MULTIPLE WORLDS TO VISIT! A World in Conflict was presented to us as Teens in 1941. Tom Brokaw wrote a very popular Book on the 'Greatest Generation'. Simply stated that 'World no longer exist'. We were not a perfect generation, but we possessed a deep seated quality and respect for Life. We knew a little about Economics 101. Dollars did not come easy. We also knew something about morals & ethics. Our language was more proper, at least in the presences of ladies. Neighborhoods were more cohesive. Churhces were more respected. The challenge to write came to me in Guatemala as we were visiting select primary-secondary schools. Dr. Stuart Salazar, Director of the ACSI Latin America office, encouraged me to write a Book about my travels. Later I accepted this challenge. At Fifty Four I began to travel the World. No 'Five Star' hotels & dinning. It was Cucumbers - Potatoes - Small Beds - Worn out Buses and cars with no shock absorbers - 'Driving with a horn' was the norm - Packed in like Sardines - Good People - Bad People - Saints & Sinners - Good Flights - Bad Flights - Luggage lost - A beautiful World - An ugly World - A hurting World - Don't drink the water - Cold shower - Adapt to the Culture - Travel light - Watch your exchange of Money - Guard your Passport, it is your Life line to Home - Do not challenge Custom Officials - Somebody will speak English - Children still have Fun; even if their School House is in a Barn . . . COME WALK THE WORLD EXPERIENCE GLOBAL EXPOSURE A FRESH LOOK AT THE WEST

COME WALK THE WORLD

THE COURAGE TO RISK Traveling With the "Greatest Generation"By Malcolm Eudaley

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Malcolm Eudaley
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-2239-6

Contents

DEDICATION.................................................VINTRODUCTION...............................................IXIT BEGAN VERY SIMPLE.......................................XIGLOBAL EXPOSURE............................................XVCHAPTER 1 MAKING AN ENTRANCE...............................1CHAPTER 2 YOUNG YEARS IN TEXAS.............................11CHAPTER 3 MULTIPLE WORLDS IN VIEW..........................17CHAPTER 4 NAVY DAYS........................................24CHAPTER 5 BACK HOME........................................44CHAPTER 6 WALKING ON WATER.................................55CHAPTER 7 A NEW BASE.......................................76CHAPTER 8 ENTREPRENEUR DAYS................................102CHAPTER 9 THE FAR EAST.....................................141CHAPTER 10 LATIN AMERICA...................................151CHAPTER 11 GLOBAL EXPOSURE IN THE WEST.....................162

Chapter One

MAKING AN ENTRANCE

My trip began when my mother said to my Dad and the family - (three children already) "Well, it is time." I had no voice in the matter. I appeared on the scene in 1923. It was on a Wednesday, October 17th. I have no idea if the sun was shinning or if it was raining and cold. There I was. That was 86 years ago. Again, I am at the place where I have little to do or to say. Very seldom do I have a speaking platform, so I have decided to write. Wander with me through the thousands of days that I have lived. Some of the days I crawled, some I walked, some I ran, many I flew. Come, let's take the Walk.

Decade one and two allowed me to finish High School in 1941. I really enjoyed these two decades. This was followed by three years at sea in the Navy. I have never walked on water, but for three years I lived on water. The sea was good and bad. Often it went wild. Other times it was as smooth as glass with flying fish racing with us alongside our bow. These were good days.

Bad days followed. At the close of an invasion we would be standing along side the dead and the wounded. These were Soldiers or Marines who had died on the beaches and were returned to our ship for burial at sea. Later our own crew would die in fire and shrapnel. I was beginning to see the reality of life and death at the age of twenty.

There is nothing like "TAPS" being blown on a bugle or trumpet as your close friends slide off into the ocean. There is no marker for the grave. Only the latitude and the longitude were recorded in the Ship's Log. The military also fires a few rounds from a rifle to close the service.

When my day ends ... Please no rifles. Just Taps, played by a good trumpet man.

In the world of the Navy the best for `recreation' was a can of Beer. When we dropped anchor off some island, probably in a deep cove, we would have `recreation time' on a sandy beach. Three cans/bottles of beer would be passed out to us. The Chaplain was in charge. I took the beer and sold it for $1/bottle. I never was around a Minister who pushed beer. Yet, on Sunday I would go to Chapel and hear this fellow preach. Why? I suppose it was because my Mother took me to church as a kid. Bad as I was, I still went to church.

Only one time did I hear a Chaplain speak with clarity. The Marines were landing on the beach the next morning and this Baptist Chaplain presented something worth hearing, especially to young men that might die. It was at the invasion of the Marshall Islands. Some did die.

Nothing happened for me in these Chapel services each Sunday. However, I have always thought if I could have nine lives, like the proverbial cat, I would like to be a Navy Chaplain in one of those lives.

STILL WALKING

I was home again in 1946 with a marriage to follow. I met and knew Evelyn Baldwin for three months. We are still together 63 years later and still in love. I told her that yesterday. Four years later I received my degree at the University of Oklahoma. A short stint in business ended with a brief career at General Motors in Kansas City. Twenty-two years followed serving as a pastor. From there to a new beginning, serving on the staff of World Vision International, one of the world's largest relief and development Agencies.

Later I traveled as a Christian entrepreneur visiting nations where we associated with small bands of Christians who rose above the governmental restrictions that existed in their situations. They also rose above their cultures where many gods were in place. We will visit some of these strong people of faith.

At retirement, I, along with a selected Board of Christians created a 501(c) non-profit Corporation. Out of this creation multiple trips were made to conduct Pastor Conferences along with assisting Christian Schools with textbooks, teacher conference support and some new school houses. To visit with Christians all over the world helps one to know how "big" the Kingdom of God is that stretches around the world.

NAILING IT DOWN

Everybody has a story. Remember, though, few want to hear your tale. On one of my many trips into Latin America, a friend of mine, who is the Latin American Director of the Association of Christian Schools, Dr. Stuart Salazar, shared with me in a hotel room in Guatemala a simple statement. "Malcolm, you ought to write a book." My response to him was that I was to busy living life to stop and write about it.

MIND CHANGE

I changed my mind about writing.

It was a little village near Paris, Arkansas. The days were rough. Dad did a little coal mining and later a little farming. His Dad had owned a small general store in the country. Some years ago I visited with a cousin of mine and she had in her possession a small ledger book. My grandfather, whom I never met, had written in this little book the names of his customers and the items they had purchased - a nickel here and 15 cents there - a pinch of salt and a pound of sugar. The astonishing thing as I viewed his book was his perfect hand writing. That I did not inherit.

Out of this rugged setting my mother chose to visit a church. There she listened to a presentation of the Christian faith. She embraced the Gospel. Mother did not have a formal education. If she had had the opportunity of some of us, she would have earned a Master's degree. She now has five grand children who have their Master's degrees.

Her days were the late 1800's to the mid 1900's. During her life some had the privilege of attending school, but not many. I never looked on my mother as an unlearned person. She had a strong sense of purpose for herself and her children. There was a dignity and strength about her that gave her a desire to pursue life with vigor. This made the difference in her family. Though she missed the opportunity of a good education, she gave to her children a sense of being and purpose. She passed it on to us.

At that time my mother and a lady by the name of Kenny Nichols decided to begin a Sunday School. A small community opened their arms to these two ladies. After several months my mother shared with Mrs. Nichols that she was pregnant again with her fourth child. I was that child. Soon their activity came to a close. I was 32 years old before she shared this story with me. Later I will share with you why she kept this secret to herself for all those years.

I think there must have been a depression where we lived a long time before the crash of 1929. People were moving about the country hoping for better things, like bread on the table. Some went off to California, the land of milk and honey. Now in 2009, many are moving back to their old settings. Why not, when a simple little house on the West Coast can cost a quarter of a million dollars or more?

Others were making decisions to relocate in other lands of opportunity. Mr. Woods, my mother's father, decided to relocate in south Texas. Stories of some prosperity were coming out of a place called Freeport, Texas, located south of Houston on the Gulf coast. There a company was mining sulfur and the pay was good. He made the trip and began to encourage his married children to come to this land. Three of his children, including my Dad and Mother, made the move. Reality brings about change in ones life.

It was years later that I genuinely came to appreciate my Father. Dad was indeed a common man. I doubt seriously that he ever recovered from the effects of the depression. He was always cautious in his decision making. His jobs were very menial. Stepping out into some business venture was not for him. Dad worked in a custodial job. My brother, Gervis, later became a successful Contractor with Dow Chemical Co. He was in Dad's building one day and met the Executive of that division. When the Executive discovered that they were father and son, he shared with Gervis his high regard and respect for our Father. Dad was a good man with an excellent reputation. The decision our father made to move the family to Texas eventually proved to be one of his best and wisest choices.

A STORY OF MY DAD'S

When he was a boy of ten or twelve his father took him to a County Fair. When they arrived he was surprised by a scene that he came upon. A man had dug out a smooth deep hole just the size of a barrel. He had taken the ends out of the barrel. The barrel was placed in the hole strapped securely to the ground. A special harness was designed that would be used to secure himself in the barrel.

Everyone arrived at the Fair Grounds in a wagon or buggy pulled by a team of horses or mules. The Fellow would challenge these Farmers to pull him out of the barrel. When he found a challenger, he would put on his harness, get into the barrel, pressing himself against the inside walls. The farmer would then connect his team to the harness and urge his team to pull.

Farmer after farmer had paid his fee hoping to be the winner of the pull. The horses would try, then let up and pull again, never successful. They only had a few minutes to empty the barrel of this well secured man. A fellow with a team of mules took a look at this proposition. He took the challenge and was set to pull. First there was no movement. Then the mules got serious. They went to their knees. Dirt and rocks were flying. The man in the barrel comes out. Years later I would tell Congregations this story and follow up with "The Man at Midnight" (Luke 11:5-13) along with the "Widow before the Judge," (Luke 18:1-8) Dad taught me an excellent lesson in persistence!

When I was 10, the pastor of the church that we attended was named Sanders. It was a small group without much potential or so it seemed. In spite of this insignificant happening, Pastor Sanders made an impression on me that affected my view of life. Each Wednesday morning he would begin a walk to the Texas Clemens Prison Farm. It was a huge facility where black Americans prisoners were committed for their crimes.

Pastor Sanders did not own a car. He would leave Freeport headed west, across the Brazos River bridge, on past Gulf Park and Jones Creek, arriving at the Prison Farm. There he was allowed to speak to some of these men. Week after week he made this journey to meet with these forsaken Men. He was persistent in his task. The faithfulness of this man in a world that hardly knew he existed was a testimony to me - a lesson in persistence.

Hope someone got the lesson then. I think I did.

The amazing Teacher, Jesus, is still attempting to speak through his stories of old. Don't let anyone TEMPT you with the foolish notion that the things he taught are not relevant today! He is far more relevant than some College classes or Textbooks. A niece of mine enrolled in a sociology class at the University of Houston. The first statement made by the professor was, "If any of you profess to be Christian, I promise you that I will shed you of your faith by the end of this Semester." Tolerance had gone on a long journey that day. Intolerance had taken up residence in the mind of a supposedly educated man.

Chapter Two

YOUNG YEARS IN TEXAS

On the trip to Texas we traveled in a Model T Ford. I think it was a 27-28 Model. Dad had sold everything to buy the car. We had our clothes and possibly a few pots and pans. Upon arrival we settled into a $10 month rental house. It was hard to imagine that we could have been happy in such a place, but we were - five children in a two bedroom house. Dad searched for work. We children started to school. We were on a "roll" buying day old bread for a nickel and off to Sunday School in clean clothes, scrubbed on a washboard.

School began in Velasco, Texas. Things were going great. We had settled in this little town of 300 people located across the Brazos River from Freeport, TX. Freeport was a more affluent town of 3000 people. Later we moved to Freeport where life took on a better look. There I finished high school.

Mom began the search for a Church. The family would be connected to a life of faith. Life was no hit or miss proposition for her. When she entered the `walk of faith', she set her sights on establishing a set of values that she understood from studying our Lord's life. Her Christian value system had convictions. Later in her life when one of her boys decided he would challenge her position, she stood her ground. My brother brought home a six-pack of bottled beer and placed it in her refrigerator. He laid down to rest in a bedroom. While he was asleep, she took the six-pack to our backyard and smashed every bottle.

SEGREGATION AND HURRICANES

Long before Martin Luther King, my mother taught us about "racism." She met and developed a relationship with Aunt Ida Jammer along with others in her community. Aunt Ida was a devote Christian as well as a Deaconess in the Methodist Church. She also was a Black American. While I was still in high school Aunt Ida would come by to visit with Mother. My brother Paul would be present and Aunt Ida would say to him, `Paul, when are you going to become a Christian and preach the Gospel?" She got us boys mixed up it seemed. While I was in the Pacific during WWII, Aunt Ida passed away. The church she attended invited my Mother to share about their relationship as fellow Christians at her funeral. Our family was so pleased for this invitation. A large group of Black American women also attended our Mother's funeral.

When I was nine years of age our brother Tommy died from an accident following the 1932 hurricane that hit the Gulf Coast. Its force was wind. He was working on a cleanup team in Freeport. A rusty nail pierced his shoe. He was unaware that he needed a Tetanus shot. He was dead 3 days later in our hospital. Tommy and I were very, very close.

In 1934 another hurricane came in from the Gulf of Mexico. Our small village was just four feet above sea level. This storm's force was water. We were four miles from the beach front. The water traveled at full force into Velasco, approximately 3 to 4 feet in depth. One block from our house a neighbor had built his home high enough to keep the water from entering. Our father asked for permission to bring his family to this house for safety. It did not happen. Later we will talk about who our neighbors are in this Life.

THE CHOICES WE MAKE EVEN IMPACT KIDS

I entered grade school in Velasco. There I encountered a lady that would become my second grade teacher. The community expected teachers to have strong ethics and good morals. Such people had a value system based on an active faith. The culture was more Christian at this time. Maria Dykes, my teacher, was a role model even at this early age. We children looked to her as an important figure in our lives.

Miss Dykes was dating two men. On a select day a fellow whose name I don't remember would come after school to drive her home. He owned a taxicab service and most of the community thought he was a `bootlegger'. The next day Bob Evans, the Sinclair agent, would come. We kids began to pull for Bob Evans. Already there had been instilled in our little second grade minds that there was such a thing as right and wrong. Bob won the lady in marriage and we children were happy over the wise choice of our teacher.

It has been my privilege to have a life long friendship with her nephew, Bob Girouard. We finished high school together. Later we joined the Navy together. On a vacation trip to Texas, I met one of Marie Evans sons and shared my love and respect for his mother and how she had touched my life.

HIGH SCHOOL

High school was a very positive experience. Even in those depression days we had a caste system in place. There were people who lived very comfortably. The Executives at Freeport Sulphur Company led the way. Pilots who served incoming and out-going ships that docked in our harbor were successful. My best friend's father owned the Girouard Grocery. It was a forerunner of the coming Super Markets of today. Bobby and I cleaned and dressed chickens each Saturday. Our pay was 10 cents per hour for 10 hours.

It never occurred to me that my family was poor. I knew we were, but it never weighed heavy on my psychic that one person was better than another person simply because one owned the house he lived in. School was a happy place. Miss Rahl and Miss Jordan were fine ladies who attempted to teach us Literature and English. God bless Miss Jordan. Jerry Bryant was our Band Director. Mr. Gore, the Principal knew how to use a paddle and often did. Coach Hooper shaped up the football team for each season.

(Continues...)

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