General Fiction posted December 22, 2024

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How Great Thou Art

A chapter in the book Ben Paul Persons

Ben Paul Persons, Ch. 9

by Wayne Fowler

In the last part Ben Paul and Sylvia toured southern New Mexico (Roswell, Carlsbad Cavern) and Ben Paul preached.

Chapter 9

“What’s next, my beautiful husband,” Sylvia chided as they prepared to head east from Santa Rosa.

“Don’t have to be in Guthrie, Oklahoma, until next Saturday.”

“Saturday?”

“Don’t ask me. Maybe they have Saturday church. Maybe they’re having a revival. I don’t know. We oughta get there on Friday, though.”

“Since it’s… about seven or eight hours away, that shouldn’t be a problem. How do you want to spend the next five days? I know, let’s stop at the visitor center and get a state map.”

“Good idea,” Ben Paul replied.

“The only thing I see nearby is the National Hall of Fame for Famous Indians.”

“Well, now that you named it, it would be xenophobic not to go there.”

“Xenophobic?” Sylvia exclaimed to Ben Paul’s ten-dollar word. “Xenophobic?” she exclaimed again, offering Ben Paul a look of incredulity. “I don’t know that word – it can’t be good.”

“It isn’t; trust me,” he said, holding back a laugh. “It was in Word Power in the Reader’s Digest I looked at when we were in the laundromat last week.”

“Xenophobic. I never want to hear you talk like that again.” Sylvia put on a tone of motherly condemnation.

“Yes ma’am. Wouldn’t want to be accused of misogyny.”

Sylvia nearly destroyed their map slapping it toward Ben Paul.

They both laughed.

“So, what happened that the Indian territory of Oklahoma became white people’s property?” Sylvia asked the cashier woman who sold her a sweater.

“’lotment,” she soberly replied. “Usually involved whiskey.”

Sylvia began to ask for an explanation but checked herself.

“Glad you didn’t pursue,” Ben Paul said once outside. “Looked like it might’ve set her off crying.”

“Or reaching for a gun,” Sylvia returned.

“We can stop into a library somewhere and find out.”

It turned out that the woman meant allotment, meaning people could buy the land where an Indian lived because it could be considered his, and could be sold, despite it being on tribal reservation land. The practice was supported by Federal Law.

“This paper I picked up says there’s a Gospel Quartet Festival at the Oklahoma City Fairgrounds. It’s a bit pricey, five dollars a head, but we can come and go. And there’s different groups all over the grounds.”

“Sounds exciting, Sylvia agreed. We could get a motel nearby and stay as late as we like.”

“You mean stay up after eight o’clock?” Ben Paul had put on his teasing voice, soliciting his expected oh pshaw response.

+++

“I feel like I’m in heaven,” Sylvia said after their first day at the festival as they drove the few miles to their motel. It was a smoking room, so they went out to buy deodorizing spray before settling in. But being the last room available, they took it. The manager even called around for them in an effort to find a better situation.

At the fairgrounds Sylvia exclaimed, “It’s so exhilarating. And those little girls singing How Great Thou Art? Oh my! That littler one is gonna be famous. Can we come back tomorrow?” Sylvia asked.

“Of course, darlin’. We can check in with the Guthrie pastor, find out what sort of service they’re having, and then spend the day at the festival.”

“I just hope you get paid this time, all the money we’re spending.”

Ben Paul laughed. “Oh, now. Pastor McCuen was very generous.”

“Yes, he was. And I’ll bet there’s a check waiting for us in Creede from Santa Fe, too.”

+++

“Let’s get to the main pavilion early. The schedule says Bill Gaither will be there. He started up the Dove Awards. Watch, we’ll be hearing a lot of him in the future, I’ll bet.”

“I won’t disagree. We sang He Touched Me regularly in worship services. But the schedule says… 7:00 PM.”

“Oh. Okay, then wherever you want to head. I’m happy with hearing several of the groups.”

At six o’clock they purchased a hot dog and a powdered sugar funnel cake to share in the main pavilion, intending to eat, and then watch people while they waited for the Gaithers.

Thoroughly enjoying the show in their close to the center front seats, they both felt Bill might need some polishing as the spokesman for the group. Simultaneously, they sat up tall, sensing activity just off stage. They both felt the electrifying mood change. Bill Gaither stepped off stage toward the commotion but returned immediately.

“We have a treat, ladies and gentlemen. We had to get him here under cover, so don’t be too alarmed at our guest’s appearance. Bill signaled his band and they began He Touched Me. The quartet harmonized humming. Dropping a cloak and raising his head only when reaching center stage, Elvis Presley began singing lead. It was minutes in before the crowd quieted enough to hear him. Fortunately, they stretched the two-and-half-minute song to five or six.

Then he sang How Great Thou Art. Most of the audience was in worship, as well as awe of the man. Sylvia was convinced the shouts at the song’s dynamic conclusion could be heard in Creede, Colorado.

“Folks, Elvis just finished recording He Touched Me. It’ll be released soon. Be sure to get a copy, and get more for all your friends and relatives!” He laughed and clapped Elvis on his shoulder. “A big thank you to Elvis! He has a plane to catch.”

The roar was pandemonium.

Ben Paul looked to Sylvia. She didn’t need to hear his unspoken words. She was ready to go home to the motel. Anything they heard after How Great Thou Art would be anti-climactic.

“I’m so glad they did not have him sing, or worse, sing as the last song before Elvis came on, The King Is Coming.”

“I so agree,” Sylvia replied. “It’s one of Gaither’s most popular songs, but…”

“That was a treat, wasn’t it?” Ben Paul asked.

“You are a treat, my Preacher Man.”

+++

The next morning at breakfast Ben Paul and Sylvia both noticed a gathering across the street from their diner. Folks were rushing to a central area. People were being urged into some sort of action.

“A toddler is missing,” someone told them. An organized search was taking place. There were a hundred reasons that Ben Paul and Sylvia should allow the locals, the younger locals, and the authorities to do the bush-beating and door-knocking.

“Ask me,” they heard one say, “they need roadblocks. Somebody snatched that kid. He’s in Mexico by now.”

Before Ben Paul and Sylvia reached the main crowd to hear the leader’s instructions, they dispersed to vehicles parked around the Courthouse Square. Left to herself was a gray-haired lady almost Sylvia’s age sitting on a park bench that a moment earlier had been surrounded by volunteers. She was weeping, her hands covering her face.

Sylvia gently sat beside her, wrapping her arm over her shoulders. The woman wept the louder for a moment, and then after a hiccupping sob, collected herself to look at her comforter.

“It’s my grandson.” In a broken voice, she managed to tell the story. Her daughter and her husband and nearly two-year-old son came to vacation and visit her. They were camping on federal land nearby. When they woke, little Stephen was gone. She handed Ben Paul a copy of a roughly sketched map that she’d been clutching. “I’m supposed to go home and listen for a phone call.”

Ben Paul studied the map, something clicking in his mind. The map depicted a north-south road with a tee road going to the left. The intersection was the town. To the left the road crossed a creek that angled back to the north-south road making a triangle. The region around the road and creek crossing was sectioned into quadrants labeled A, B, C, and D. Presumably the search parties were assigned sections.

“I can’t just go home and sip tea!” the woman said.

Ben Paul spoke out, still looking at the map. “My father and mother found a toddler. It was a long time ago. A map of that area would look like this. My mother told the story more than once.” In fact, she’d told and retold Ben Paul tales of his father several times, but here and now, Ben Paul simply wanted to convey the story, not portray an eccentric mother.

“They found him right here,” Ben Paul said, pointing to where the creek came close to the southward road.

“That, that has to be at least five miles!”

Ben Paul merely raised his eyebrows.

“Let’s go!” The woman shot from her seat, reaching for Sylvia’s hand. Within a moment they were in Tank and a few minutes later parked on the side of the road at an area where Ben Paul thought they could descend from the built-up roadway.

“My parents had been camping. They were in a horse-drawn carriage. Mother went for water and heard the child’s crying and whimpering.”

They all three walked downhill toward the creek and soon heard the sound of rushing water.

“Gamma!” A toddler walked from behind a tree. Seeing his grandma, his arms shot out. In a hobbling half-run, he only made it a few yards before being scooped up by his grandmother.

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This part of the tale takes place in 1973
Bill Gaither wrote 'He Touched Me' in 1963 and 'The King Is Coming' in 1970.
Elvis Presley recorded 'He Touched Me' in 1972
Allotment law: https://www.okhistory.org/publications/enc/entry?entry=AL011

Ben Persons: young man called of God (1861-1890)
Ben Paul Persons: 81-year-old son of Ben Persons (1891-)
Sylvia Adams Persons: grand-daughter of Livvy (1904-)
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben (senior) rescued in 1886
Mary Goldman/Diddleknopper: wife of Slim

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How Great Thou Art

A chapter in the book Ben Paul Persons

Ben Paul Persons, Ch. 9

by Wayne Fowler

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