In the last part Ben traveled to Marin County rescuing protesting teenagers as well as giant redwood trees.

Dear Ben Persons,

            I am writing because you are in danger. Two of Diamond Jim’s sons and some of their friends have been making a lot of trouble. They have it in their heads that you pushed their father under the horses. They found out where you are and aim to come out to do you harm. It kills me that I cannot take care of them right here in Chicago. These boys are average in size, but are mean. They like to wear those flat in the front caps, black, that we call go-to-hell-hats. I am sending this through my Priest. Knowing you, every preacher in San Francisco will know how to find you.

Your friend, Angelo

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Ben spent a few moments praising God for what he’d done in Angelo’s life. And reminiscing of the friends he’d made in Chicago, Tony, Mrs. Koska, and the many pastors. He appreciated Angelo’s heads-up, but otherwise dismissed it as in God’s hands.

At the next ministerial alliance meeting, Ben was extremely pleased that several of the pastors were taking an active role in organizing the affair: advertising, preparing handouts and posters, contacting churches not represented in the alliance. On their own they spelled out exactly Ben’s main concern, that the seats might be monopolized by saved people. That would not be the case; no more than one person would accompany the invited, and then only when that might be the only way to get them to the meetings.

Another surprise was the boxes of wordless books sent by The Moody Bible Institute. At least a thousand of the four page, Charles Spurgeon created pamphlets were divided among the churches. Spurgeon designed the wordless book with three colors: black, red, and white. D.L. Moody added a fourth color – gold.

Ben immediately offered to finance printing two thousand more to be handed out by volunteers to children and families at the end of every service. Before Moody’s arrival, they would produce many more thousands.

+++

In one of Ben’s occasional meetings with Henry Halleck, Henry reached behind himself to a wine bottle from the top of a credenza. “From Isabelle’s father, with her gratitude. You may have also noticed a very nice deposit to your bank account.” He handed Ben the bottle.

“Well, I didn’t expect anything, just did what I thought best, which was hardly anything really.”

“I have my doubts on that, Ben,” Henry said gesturing for Ben to take the bottle.

“Thank him for me, but you take the wine home and enjoy it with your lovely wife.”

“Don’t tell me you’re Samson, or somebody, no drink and no haircuts?”

Ben chuckled. “I do need a haircut, don’t I?” He ran both hands through his hair. “No. I just never saw the use of drink. Saw too much back home. And everywhere else, actually. Makes a man say what he doesn’t want to say, do what he doesn’t want to do, and go where he doesn’t want to go,” Ben held up his hand. “Now, I know there’s social drinking. I know. But I’ve seen social drinking that would feed a family for a week. Naw, I just don’t see the need to learn to like it. Plus, and most important, I don’t see how it could possibly help in my calling.”

Henry leaned back in his seat. “I never thought of you like that. Guess I never really considered. You do have a calling on your life, don’t you?

“I know you came here from Chicago, by way of Hawaii.” Henry smiled and nodded to Ben, knowing the shanghai story. “But before that …”

“Chicago. Before that Colorado. Before that Missouri and Arkansas,” Ben said. “Long story. I’ll share it sometime.”

“Well, have you heard about the plans Leland Stanford, a railroad tycoon has, along with three other millionaires, for the Golden Gate Park. They intended to build a racetrack, and then to commercialize and privatize it.”

Ben had only returned from Marin County over the redwood trees affair a week prior. His ire rose immediately. Leaving the meeting, Ben decided to return to his apartment to pray and try to determine whether the feelings he was experiencing were righteous indignation, or merely expressions of the flesh. Was God telling him something, or were his personal feelings and emotions telling him that it was the godly thing to do. Ben could not resolve his dilemma. He knew that prayer was the only way to get resolution.

The next day, the park so heavy on Ben’s mind and no clear instruction from God, Ben decided to walk the park, a huge endeavor for a single day with its over a thousand acres, a half mile wide and more than three miles length. Its trails were a confusion. Sitting on a bench at the eastern entry was Clyde, Ben’s friend from his early days in San Francisco.

“Clyde! What brings you here? You hidin’ out?” Ben was never sure what Clyde’s job was, or who he worked for. He assumed that he worked for a political party.

“Oh, just checkin’ out the park. Wondering whether it was worth savin’.”

“Funny. I was trying to do the same.”

Clyde set his gaze on Ben’s eyes. “Stanford? You heard?”

Ben nodded. “Clyde?” Ben said with a degree of inspiration. “You know anybody named Frank?”

Clyde began nodding his head, his eyes focused on nothing. Eventually he came to a conclusion as if snatching a thought from the ether. He snapped his fingers. “He’s in charge of the San Francisco transportation Department, the trolleys and street cars. And the mayor is about to can him, put his cousin or somebody in his place before the elections. Frank could run a special: One weekend he could get every street car into service and bring thousands and thousands of people from all over the city up here to the park. The public wouldn’t stand for privatizing it, turning it into a money affair for the rich. I’m on it, Ben!” Clyde got up from his bench seat and hugged Ben, clapping him on the back.

Ben smiled back, thanking God for once again answering prayer.