeks later the Residence Hall opened, Grace campus' first one. The "big move" took place February 8. "Although it was freezing cold outside, a warm spirit was everywhere." (Brethren Missionary Herald, 3.21.64)

    The new building also housed the dining commons which opened February 14. The first floor was for female students. The second floor for the men was still under construction and scheduled to open in the fall.

    I had a new roommate, Linda Crowder, who also enrolled second semester. I wrote about her troubled life to Mirtha. 

She's lived in thirteen different homes. The last three years of high school she also worked and had her own apartment. She met a pastor's family in September who welcomed her into their home. Their daughter was studying at Grace and that's how Linda ended up there. She has had many problems these months.

    As I read further, I recognized how far apart our life experiences had been. However, she confided in me and I prayed for her. Linda had a hard time keeping to a schedule and abiding by the rules. She was so used to living independently and doing her own thing. The dean of women, Mrs. Miriam Uphouse, was very good to her, like a mother, even when she reprimanded her. Linda appreciated the discipline. In fact, she said that all her life she had envied other children who were spanked or punished. 

    The story ended tragically. Linda tended to fall behind, get depressed, disappear, and get in trouble. She finally took her own life.

    After the end of the semester, I moved back in with the family for the summer. June 9, I wrote from Evans City, Pennsylvania, where we spent a week with my Hirschy grandparents.

Hoyt family, summer 1963
Rita wearing waitress uniform

    Other news in my extended letter to Mirtha, dated July 16, was that I had a summer job as a waitress at the Westminster Hotel. Winona Lake was a popular venue for a variety of Christian conferences. I mentioned that some weeks were busier than others depending on the attendance at each event. It seems that this particular week there was not as much work. I then dedicated time to write a page to each of my neglected faraway friends.

    I ended the letter apologizing profusely for not communicating all those many months and, despite my admission of total failure, finally determined to mail it anyway, including the outdated entries.

    How much richer these memories would be if all the letters I received from my friends had not gone missing throughout the travels and travails of many decades.

~~~~~

    I have one surviving letter in my mother's beautiful handwriting, written to her mother, December 2, 1964,  almost a year from the time of our arrival in the US. The date tells me that I was not the only one with time management issues during this transition year.  

    The family was based in the Winona Lake house Dad built during the previous furlough. And, not surprisingly, they continued to make improvements on the house, finishing areas of the basement-- paneling bedroom.

    Dad was often invited to speak in the various supporting churches. Mother and the boys traveled with him on weekends if the distance and their school schedule allowed. I usually stayed back, very involved in college obligations. We did, however, spend a week together as a family at a camp during the summer. 

    Two of our uncles lived nearby. Some from out of state came to visit, and we stayed with others on our travels. Slowly we were getting reacquainted.

    We celebrated American holidays. Our neighbors invited us over for a sumptuous Thanksgiving dinner.

    I treated my family to one of Grace college's theatre events, "Father of the Bride." They enjoyed the performance.

    Interestingly, that winter Dad took up a  side job in construction working for Mr. Kaiser. He liked it, but not the cold. Brrrr! 

~~~~~

    Meanwhile, significant changes were taking place in Argentina. The Missionary Herald, in a June 13 article "ARGENTINA MOVES FORWARD" attempted to summarize what God was doing in each area---Bible Institute, literature, radio, Christian Day School, and more--recognizing that much more time and space was required to convey the complete picture.

The work here is in the midst of change--CHANGE--but not in the message we proclaim nor the purpose we pursue. . .

The change in the midst of which we find ourselves is a healthy one. Our Argentine Brethren are taking over more and more of the responsibilities of the work. Thus we need no longer speak of the "Brethren Mission" in Argentina, but of "The Brethren Church of the Argentine Republic," duly orgnized, functioning, and recognized before the government. 

There were several firsts that year, among them:

• The first family camp, added to the other three for children, adolescents, and youth.
• The first time annual conference convened at the denomination's campground, Cerro San Lorenzo.
• The Santa Rosa congregation met for the first time in its own meeting place on March 1. And in April, Alberto Sotola was ordained there.
• The Cover family moved to Río Cuarto to initiate the evangelical literature ministry. The bookstore El Heraldo opened in August.
• Another Christian bookstore, La Buena Lectura, opened in Lomas de Zamora in September.
• The first printed special edition of El Heraldo Evangélico Argentino came out in October.
• Two recent graduates of the Bible Institute began serving in Buenos Aires area churches: Angel Camandona (Pachín) in our own Don Bosco, and Benjamín Enrici in Mármol. 

    Margaret Marshall wrote, Sunday March 14, about a very difficult circumstance that Pachín suffered which almost caused him to give up. The pastors from the Buenos Aires congregations had traveled to headquarters in Río Cuarto for the Field Council meeting. Missionary Don Bishop drove his vehicle. Jim Marshall and Martha Bettinalio rode with him to the interior. However, he had to leave before the meetings were over to take care of important business in the capital. Two fellows rode back with him, Pachín and Juan. They drove through the night Thursday. 

Pachín is such a fine young fellow, and very unfortunately he happened to be driving and went to sleep (at 5:00 in the morning) and they plowed into the back of a truck. It really wrecked the car but could have been much worse. The car went out of control and went for about 100 yards, into a ditch, but didn't turn over. Pachín had his hands cut badly from the glass from the windshield, and the other fellow, . . . received a blow to the head. He was unconscious all the next day, and the doctor wasn't sure he was going to live, but the following night he awoke and it looks as if he will be all right. He and Don were sound asleep when it happened. They notified the men who were still in Río Cuarto, and Jim and Hill left as soon as they could in Mr. Shrock's car and got to the town where they were about 8:00 Friday night and stayed with them Friday and came on home about noon Saturday. Jim sat up with Juan Colle all night. He [Juan] was to preach all this week in special meetings in Don Bosco [correction: Villa Domínico].

Poor Pachín. Jim said that their hardest job was trying to cheer him up--he naturally felt so badly about it. Said he'd never preach again, never drive a car again, etc. Juan is one of his best friends and he was afraid he was going to die and felt responsible. Well, it was just too bad, but we know some good will come of it all.

Jim said it was really impressive how nicely everyone treated them, the policemen, hospital people, believers who opened up their homes to them for eating and sleeping, the mechanics, just everyone.

     Both Pachín and Juan went on to lead very fruitful ministries and raised wonderful families. 

    And now, decades later, from the perspective of many weathered trials, I too am encouraged to keep on keeping on!

"Let us not grow weary in well-doing, for in due time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up (Galatians 6:9 BSB)."

It´ll Never Happen!

Author's Note:

I recently came across this piece written years ago by my late brother Lynn, and decided to include it here becuase he gives additional details and insights to what I related in previous chapters. 

It'll Never Happen!

    The last year of our time in Don Bosco was just beginning. We were due to leave there in November or December of 1963, and we knew that Dad and Mother would be reassigned when they returned to Argentina.

    

    For us kids, especially Rita and myself, it would be our last year in Argentina unless we chose to return on our own. Rita would go to college, and I would finish High School in the States and go on to college.

    We had ministries in which we were involved, and the idea of leaving Argentina was a conflicting thought, in that we would leave behind two Good News Clubs which were just beginning to take on the characteristics of a prospective church. We would also be leaving behind all the dear friends we had made over the period of ten years, and for Rita and myself there were friends who were more than just friends. 

    Rita was very good friends with a young fellow about her age and it seemed like the end of the world to leave him behind. I, Lynn, had a crush on a girl named Dorita, and at fourteen that is a big deal. To top it all off I had discovered that she had a crush on me as well. But I was too shy to do anything about it. 

    In addition, we would be leaving just before camp time, and that was always an exciting time of the year, as we looked forward to going to Córdoba by bus or train (about 8 to 10 hours) and riding in the back of the truck for the bumpy ride to the camp. The wonderful thing about it was that during the two to four hours in the truck, we got to know people whom we had not seen in a whole year, or who were new to us altogether. 

    Coming to the U.S. had its appeal, though, in that we would see our cousins and uncles and aunts, whom we basically did not know. We would also get to see snow, the land where our parents were born, and the wonders of American living with all its advances.

    We had what coud have been thought of as a "lame duck" year ahead, because the end was in sight. But true to their work ethic and their dedication to the ministry, Dad and Mother never let up, and since we considered ourselves a part of the team, it never occurred to us to let up either.

    Sometime around the end of 1962, Mother was looking at the newspaper and her attention was drawn to a small item on a page hidden in the inner part of the paper. The title intimated that the city of Buenos Aires was looking to get rid of all the streetcars they had recently decommissioned, and that they would give them away to charitable enterprises which could use them. The only catch was that they would have to move them out of the storage lot within a short time (six weeks runs in my mind) of their being awarded.

    Mother showed the article to Dad, and suggested that he send a letter requesting one of the units to be used for a meeting place at the location of one of our Good News Clubs. Dad thought it would be a waste of time, as anything that had any value at all was usually snapped up immediately by the Catholic diocese. Mother was not to be dissuaded, and as a concession to her insistence, Dad made up the letter and sent it in. His reasoning would normally have been right on the money but, for some reason, the Lord intervened, and some time in either January or February of 1963, a letter arrived stating that we had been awarded not one, but four streecars! 

    Since we had two Good News Clubs, we would have two streetcars for each place. Now we needed a place to put them. While neither of the lots where we had been meeting (with permission from the owner in each of the places) was for sale, the one in Quilmes Oeste would certainly be available for temporary placement. Dad went to the owner of the lot in Villa Domínico and offered to buy it. I am not sure how much it cost him, nor whether it was a hard sell, but the result was that we had two lots, four streetcars and about six weeks to bring both of them together. 

    The process of bringing the streetcars was an amazing one. Since all the electric supply wires at the time were above ground, they had to be lifted as the transporting vehicle came by. The truck would move up to the cables, and someone on top of the street car would lift the cable far enough for the unit to clear the space while the cable lifter walked along the top of the streecar until he could drop it at the other end. This had to be done on all the streets which had streetlights hanging in the middle of the block. On some blocks it had to be repeated two or three times in a block.

    The streetcars in place, the serious labor began. We took one of the sides off of each car, and then moved them together, thus forming a meeting place about 16´x 35´with built-in seating for about 72 persons.

    Although that would have made our life full enough, daily life went on. The young people and some of the adults in the church pitched in and enclosed the lots with chain link fence, a necessity on any lot where anything of value will be stored. Meanwhile, someone had to stand guard day and night so that the streetcars would not be vandalized. One of the young people stayed at one place, and I, Lynn, stayed at the other.

    While this fencing was going on, life went on at home. Mother was pregnant with her fifth child, due any time. On March 7, 1963, her birth pains began. She brought me a lunch at about noon, and she and Dad traveled the ten or twelve miles over bumpy roads to the British Hospital in Buenos Aires.

    As soon as they arrived, she was examined, and taken immediately to the labor room while Dad sat down to sign the admission papers. He was so exhausted that he fell asleep signing his name. When he woke up, he asked to be taken to the labor room to be with Mother. He was told he was too late, that our youngest sibling had just been born. His name is Norman Alan. The first name was in honor of our grandfather Hirschy, a man of faith who had an extremely tender heart for a lost world. We have always called him Alan as all the rest of us have four-letter names.

    I have often wished that we could have stayed and continued the work started in those two places. It was not to be so. The last I checked, the streetcars-turned-chapels were both functioning as church buildings, though we no longer have contact with those congregations.

    These reminders bring to mind at least two very important facts:

    1. Never say it will never happen. If God chooses to make something happen, IT WILL!

    2. If you think your plate is too full for another challenge, God will probably add another morsel of challenge on it to keep you dependent.

Growing Pains: A Journey Between Worlds

 

We moved to a new town when I was seven. We grew accustomed to life in the two-story house on Calle 31 in Don Bosco, a town in the outskirts of Buenos Aires.

 

    The train rumbled by every five minutes, its tracks a mere block away. Every time the whistle blew we knew it was the slow train stopping at the nearby station, and not the rápido speeding past. At first, the constant noise bothered us, but we soon grew accustomed to that, too.

    Tuesday was market day, la feria. Vendors lined the street by the train station, selling fruits and vegetables, flowers, household goods, clothing, crafts. Town people milled about chatting, comparing goods and prices, and enjoying the warmth of the morning sun and the camaraderie. 

    Most days we bought fruit and vegetables from doña Lucy’s verdulería, the stand on the corner across from the train station. Her dark-haired curly-headed little boy, Julio, hung out there. He was often seen with his blond friend Roberto. I can’t remember when, but sometime after my parents began a Sunday morning children’s Bible class in our home, the two friends started coming around often, sometimes accompanied by their younger siblings. Julio remembered being there when we celebrated Daddy’s 31st birthday.

    You could say we all grew up together in the neighborhood, although my brothers and I were never as free to roam as the other children. 

    I had a friend, Delia, who lived around the corner and walked with me every day to our primary school, Escuela No. 42, eight or ten blocks across the railroad tracks and to the edge of town. She was also part of our little group and attended Sunday School in our home off and on.

  

    One evening service in our home, all of the living room seats were filled, I sat in the back on the cold cement stairs leading to the second floor. Perhaps the sermon went too long, or I didn’t want to interrupt by exiting to go to the bathroom; alas, I made a bigger scene when I had an accident right there on the steps. My little friend Julio, sitting next to me, felt so sorry for the embarrassment this had caused me.

    Another memory stayed with me from when we lived in that same house, Calle 31 No. 33. I came down with the mumps around Christmas time (summer in Argentina) and could not play my role in the program held in our back yard. I sadly looked down from my bedroom window, my swollen cheeks covered with a scarf.

    Most of us also attended a Child Evangelism Bible club that met Thursday afternoons in another part of town. We loved our teacher, Carlos Maccio. As pre-adolescents, he involved us in a recording program. Every week we traveled by train to a studio in la capital, downtown Buenos Aires, to perform skits and sing songs for a radio children’s program. I distinctly remember singing a solo, it was Psalm 103 set to music. Other details have faded.

    We moved into a different house, much closer to Julio’s, right around the corner. Friendships among  the children in our neighborhood grew. The Clausens, a Danish family, lived across the street. Lise, their daughter, and I became good friends, although she was a couple years younger. She and I walked together every afternoon to a shop across the railroad to buy milk. Her tall blond good-looking brother was my age, and I developed a crush on  Eduardo that lasted our entire furlough year in the States. But when we returned to our home on Chiclana, I slowly realized that he did not think of me in the same way. Besides we did not run in the same circles. The Clausens were staunch members of a Plymouth Brethren congregation in Wilde, the next town on the train route.

    Meanwhile, our own Don Bosco youth group was growing in numbers and closeness. My parents noticed that I was attracting male attention and moved me to the back bedroom where I couldn’t chat with boys from my street-facing upstairs window. Relocation did not totally squelch inner adolescent yearnings. 

    There were many opportunities for me to gather and also serve together with the kids in our youth group. Physical work in the ministry bonded us together as a community. 

    Over the years my father, with the help of old and young members of the congregation, built a church edifice we called Templo Evangélico. The young men acquired carpentry and masonry skills as they worked alongside my father. Pastor, preacher, builder, don Solón, also imparted spiritual disciplines. For a long time Dad met with these teenagers for early morning prayer. I sensed that Julio looked up to my father more than to his own. His dad was a pharmacist who rose early for his hour-long train commute and worked long days at a prestigious establishment on Calle Florida—the famous pedestrian street in the capital city.

    As young people we helped at an open air children’s Bible club. Five or six of us traveled by train to a neighboring town, and then walked to an open area. When I played the accordion, the  children gathered and we taught them Bible lessons. Julio lugged the heavy instrument on the long walk from the train station to the empty lot where the children gathered. In time it became obvious that Julio and I were an item. 

    Our budding attraction had not gone unnoticed by my parents. I sensed that they disapproved. They looked worried and reminded me often, "Next year we are returning to the States." They wanted to protect me from an impossible relationship. When our five-year missionary term ended, I would have to leave Argentina, and go back to the US with the family. And it was expected that I would attend Grace College in Indiana.  There was no guarantee that I would ever be able to return.

 

    Yet, our boyfriend-girlfriend friendship grew. Julio won me over with his forthright genuineness and vibrant personality. And he adored me. We dared to imagine an impossible future. I was an American missionary kid, and he an Argentine. Such relationships were unheard-of back then.

    What my parents did not know was that Julio and I were seeing each other more and more often. Julio lived a mere two blocks away. He waited for me at the corner every morning and walked with me to the bus stop. I attended a high school for teachers, the Escuela Normal Mixta de Quilmes, two towns away by public transport.

    Time spent together progressed from the waiting for bus No. 24 to joining me on the twenty-minute ride, and then finally walking with me the dozen or so blocks to the school. He did this even though it meant making his way there and back, at his own expense, only return a few hours later for his classes. The Escuela Nacional, a secondary school to prepare for university, met evenings in the same building.

    My physical education class met one or two afternoons a week in a gym in another part of town. Julio would often wait for me afterwards. I recognized him from afar wearing the textured woolen sweater his mother knit for him every year. He loved it when I ran to meet him and I was happy to see his smiling dark eyes. 

    When apart, we left little notes in nicks in the classroom walls or tree hollows in the school yard. Usually these were rolled up bus tickets where we had written Te quiero (I love you) over and over and over. Once, to surprise me, Julio procured an entire roll of tickets from a friend whose father was a bus driver.

    One morning Julio lingered outside the school fence. We were surreptitiously talking when the disciplinarian, the preceptora, noticed us, and came over. She reprimanded us harshly, and called me into the office. I, the perfect little student, was sent home, suspended, not allowed to return until the next day, and only if accompanied by my parents. 

    Julio waited for me outside the school to hear the outcome of the discipline, and went home with me. He was there to explain and take the blame. “What have you done?” asked my mother as soon as she saw us. I was not in school, appeared very distressed, red-eyed, tear-stained, and with Julio! No explanation sufficed. We were in big trouble. My parents tried to keep us apart. We did not meet much after that and I became more reserved and secretive.

    One rainy afternoon, Julio and I snuck out for a walk around the block sharing an umbrella. Perhaps it was then that he gave me a magazine picture we treasured as the ideal of love and marriage--a young couple pushing a baby carriage. 

    In retrospect it is hard to imagine a sweet and innocent friendship like ours. We had no television, our minds and hearts were not yet overrun by a sex-crazed environment. We never spoke of sex, nor did it cross our minds. My parents may have imagined otherwise. One morning I heard Daddy weeping loudly and always wondered whether I was the cause.

    When the time came for my parents' furlough from missionary service, the parting from my friends, and Julio in particular, was very difficult.  At the airport, we snuck away and kissed for the first time, perhaps in an attempt to seal our promise of an ongoing relationship. We honored that commitment for more than two years through faithful eagerly-awaited correspondence.

    Finally one day, Daddy said, “You can do what you want.” However, I gave up the idealized image of a future with Julio. The happy-couple-and-baby-carriage image was gone. I saw no way that Julio could come to me or I go to him. Distance was the more obvious obstacle, but living in different worlds was the invisible one at the time. The pain of the break-up faded. Eventually the treasured letters were either lost or burnt. I never knew what happened to the little bronze heart he  fashioned for me.

    We each married within our own culture and have growing families. However, that first love still remains a sweet and powerful memory.

1963

 

My last year in Argentina was difficult on many levels—school, relationships, church. 

My friend Mirtha, far away, felt something in her spirit, and wrote:

Manita, [little sister] is something special happening to you that I have such a desire to see you or are these just my "feelings"? . . . You know, I feel such a need to pray for you.

Comforted and encouraged, I responded:

The Lord is so wonderful! To think that He told you that I needed your prayers, that something serious was happening to me . . . I felt that I was drowning in a hole of desperation, discouragement, and sadness. . . I was failing in everything. I was not doing well in school, practice teaching, and other subjects. I felt useless. 

A dear friend nearby, also felt the need to pray much for me. 

Not long after, I experienced a different attitude, a new outlook on life. My joy returned, even though the demands of life did not lessen. 

It was my last year of high school; the load was very heavy. I explained to my friend how terrible the academic pressures were with new trimester exams, and professors expected to cover more material. 

. . . you know, so many times this year I wanted to quit school completely, throw away my books to never see them again. 

However, Mirtha, I assure you that the Lord gives me so much strength physically and spiritually and helps me so much. If it were not so, I don't know what would happen.   

 At that time in Argentina, Normal school was a five-year program that prepared us to become elementary teachers. The last two years focused on education courses including practice teaching. I found lesson planning especially challenging and spent an inordinate amount of time in preparation. Eventually, to my surprise and that of my professors, when I was teaching in the classroom, I thrived.

The schedule was so tight, so little leisure time, not much sleep, I longed for breaks or holidays. When Pope John XXIII died (June 3, 1963),  as an immature teen, instead of mourning "The Good Pope" (Il Papa Buono), I rejoiced to have a day off. 

Again, in November we had a national day of mourning, surprisingly it was for the death of President J. F. Kennedy. His assassination shocked the world. It is one of those events that became etched in the memory. I remember when Mr. Gammel, our next-door neighbor called over the fence to give us the news.

This is an aside, but there is another interesting anecdote involving the Gammels, our elderly German neighbors. They had lost a young daughter many long years ago. When they were ready to part with her beautiful doll, they gifted it to me in a generous and ceremonious way. It was large and beautiful. Sadly, I was beyond the age of playing with dolls and did not grasp the significance of what they had bestowed. I never knew much about their great loss. (I wonder what became of the doll.)

Meanwhile, family life was very full.

 I wrote to my friend about Baby Alan:

. . . the most beautiful boy in the world, is so chubby. He has blue eyes, hair like my mother's . . . he laughs so much; this morning in Sunday School we could not keep him quiet.  

Ivan is so happy with his little brother . . . not at all jealous. The only thing is that he's a little bit rough or not as gentle as he should be and usually has dirty hands, so we don't let him touch Alan. 

I could so easily get distracted enjoying my little brothers.

I got back at 5 p.m. from practice teaching. I looked after Alan for a while, then I spent some time with Ivan teaching him some letters. 

Later in the letter, I chided myself for ¨wasting time.¨  I'd tried to prepare a lesson plan that evening but had to get up at 3:30 a.m. to finish it.

More family details appear in Dad's letter to my grandparents.

April 27—This night is a lovely time to be home. It is raining and has been gray all afternoon and part of the morning. We just finished supper: Kathryn and Rita are doing the dishes, Lynn is studying, Aldo is entertaining himself near Lynn, and Ivan is bothering both of them. Alan just finished taking his bottle and was doing some superb smiling for Rita. He is truly the prize of the household. He has been so good and is so nice and fat. We wish you all could see him. Well, it won't be too long. The months are rolling around so fast that I wonder if we'll finish all we should before our time of departure.

 

This past week we finished uniting the roofs of the streetcars we have in Quilmes. We must finish one wall, repair the floor a bit, and set up the rest of the benches and then we will at least be temporarily done with those two streetcars. Then we must go to the second annex and join the two we have there in Villa Domínico. After that I should finish the prsonage we started back in February. The Happy Hours we have in the two locations have been going very well up to now. 

 

I recounted for Mirtha a humorous experience when my Bible Club group had an unusual visitor before we had begun using the streetcars. 

. . .we had 24 children and a drunk. Poor guy! He behaved quite well considering his condition. He sat on the grass in the back like a kid. He arrived about the time I was to teach the verse. I had not noticed that he was drunk. I began saying something about the text and with a nasal twang, he said "The first text that came into Argentina was the textile with a double 's'." I was so surprised that I stopped and looked at him but Julio motioned me to keep going. So I paid no more attention to him and he behaved quite well. Sometimes he would say something crazy and the kids would turn around and laugh; he laughed along with them.

The verse was John 15:13 and every time we said John 15:13, he laughed. He said "lay down your life for your friends. . . is okay. . . but. . . John 15:13 Ha! Ha!!!"

 Throughout the lesson, he listened like a child and repeated many words that Mabel was using, but really was not very disruptive. When the kids turned around, he would say: "Pay attention . . . this is good . . . to hear it . . . and aristrocratic to feel it." And sometimes he would call on one kid especially: "Pelopincho ¡Pelopincho! Pay attention!" 

At the end, when Mabel was giving the plan of salvation, he interrupted to ask: "Who decides the evil of destiny? Who is the promoter?" Mabel did not understand and didn't know what to say, but went on: "We are all sinners and the only one who can save us is Jesus." The man said in a strange and low voice: "Thank you, Miss." Later, "Pardon me for interrumpting . . . with an indiscreet question . . . I wanted to know . . . I like this . . . I love God, and Jesus, and all." 

When Ricardo greeted him he said: "Thank you very much. The greeting is yours cordial and always."

This last phrase we repeated so often among ourselves that it will surely go down in history. 

In the family letter dated June 10, Grandma wrote: 

We had such a nice letter from Lynn last week and I wish I could copy the whole letter but, time and space does not permit, we surely appreciated it. Some quotes: "Daddy was in bed sick two days because of his back. Mommy is very happy about Alan most of the time but sometimes she is not so happy because he spits up a lot. She misses you quite a bit. In fact we all do."

The truth was that Mother was very conflicted at this time. The news about Grandpa Hirschy's declining health troubled her deeply. Should she try to fly to the US to see him? But how could she leave the family during this intensely busy time, and with a baby? Would Grandpa get to see his namesake? Grandma had expressed her heartfelt wish that we would be able to travel back to the US before it was too late. However, that was not to be. The cancer, detected in the spring, continued to spread and he died August 25, three days after they celebrated their 50th anniversary. 

The school year ended in November, and despite the many trials and travails, I graduated!

Graduation ceremony

My graduating class

Then began the trámites, the red tape and paperwork hassles in order to leave the country. I wrote some of these details to Mirtha.

Friday, December 13, 1963 

Here I am downtown Buenos Aires, in the car at a mechanic shop. Straight ahead I see the Ministry of Communications at the left and the Luna Park at its side on the right. . . If I look behind I see the Casa Rosada [government building] and I just saw Illía looking out the window (Ha! Ha!)  [Now I know who won the election July 7!]  I´m here alone with Ivan. Dad went to do things while they fix the car which stopped working suddently here in the Capital (luckily in front of the mechanic shop). 

This is the fourth day we´ve come to the Capital. I´m so tired of buildings, buildings and more buildings. 

Tuesday we came by car. It was raining, and raining, and raining. We went to the Police. Lynn, Aldo and Alan, Argentines, got their passports. Dad got his travel certificate. Mom had hers already. I needed to get one, but when I presented my identity card and they saw that it was issued in the province, they said it would not do, that I needed one issued in the Capital. And we found out that Ivan could not leave the country without an identity card. So both of us needed to obtain one. For that we needed: 1) Certificate of Entry into the Country, and 2) Certificate of Nationality.

To obtain the first we went to the Migration Office. For me there was hardly any problem because I was already registered and I had been there other times, except that it would be ready for the 18th and we were due to leave on the 20th. We had to talk to the chief and ask for a favor. 

However, little Ivan had not been registered, I don't know how that happened, but, of course they could not give him an Entry Certificate if they did not even know he existed! They asked for a birth certificate, we did not have one (only something that was not the same and was not acceptable). They asked for another document . . . Well, we had done enough for one day so we left for home, but . . . it was raining, and raining, and raining!!! The streets were like rivers, sidewalks covered with water, many stores closed because the water reached their doors or even went inside. . . Mitre Ave. which we necessarily had to take to get home, was worse. Twice the car stalled as the water was too high and we had to pay 200 pesos each time for a horse to pull us out (its owner was very happy that day!)

The next day Dad, Ivan and I went into the city, but this time by train, subway, on foot, etc.. So for two days we were walking and walking, waiting, and waiting in one office or another and each time there was something new.

Yesterday, for example, we went to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to legalize three documents we obtained from the American Consulate: certificates of nationality, one for me and two for Ivan (one for the Police and another for Migrations).  

 Amazingly, everything came together for our timely departure, December 20, 1963.

Angel Camandona, the new pastor, nicknamed Pachín, arrived one week earlier.

Pastor Pachín in front of the parsonage

Margaret Marshall wrote about their experience of the memorable farewell.

Dec. 20

Friday night we all went to the airport to see the Hoyts off. Their plane was supposed to leave at 7:30, and it was almost 10:30 when it finally left. . . There were several folks from our other churches there.

Some of the farewell crowd

Looking back, by way of reflection over what God had done, I shared with Mirtha, in the above-mentioned letter:

I always remember a church meeting we had over a year ago, there was heated discussion and it was truly historic. There we spoke of the need for a pastor after we left. Everyone was in agreement. Then we talked about the need to provide him with a place to live. There again everyone was agreed. After that we discussed the need for a meeting place in Villa Domínico, not only for the Bible Club but especially to begin working with the adults. On this matter there were differing opinions: some felt the need was urgent and others said we should first build the parsonage and then think about Villa Domínico . . . Julio was of this opinion . . . This led us to pray from that day on for a pastor, a parsonage and a place in Villa Domínico. And the Lord gave us all three, and as if that were not enough He opened one more annex.

Thus ended my life in Argentina. My parents and three brothers returned. The family passport photo (that opens this chapter) had Rita and Lynn's faces crossed out and also indicated our cancellation on a separate page. My brother and I were beginning a new chapter of life. This is the end of Part One. As an addendum, one more entry summarizes and describes a significant relationship that cannot be forgotten.

Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, 
according to the power at work within us, 
to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations,
forever and ever.
Amen.

Ephesians 3:20-21

 

Summer of 1963

 

Youth Camp Choir

Summer months were usually full, but this year seemed to be exceptionally so.
After sixty years, I had forgotten many of the happenings that I find in the letters and documents gathered from various sources. 

Here is one interesting seasonal tidbit I related to my friend Mirtha:

January 8, 1963

This morning I got up at 5:45 to go with Lynn to the town fair. [Every Tuesday vendors set up their stands across from the train station.] He has a stand there with Bibles, Christian books, and Alpha radios [the business of the three friends, Julio, Roberto, and Antonio]. The street fair is a block away from the Temple, so someone always needs to help him carry and set up the table. His little stand has drawn quite a bit of attention and he has sold 3 or 4 or 5 Bibles, 2 of your books, several books for children, 2 or 3 New Testaments, etc. Lynn is so excited about this work that his life is centered around it (well, maybe not that much, but almost).

As more Brethren churches were added in the Greater Buenos Aires, the cooperation and joint events increased.
 

January 5 all the youth groups met in Castelar where Don and Hazel Bishop had settled two years earlier.

Jim and Margaret Marshall had moved to Ciudad General Belgrano at the end of 1962. Dad made numerous trips to their place throughout the summer to help them settle into their house and build a garage. Often he was accompanied by members of our family and on a few occasions took along a couple of the young fellows that regularly worked with him on a variety of projects.
 

Meanwhile the Marshalls had been reaching out to their neighbors. Sunday March 3, they began services in their home.

Early January, Jim traveled with thirteen children from the Buenos Aires churches to camp in the sierras of Córdoba. He stayed to help with the other camp sessions. This year Dad did not participate at all in the camp programs as Mother was due to have number five sometime before the end of the summer. 

We had a record number of youth that attended camp from the Buenos Aires area, some 35. I was very excited that Delia, my classmate, and her sister were among them. They were especially enticed by the fact that they would be able to meet our author friend Mirtha Siccardi, whose novel they all read including their mother. 

Also it was my last year. I wrote to my friend, "Did you realize, dear Mirtha, that this is the last camp before I leave for North America and it may be the last time I see you before leaving because I don´t know whether I will be able to attend Conference?" 

I remember feeling very sad many times during that camp.

The description of our return trip from camp brings back those happy sad memories. The two and half hour ride in the back of the truck from the sierras to the city of Río Cuarto left us filthy, covered in dust and very tired, but happy. After washing up, a bite to eat, a little nap, some of us went to see the sights: the lovely city park with boat rides, and then downtown for food and souvenirs. I almost didn't go as I had been crying, feeling sad again. That night we took the overnight bus to Buenos Aires, my last time.

I slept a lot on the trip but even so we arrived very, very tired. It was good to be home again and see everyone. I found Mom well, except that her feet were quite swollen. After cleaning up and a bite to eat, I went to sleep. At 4:15 Dad woke me up; it was time to go to the Temple to leave for Bible Clubs.

In an earlier letter to my friend I had mentioned an interesting new development surrounding the children´s Bible clubs.

Did you know that we asked to be given streetcars? I don´t know if you heard that the government is giving away streetcars to any religious or charitable organization. LAPEN [Child Evangelism in Argentina] through Mr. Bongarrá obtained 10 and he himself also several. Dad, before knowing this had requested some and we are praying that they will give us at least one to place in Villa Domínico.

So, what did happen? I remember that my mother was the one who saw the ad about the government giving away old street cars and suggested they could be used as little chapels in these outreach locations.

March 5, Mother began a letter to her parents:

Here Rita and I are sitting in a street car trying to write letters, read and rest, but we aren't able to do much of anything as there is a gang of kids outside trying to bother. Yesterday morning we hired two trucks and a truck with a crane to bring the 4 streetcars. (Did we tell you that the Government gave us 4?) Two of them we placed on a lot in Villa Domínico and two here on a lot that belongs to a believers´ family. Daddy and some of the men are putting a wire fence around the lot in Villa Domínico and probably tomorrow they will do it here, that is if I don´t pull any tricks and go to the hospital. I´m so glad I´ve been able to keep going yet. 

Last night Lynn and another boy slept in the one in Villa Domínico and two others here. This morning when we went to see how they fared, all had passed the night very well and peacefully.

These streetcars are really useful. One is a 1955 model and in excellent condition. The other 3 have a seat loose here and there or a few windows broken but they all can be fixed in time, and make nice little chapels. Each one has seats for 36 people.

The hard work began in earnest. Men, young and old, began taking out the middle walls to join the cars, then join the roofs, and do the repairs. 

 

 Dad picked up writing where Mom had left off. 

Thursday A.M.

These are difficult days - we are trying to do too many things in too short a time. We´re trying to do our best to protect these streetcars, but after we´ve done all we can, the Lord can take care of them. . . Since the young people have been having Bible clubs in Villa Domínico for two years and we also had a tent campaign there, we felt that we should put two of the streetcars there.

I have so many things to do with church building, Institute, Public offices, keeping all the missionaries content [at the time he was the Field Superintendent], etc. that I almost faint at times. But the Lord is able. 

 Later that day, Dad added a final paragraph.

Well, you have another red-headed grandson! He was born 2:35 P.M. weighed in at 8 lbs. 8 oz. Kathryn got along real well and the baby is very nice, quite pretty for a new born babe. Kathryn is in the British Hospital receiving the best of care.

What Dad did not say was that while he was filling out the paper work, he fell asleep and missed the delivery altogether! 

The guys working on the streetcars were waiting eagerly for the news of the baby, but recall that when Pastor Hoyt came back from the hospital the first thing he did was check the progress of the work and give further instructions. Some minutes went by, they looked at one another, and since he hadn't said anything, they asked. "Ah, yes, another boy!" he said, and went on telling them where and what to do next.

At home, my brothers and I also awaited the news expectantly. When Dad said Ruth had arrived, I didn't believe him and insisted he tell us the truth.

March 29, Dad gave a fuller report to the grandparents.

We want to get this letter off to you and should write much more but are so pressed for time that we'll have to limit it. We named the baby Norman Alan, since we're so thankful for his grandpa, and trust he'll be like grandpa more than in just his red hair. We felt the name would be appropriate. Up to now he has been a lovely baby. Kathryn is still able to feed him and we hope it will continue for some time. 

Although he is Norman Alan, it was always the plan to call him by his middle name in keeping with the family tradition of four-letter names easily pronounceable in Spanish.

Dad went on to say:

We are heading for the last round up here in Argentina. Trying to put everything in readiness so that a national pastor can take over, trying to coordinate everything throuhout the mission as a president should, and trying to be a pastor and father has me almost defeated. However, if we can just hold out for another 9 months the Lord will give us a long rest.

Those were intensely busy days. It is not surprising that I found no baby pictures of Alan. 

I am reminded of a few scriptures:

A blessing Moses pronounced for one of Israel's sons: Deuteronomy 33:25b ". . . as your days, so shall your strength be."

Alan was born March 7, the last week of summer vacation and March 11 was the beginning of the school year.

Ecclesiastes speaks repeatedly of God's perfect timing. In chapter 3, verse 1: "There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven."