1957: Changes

Painting by Juan Colle: Las sierras

January summer camps were held for the last time in El Quebracho (Valle de Calamuchita). For lack of a photo of the exact campsite, here is a representative oil painting by a good friend. I purchased it as a birthday gift to myself years ago and it hangs in our living room to remind me of the many happy memories of camp in the sierras. 

For several years, the missionaries had been searching to purchase a permanent campground. They rented sites that had no structures or buildings, which meant that tents and all the necessary equipment had to be set up each time. Margaret Marshall explained the ordeal in her January 13, 1957 letter to family:

Our camps have very little in the way of commodities, but the 75 young people, age 15 on up, who were there seemed to have a wonderful time. It's an awful lot of work getting ready for the camp, for we just rent a piece of ground and then everything has to be taken there and set up. there were 2 boys' tents, a girls' tent, kitchen tent, dining room & classroom tent and several individual family tents.

In November of that year, the mission finally purchased the perfect campground, which is now well equipped with permanent facilities—Campamento Cerro San Lorenzo.  

Margaret Marshall and boys: David, Peter, Michael

The Marshall family lived at the mission headquarters in Río Cuarto. Most hospitality responsibilities fell on them. Before each camp session people began to arrive at different times from various towns to await departure by truck to the campsite. Early arrivals required overnight accommodation and meals. And when they returned from their week in the sierras, they lingered there till time for their return trip home. As I read Margaret's letters I realized how very much work she did, willingly yet sacrificially.

I was surprised to learn from her weekly correspondence that my mother had accompanied five campers to the children's camp session, January 19-24.

About 8:30 [Thursday the 18th] the train came in from Buenos Aires, bringing Kathryn Hoyt and five children with her, and Don Bishop with four youngsters from Corrales, so I served them and got them placed for the night while Jim had prayer meeting. They were planning to leave at 8:00 Friday morning, but arrangements hadn't been made for getting a big enough truck to take them, so it was about 10:00 before they all got away.

I wrote to my best friend Mirtha soon after camp to tell her all about our travels. Our car load, with Mr. Schrock driving, had left camp right after the last evening meeting around the camp fire, el fogón, always a special time of sharing. On the road to Río Cuarto we got lost once, and stopped to help another car in our group that had carburetor trouble. We finally arrived at headquarters at 2 a.m., some of us feeling sick. We got up at 7:30 a.m. to catch the 9 o'clock train. Daddy and Devesas were waiting for us at the central train station in Buenos Aires. That tells me that my friend Mabel Devesa went to camp with us.

Next I told Mirtha about the big change about to affect our family: "After a series of problems, we finally have the house and can move in whenever we want."

Some months earlier the owners of Maconaghys' and Hoyts' rentals said they needed their houses. The mission began the process of purchasing a residence for each of these missionary units. Our family moved to Chiclana 1074, a few blocks away from the first home and closer to the newly built Templo, the church building. Google Maps' latest photo, taken a year ago, reveals architectural changes, damages and much deterioration to the home we lovingly remember. 

Chiclana 1074, July 2021

Across the street lived the Clausens, a lovely Danish family who became our good friends. They belonged to another congregation in a neighboring town and hosted a Good News Club in their garage every Thursday afternoon. My friends and I attended regularly. I mentioned this in my early correspondence with Mirtha. 

Every Thursday afternoon at six o'clock, there is a Good News Club. . . The teacher's name is Carlos and I don't know how to spell his last name. Well, last Thursday we divided into two groups. One of girls, and another of boys. We voted and I became captain of the girls' team and had two secretaries. We voted again and the boys' captain was a boy called Eduardo Clausen. Carlos, our teacher, gave us some homework for this Thursday, to write an essay about Naaman's servant girl. He gave us three questions we had to answer: Who was the girl? What did she do? What does she teach us? I finished the assignment and will take it today. 

It is an interesting experience to look back at one's own reflections as a child. I was only ten-years-old at the time of that writing. Other surprises came as I continued to read those old letters. At age twelve I first heard a rumored version of  "Where do babies come from?"

Dora is a girl my age, after you she is one of my best friends . . . she also passed into first year of secondary school like me . . .  

About those secrets: she was told them when she was in fourth grade, but she didn't take it as a laughing matter or something dirty but rather asked her mother who told her that children are asked of God. Dora still doubted . . . then one day she shared these doubts with me. I didn't know anything about anything and at first was horrified but then I said her mother was right . . . because I remembered how my mother and father prayed before Aldo and Lynn were born . . . But I couldn't get the thought out of my head so I asked Mother, "Isn't it right, Mom, that the only thing you have to do to have a baby is to pray?" She said, "No, dear." After that day, I experienced the same unrest that Dorita had, but only for a day because I said to myself: "If it were something bad my mom and dad would not do it and God would not have arranged it that way." 

We decided to consult the matter with Mirtha, two years older than us. Grateful for her eagerly-awaited response, we then composed a thank you letter together. Here it is in Dorita's handwriting.

Don Bosco, December 30, 1956

Dear Mirtha:

With great happiness we answer the lines you wrote us (or, better said, the pages you wrote us). We are so grateful because you have satisfied our need "to know." We no longer think of it as something bad, although we realized before that our parents would not do something bad, and we thank you for the advice you gave us when you told us we ought not drink from "impure sources" which we will do no longer.

We trust that when these lines reach you they find you and your family doing very well. I, Dora, hope my desire to meet you comes to pass, and may it be soon.

With no more, we say goodbye with much love, your friends, . . .  

How times have changed! With no television or internet, the age of innocence lasted longer. 

Radio was everywhere, however, so it was increasingly used to spread the message of the Gospel.

The Gospel is entering hundreds of homes several times a week—homes which otherwise would likely never be reached. Many thousands of radios are now located in homes, cars, hotels, restaurants and buses throughout Argentina. In the cities, towns, and rural areas people listen to the radio. Television has not yet taken over in Argentina. We are still in the day of radio here. And now is the time to use this method of evangelism. (The Brethren Missionary Herald, 12.07.57)

Another article by Lynn Schrock, the one in charge of the radio ministry:

Lynn Schrock in recording studio

"How many here tonight were converted through the radio ministry?" This was the question I asked the folks who attended the Sunday evening service in our General Conference held in Río Cuarto in March of 1957. About half a dozen folks there that night raised their hands. The Gospel had reached these folks in their homes because we're on the air in Argentina. . .

 It was on Saturday, June 11, 1955, that The Brethren Church had its first radio program in Argentina. At 3:45 p.m. the broadcast of the "Open Bible" went on the air. This name was chosen because the Bible is a closed book for the "religiosos" of Argentina. For that reason they are so far from the truth and from salvation. (The Brethren Missionary Herald, 2.01.58)

That first program was broadcast from a three and a half kilowatt station in Río Cuarto. Not long after, another broadcast was added for the general public, and one for children, "La Tía Sara" (Aunt Sarah) with stories and music by children from our Mission.

This reminded me of another excerpt from my correspondence with Mirtha where I mentioned the radio gang. Referring to the above mentioned friend Dora, I wrote, "She also belongs to the radio gang and whenever we ride on the bus or the train, she sits with me and we talk about so many things."  

Memories surfaced of those trips with Carlos Maccio, our teacher, to downtown Buenos Aires to a radio station where we recorded skits and music. One time I sang Psalm 103. I could still sing remember many years, but now the melody is gone. Neither can I recall who all participated in the radio gang, probably the faithful members of the children's Bible club. I do know that we got back home quite late from those outings. What radio station aired these programs is also a long-forgotten mystery, but probably had something to do with LAPEN, the Argentine branch of Child Evangelism.

The biggest change for us that year was about to come. After five years, it was time for our year-long furlough in the US.

Nélida Zannetti

In April, Nélida Zannetti, a Bible Institute graduate, was assigned to come to Don Bosco to look after the work there. She was my roommate for a couple months. Later on, she was joined by another young lady, Mirtha's sister, Eunice Siccardi.

A few years ago, I wrote the story of a memorable birthday that year.

Thirteenth Birthday Party—May, 1957

"Why don't you go put on your new clothes?" Mother said.

"What for?" I thought, but I dutifully went upstairs to my room and got out the pleated skirt and matching sweater set.

We had made several trips to Quilmes, by bus or train; walked the length of the long shopping district; searched in numerous fabric shops for my whimsical color choice--pink and gray. Mother would not give up until she had found the perfect plaid combination. How I loved that wool skirt! It was light and soft and the colors pleased me. I wore it for many years, carefully applying imperceptible patches to areas that had become threadbare.

But why now, nothing special going on, why should I wear my best clothes?

Then the doorbell rang and my friends began to arrive. "¡Feliz cumpleaños!" they sang.

Mother knew how much I had missed my friends from elementary school years. They had all started back to school in March, each following a different track. Delia had decided to go the secretarial route and was attending the Escuela Comercial. Others preparing for university chose the Escuela Nacional. I had not made up my mind yet because in a couple months we were returning to the US for a year, in time for fall classes in America.

Mother was getting out the food she had prepared. I could smell the bologna salad sandwiches. My friends loved these. She also knew how to make homemade marshmallows because at the time they were not yet available in Argentina. And my favorite birthday cake--the Never Fail Chocolate Cake with Seven Minute white frosting.

We played games, but mostly talked. I wanted to hear about their secondary school experience so far. They used public transportation to travel to their schools in Quilmes, the city twelve or fifteen minutes away by bus or train. Some went in the morning, others in the afternoon, and there was a night session also. Thus the same school building could accommodate three different programs with totally different administration and teachers. Obviously the structures were simpler and the systems less complex than in the US. I was soon to find that out for myself. 

The event served also as a going-away party. A year is a long time to be away from close friends. Already I missed them and knew I would never be able to catch up with them in school.

But for now, this was such a thoughtful surprise my Mother had prepared. We did not usually have birthday parties with our friends. Though the details have faded, Mother's loving efforts to make that day special remain a sweet memory.

In July we flew to the US. Come back next time for that story.