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More churches than bars, and some amazing chicken dinners
There was a time 70 years ago that a kid with a pretty good arm could stand anywhere on the Eastside here in Lodi, throw a rock and break a church window.
There were more churches in this town than there were bars, and that's no joke. Everyone went to church. In school, when we talked about such things, it wasn't a matter of "Do you go to church?" but, "Where do you go to church?"
I can honestly say there were probably no didactic ecumenical discussions on the playground. More often than not, the kids were interested to know which church had the best softball team. (In all honesty, it was the Baptists, but without their famed pitcher, Joe Utz, they were nothing. I faced him in the batter's box for three straight years and hit zip. He had every pitch in the book, including an invisible fastball. I swear, sometimes the catcher would just thump his mitt and pretend Joe threw a pitch and the blind-as-a-bat ump would call it a strike.)
Church attendance was a given in most households in Lodi. The old Evangelical church was about the most staid and that is essentially why my dad chose it. He always said it was the church discipline that drew him there because there were churches that were pretty loud and he felt too much noise coming out of church meant they didn't have enough dignity. As a young man, he wanted to attend Lutheran seminary, but the Depression and need took precedence over tuition and college.
The other reason he chose the Evangelical church was because his sweetie's father founded the country church in Wishek, N.D., and guess where he migrated to shortly after?
My mom's parents started that church and held the services in their home. It was a big home that looked a lot like the Hill House here in Lodi. After church, a few people always stayed for the noon meal and my grandpa said to himself, "Self, if I want to get these people out of my home on Sundays, I am gonna hafta build a church or we'll be stuck with this ravenous bunch forever."
So the church was built on a lovely hilltop location and the accompanying graveyard had the best view of the entire county. It was built on the county road that was made simply enough, of dirt. On a good day after a bad rain, you could pick a rut clear back in town, never touch the steering wheel and end up in that graveyard. I meant that euphemistically, the church was right there, too. But then if you lived long enough, you could kill two birds with one stone, as it were.
My granddad was the first preacher in that home-church and his family was the choir. Everyone in the family was musical and had nice voices. Going to church in that home was a treat, to say the least.
My grandma and her daughters were fabulous cooks, so the chicken dinners after services became legend.
The chicken was truly fresh; the birds were listening to the choir one minute and providing sustenance for the singers the next.
The chickens played a deciding role regarding the building of the church. The members of the church kicked in to help pay for the wood and everything, but I don't remember hearing that anyone brought a chicken to the Sunday dinner, and it was a cinch that, if the meetings in the house were to continue longer, the chicken population would suffer extinction.
My granddad was essentially deaf. He developed otitis media in the old country swimming in a pond. When he was older and had the money, he got a hearing aid, a huge thing that had a mechanism that hung by his neck down to his mid-chest and a headset like a modern disc-jockey. It had something like six D-cell batteries, and since it was a burden, he didn't wear it all the time. I did notice the batteries sometimes failed when all the grandkids were in the house making a ton of noise. They failed at the board meetings in church sometimes, too.
He was smarter than the average papa bear.
Bob Bader is a Lodi writer and chiropractor.

Reader Feedback
Cogito wrote on Sep 27, 2008 11:32 PM:
WOWerzz wrote on Sep 26, 2008 2:42 PM:
Brian wrote on Sep 26, 2008 6:39 AM:
There was a time when EVERYONE dressed up for church. I attend Catholic services here in Phoenix. I'm appalled by the way people dress when they come to God's House. It doesn't take rocket science to have a selection of Sunday Duds. And you don't need to spend a lot of money either. When I see the trashy designer clothes they wear that cost more than a good pair of slacks I know it's not about the money. "
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