Forrest Johnson
The stories in this collection are stories of ordinary people
who sometimes do extraordinary things. There is the paraplegic who quietly inspires
everyone she meets. Here we find a young Swedish woman of the nineteenth century
who wins her love by fooling a patriarchal father. A young actress holds an
audience spellbound then disappears. Will she return? An imperious woman, the
scourge of her village, has an incredible past. These stories illuminate a landscape
that is rich proud and almost unfailingly generous.
Forrest Johnson was born in Chicago, Illinois. He has served
as a pastor of churches in the Middle West, New England and Texas. He began
writing poetry , essays and stories while in the Navy during World War II. In
addition to his work in the church, he has been an actor, television and radio
commentator, and a practicing politician. The stories in this collection have
been called Chekhovian by some readers as they seek to probe the heights and
depths of human experience, as seen through the eyes of a journeyman parson.
The renowned religious psychologist Anton Boisen suggested that Johnson write
about the people he encountered in his work as a pastor: unlike doctors, who
often write about the lives of patients, pastors seldom venture into the realm
of the short story and the novel. Mr. Johnson works and writes on a small ranch
in western New Mexico.
“Ordinary people, just folks,” Stony said with
slight condescension. “These are the people, backbone of our nation.”
Stony stood with his friend, Jim Lighthouse, at the rear of
a small town church in west Texas. Jim and Stony had driven from El Paso three
hundred miles along the dry Texas-New Mexico border. It was Stony’s first
visit to this parched country. He was a New Yorker with the usual New Yorker’s
attitude that this was country where sand and cattle are dominant and culture
is unknown.
Jim would preach to this little congregation in the morning.
If the people approved him, he had agreed to serve them for six months. Stony
was a priest of the high church variety who protested often to Jim in a light-hearted
way that it was only half church to read a lesson, sing songs, give a speech
and a prayer and go on your way.
Now, as they stood inside the church looking forward to the
altar, Stony was unusually complimentary. “I must say, it does have some
possibilities: nice altar, dark wood everywhere. It could be conducive to some
kind of worship.”
It was Jim’s turn to be negative. “But look at
the sad old easy chair at the end of the aisle. I get the impression some old
codger, who has to be coddled, sits here on Sunday and falls asleep after he’s
put his handsome offering in the plate.”
“A very understandable scenario,” Stony laughed,
“but a bit cynical, my dear friend. The chair is a disaster, but don’t
jump to conclusions.”
Jim and Stony stayed in town that night. They arrived well
before the service was to begin the next morning and had a chance to visit with
some of the early arrivals. Jim noticed Stony at one point in earnest conversation
with a distinguished looking man whose rich mustache curled around his face
in the fashion of RAF flyers during the Second World War.
“Did I say ordinary people?” Stony whispered before
the service began. “The man I was speaking to is a world-renowned archaeologist.
I just finished reading a book of his.”
The service began with Jim introducing himself from the pulpit.
A small choir had taken their seats across the chancel, facing him. Jim had
experience with small choirs in country churches and prepared himself for something
less than good music. To his surprise, however, this choir began the service
with a beautifully rendered introit. Jim looked at the director as he took his
seat and nodded with a smile.
As Jim announced the Bible reading for the morning, he noticed
a slight commotion at the rear of the church. Two ushers were guiding a severely
crippled woman through the entrance. They led her to the faded easy chair at
the foot of the main aisle. ‘Strike one against me’ Jim thought
as he began his reading. Jim wondered if Stony had witnessed the scene.
At the conclusion of the service Jim uttered a benediction
on the chancel steps before he walked down the aisle to the entrance where he
intended to greet the people as they left the church. As he passed the frayed
chair he lifted his hand in greeting to the woman who sat there. He noticed
her gray hair, perfectly combed, and the kind, direct gaze with which she appraised
him. She reached out her hand as Jim joined the group. “I’m Mary
Wright,” she said. “Thank you for your sermon.”
“Thank you,” Jim responded, his usual response
to the polite comments he received after the service.
Mary Wright was helped from her chair by two of the men who
stood beside her. As they led her out of the church one of the ladies standing
beside Jim said, “She’s a wonder; in her seat every Sunday. Did
you know she drives her own car with hand controls? She’s an inspiration
to us all.” Jim was sure she must be. He resolved that if they wanted
him to come for six months, she would be the first call on his list.
