This young friend in Wyoming had this interview with Lloyd, just before he died in December 1998. It was a school project to interview an “old timer” in Wyoming.
Jan: Could you tell us some about your early days in Wyoming?
Lloyd:
Well, I guess they call me one of the "old timers," b'cause I was five
'n a half years old when my parents homesteaded on a 320 acre homestead
about twenty-three miles southeast of Wheatland. And, they raised a
family of eight of us. Four boys and four girls. I was the oldest boy. I
had a sister four years older. 'N, we lived in an old ... we called it a
dugout. It was a part frame an' part sod house. It was kind of dug down
in the ground about four foot. Then, it was sort of boarded up on the
inside and sodded-up on the outside. 'N, you see, the roof was made out
of just pine boards on rafters. An', on top of that, they put tar paper.
An', on top of that, layers of sod: no shingles. And, that made it warm
in the winter time and cool in the summer time. 'N, we lived in that
place three years.
Jan: How was the sod laid: grass-side out, along the walls, or grass-side up?
Lloyd:
Laid it grass side up. Roots 'd go down, y' see, 'n hold it together.
Grass on top gave some protection from the weather, so it wouldn't wash
away so fast. It'd wash away, eventually, anyway. But. we lived there
three years. An', us lads used t' have a lot of fun, running and playing
and watching out fer rattlesnakes. An', stubbin' our toes agin' the
cactus sometimes. But, one thing I never did get t' do. I wanted t get
an antelope t' ride ' school! I figured I could hold onto his horns and I
could get down t' school a lot quicker than the others! I never could
catch one.
Jan: Did you try, Lloyd?
Lloyd:
Oh, in a feeble sort of a way, but I never could make much impression.
But, my sister and I had two 'n a half miles t' walk t' school ag'inst
the wind. Now, you imagine two, little, old youngsters strugglin' ag'inst
the wind. But, it wasn't always bad. On the better times. Dad' ud let us
walk. On the worst times, he'd take us on a sled behind an old mule.
They'd let us walk home. An', we's only 'bout a half a mile from the Goshen Hole Canyons
and sometimes it'd be sundown bfore we'd get home. And, 'bout that time
the coyotes 'd come out of the canyons. An', we'd hear them howling.
'N, we thought they's coming after us! So, we hurried up to get home,
'fore the coyotes got us! 'N then, after three years, they built another
house 'n they moved into that. An', that's the old house that's still
standin'.
Jan: It's a frame house, is it?
Lloyd: Frame?
Jan: Wood.
Lloyd:
Yes. made out o' wood, on a good cement foundation. An', a cellar
underneath it. Mother would store cans of things. 'N, Mother was good
about providing. 'N, Dad. Worked together, developed the farm, raised a
family, and made go.
Jan: What year was it they came?
Lloyd; Nineteen eleven. March of 1911.
Jan: So. how did you come?
Lloyd: Come on the train...' Bordeaux.
Used t' be a kind of a station there. Moved up on a train. Dad came
first. Dad 'n a neighbor, an' built the house for us to live in. They
came first.
Jan: Where did they come from?
Lloyd: Fairland, Oklahoma. Well, they moved from Fainand t' Centralia. Oklahoma. An', from Centralia they moved out t' Wyoming ... 'bout a thousand miles on the train.
Jan: Why did they move from Oklahoma to Wyoming?
Lloyd:
Homesteading had opened up ... all this country was opened fer
homesteading. An', you could get a 320 acre homestead that cost you
maybe three dollars an' a half for filing. Then, you could move on your
homestead an' develop t. You had t' fence t, had t' build some kind of a
livable shack on t. An' a place fer your animals.I remember Dad used t'
dig the post holes by hand around a 320 acre piece of land. So, he had
t' put the posts about thirty feet apart, then dig 'cm with the spade,
which amounted to quite a bit of work ... time you do that around 320.
But, that was just a part of homesteading.
We didn't have very much money. I heard Dad say one time, that when he landed in Wyoming
he had three hundred dollars. Three hundred dollars o' cash, when he
landed here t' go out 'n homestead. But just at that time, they's
puttin' in his irrigation system 'round Wheatland. 'N. he got a job. He
had a good team o'mules. 'N, he got a job with his mules workin' on this
ditch ... 'round Wheatland. An,' I think they payed him five dollars a
day. Three dollars fer himself, 'n dollar apiece fer his mules. 'N. I
don't know ... he worked ... how long. Don't know just how long. But,
anyway. He planted crops on his own place as fast as he could get the
sod broken. Some neighbors 'd moved in by that time. An', in three years
time, there was a family on every half-section of land through all that
homestead country.
Jan: So then, did your dad use the irrigation system for his own homestead?
Lloyd:
There never was an irrigation system developed where we were. The
irrigation project was in the Wheatland area, 'n Dad just worked on it
t' make a little money.
Jan: So, he must have dug a well? Was it for irrigation or only for the household and watering the stock?
Lloyd:
Dad did not dig a well. Some well drillers came and put down our well:
about a hundred 'n ten feet deep t' get enough water for the stock and
fer household use.
Jan: Then, yours was a dry land farm? What sort of crops did he raise?
Lloyd:
Yes, dry land. We mostly raised wheat fer cash crop and oats fer feed.
Once, I recall, he had a field of flax, 'n usually raised millett fer
horse feed. Dad usually raised a field o' sweet clover too, an' a small
variety o' yellow flint corn. All 320 acres o' Dad's homestead was
eventually put into winter wheat.
Jan: Did you have horse-drawn equipment for harvest, or did you use scythes and harvest by hand?
Lloyd:
No. We did not cut anything by hand except maybe, some weeds! We used
horse drawn machinery fer harvest and hay ... An', one day in the
spring, one of our neighbors, they had a little girl 'bout three er four
years old an' two older children, a boy and a girl, 'bout ten or
twelve. 'N, the grandparents lived 'bout a half a mile ... no 'bout a
mile ... over the hill. No roads 'n no fences. So, the mother got
worried 'bout the grandparents, so she sent the older children over t'
see 'bout the grandparents. Nice sunny day ... in April. An', while they
were gone, there came up a sudden blizzard out o' the northwest. 'N,
there's no telephone nor communication, so the mother thought, "Now, the
older children may be on their way home, I'd better go t' meet 'em."
So, she pulled on a little jacket on herself, 'n took the little one in
her arms, 'n started out, hoping t' meet the other children on the way
home.
But,
the grandparents had kept them in, which was the right thing t' do, when
it started blowin' an' snowin'. Grandparents kept 'em in. She didn't
know that. So. she wandered 'n drifted, 'n drifted with the snow.
Drifted 'bout three miles 'n a half, 'N, became exhausted. An', there on
the side of a bleak prairie hill, I can remember yet, there's where
they found her dead body. She 'n the little one. 'N, they were the first
ones buried in this cemetery down here south o' the convention place.
First grave ... Mrs. Lee Warren an' her little girl.
Jan: Is that Iowa Flats Cemetery, just east of Chugwater?
Lloyd:
Yes. An', that brought the community together. One good thing 'bout it,
if y' could call 't good, was it made the people stick together. 'N,
everybody knew, "I got t" have my neighbor's help ... 'n my neighbor
needs my help. We gotta work t'gether, "n stick t'gether." 'N, they did
that.
But
another very sad thing happened t' one of our neighbors that lived just a
mile west of us.Their name 'as Baker. They had older children that was
gone to school. But, the little one was still at home. I think she was,
maybe, 'bout three years old. Sunny afternoon 'n she was playin' 'round
outside. She'd come in 'n ask the mother t' tie her shoe string. 'N,
the mother did that for the child. An', she went on out. The mother
thought, "Just to play around." But when the older children came home
from school, they said, "Where is Edith?" 'N, they called 'n they looked
in the other buildings. Couldn't find Edith. Looked down the paths.
There they could see her tracks goin' down the lane out t' the road 'n
tumin' on a little. They could see her tracks. By that time it was
night, soon gonna be dark. 'N, so they sent out ... alarm t'whoever they
could: my folks'n others. 'N, they got out searchin'. 'N, they searched
'n a blizzard came up at night ... turned cold ... snowed ... froze. So,
'long in middle the night, they give up the search.
Next
day, or few days later, they found her body. The little girl's body.
She had wandered 'n she had fallen over a little cliff, face down in a
dump of cactus. 'N, there's where they found her. Dead. 'N, that put a
very sad chill over everybody.
Jan: We know you've been a homeless minister of the gospel for nearly seventy years now. Could you tell us how that came to be?
Lloyd:
When I got into my late teen years, and 'bout twenty, one day Dad
called us boys into the room. He wanted t' talk t' us. He said, 'Now you
boys 're stayin' at home here, an' yer workin' fer us. We feed you, 'n
we clothe you. We take care of you when you're sick, 'n we send you t'
school 'n pay your expenses. But, we don't pay you anything. But, when
y' get t' be twenty-one years old, if y' want t' stay on 'n work at
home, why we'll pay y'. Give y' part o' the crop."
So,
I was gettin' close t' twenty-one. An' I thought, "Now, I'm like a
person standin' on the shore of a wide, deep, river. An', I have a
little canoe. But, I don't have any power fer my canoe. An' I just know
that I'll drift down this river, just like all the other things drift. I
don't want t' go down, b'cause I can see myself, eventually, out there
in the great, wide, deep, vast ocean t' be lost forever." An', it was a
frightening thought t' me.
"I
want t' have a power in my canoe. An', if I have Jesus in my life, he'd
be the power. An', he'd give me power t' go upstream an' ag'inst the
current o' this world. An' I could cross over t' a safe landing on God's
eternal shore." But, I didn't have Jesus. An', I didn't know how to get
him. An', so, I was gettin' more troubled all the time. An', there's one
thing I thought that I could do. I could read the Bible. But, I didn't
have a Bible. So, I had t' order one from the catalog. An', then, I
begin t' read the Bible. Read t to try t' find out what the will of God
is, so that I could DO 't.
An'
I read about Jesus, 'n about the apostles, 'n about the saints. An' I
thought, "Now, seems like I've missed it. If I'd o' lived in that day
and time. I could've seen Jesus, 'n I could've talked t' him 'n asked
him questions. But, I've missed it. I don't have that privilege." But,
wondered, now, if there's any like these apostles ever come into our
part of the country.
An',
I 'as surprised t' find out that some years before this, two of God's
servants HAD come. They didn't come into our community. But, they did
come into the neighboring community ... 'bout five miles away. 'N, they
got the school house. 'N, they preached the message in the school house.
An’ quite a few people attended those meetings. That old school house
is still standing there, 'bout a mile west of Sylvia Rhodes', where the
first mission was worked.
Jan: Who were the messengers?
Lloyd:
Ed Poole 'n, I think, 't was Warren Middlesworth. At that time, people
attended the meetings b'cause they understood that the school house was
not only fer school but fer any community purpose. So, this is something
of the community. So, we gotta go see what t is. An', quite a few
people attended those meetings that otherwise might not. 'N, they got t'
hear the gospel.
I
was too young t' know anything about it. 'T was too far fer the folks
t' drive in the wagon 'n didn't have a car back in those days. So, they
didn't get t' go, but, maybe, once. But, anyway. Some people professed in
that mission. 'N, a little church was established. It'd been goin' on
fer 'bout ten years, or more, when I got old enough t' be interested.
But,
I kept readin' my Bible 'n tryin' 't find out what was right. I
thought, "Now, maybe I could make m'self be good! Change my ways 'n try
t' be different." But, that didn't help very much, b'cause I didn't have
the power in m'self t' do it. But, I could read 'bout some in the
Bible, what they had. An', I felt like, "Now, 'f I had lived in the time
of Jesus, I could see 'im, 'n talk t' 'im, 'n he could help me. But, I
don’t have that." But, when I found out that some had come into our next
community over from where we were, 'n a little church 'ad been
established in the home, then I was glad 't hear 'bout that. An', I
began t' seek him that way.
In
the meantime, I'd started goin't' church an' Sunday school. At that
time, they had one down at Slater. So, I went t' church 'n Sunday school
every Sunday fer one whole year. I'd study the lesson, 'n I'd try t'
answer the questions that they might have. An', during that time I'd
been readin' my Bible. 'N, I had some questions, m'self. I'd go
t'church'n Sunday school. 'N, at the end of the session they'd leave it
open fer questions. "Anybody got a question?"
"Yes! I have a question. I
would like t' know why you people don't do like the people did in the
Bible?" Sunday school teacher said, "Well, times have changed. Can't do
it that way now. Times have changed." I thought, "Has the will of God
changed? God, that's the same yesterday, t'day, 'n forever, has HE
changed? No! He's not changed. So, there's one of two things: either the
Bible is wrong, 'n you're right; or you're wrong 'n the Bible's right."
So, t wasnt so hard to decide that, when I read the Bible. An' I'd think
about what they told me at the Sunday school. Sunday school told me,
"Times 'ave changed. We're modern. We've improved. We're better than
those you read 'bout in the Bible." So, they told me that.
But,
about that time I'd learned that some folks was havin’ a little meeting
in their home. Some of our neighbors, they lived just four miles from
us. Homesteaded 'bout the same time my folks did. So, then, I'd go on
Sunday afternoon t' talk t' some that went there t' the home meeting. Go
t' the Sunday school Sunday morn’ in. Go t' the saints Sunday
afternoon' ask them the same questions I asked at Sunday school. 'N,
they would give me a different answer. They'd tell me that, even though
times have changed. God hasn’t. God's way's the same. God's will's the
same. Means the same t' serve the Lord today as it did then. So, I
thought, "Now, here I am, I'm in b'tween two opposites. Both can't be
right. Who's right? I don't know. But, one thing I can do, I c'n read my
Bible."
So,
every time I could get a little bit o' spare time, I'd be readin' my
Bible t' see who's right 'n what's right. 'N, every little bit I'd come
t' somethin' the saints 'd told me. But, I never could find anything
that the Sunday school 'd told me! So, that drew me away from the Sunday
school. 'N, drew me closer t' the saints. Until, one Saturday, I saw
the people of the home where the church met, when I was in the little
town nearby their home. An' I asked 'em if they had a reg'lar Sunday
morning meeting in their home. 'N, they said, "We do have." An' I got up
the courage t' ask 'em if I could come t' their meeting. They said, 'If
you're interested, you're welcome." I thanked 'em, 'n I turned away.
Went on my way home, sayin' t" myself, "Well, I AM interested.
Therefore, I will go."
Three
weeks later, I got up the courage to go to my first Sunday mornin'
meeting, because another neighbor lady had found out about me goin' t'
those folks. 'N she made it her her business t' get me cornered-up 'n
tell me what she thought was some good advice. She said, "Don't go
'round those people, because they're different. Better leave 'em alone.
They're different." So, I said t' m'self, "Lady, you could be mistaken!"
So then, the Sunday came fer me t' go t' this meeting. An' I got the
horse ready, after doin' chores, an' I started down the road thinkin'
'bout what this other lady had told me 'bout these folks. An', I was
almost afraid t' go. But, I got up the courage t' face it, anyhow.
So,
everything I saw connected with those folks really impressed me. The
mailbox was settin' straight 'n solid on the post. 'N, the gate was
solid 'n easy t' open 'n close. 'N, the dog was a friendly dog; he came
out t' meet me. The yard was all neat 'n in order, not a lot of junk 'n
trash thrown 'round. 'N, that impressed me b'fore I ever got 't the
house. So, I said t' m'self, "Well, this IS different. But, it's the way
it oughta be!" 'N then I went t' the door.
'N,
they received me pleasantly. 'N, the missus gave me a chair in the
meeting room. An', I was the first one there. I sat there, quietly,
thinkin' things over. 'N, after a while, a car drove into the yard: a
man 'n his wife 'n two er three children. Each one of 'em had their
Bible 'n their hymn book. I'd noticed at the Sunday school that nobody
had a Bible, but the teacher. But here, everybody had their Bible.
Everyone. I thought, "Well now, that IS different. But, that's the way
it oughta be!"
Little
bit later, 'nother car pulled in. Two or three carloads came. 'N, by
the time t' was ten, fifteen minutes til meeting started, they were all
gathered there, quietly seated 'n in place. I said t' myself, "This IS
different. But that's the way it oughta be!"
An',
I got the thought, "These folks have come here fer no other reason but
t' worship God. An', it just seems t' me like the fear of God is upon
these people." So the meeting started just at the right time. 'N, they
sang a couple o'hymns. 'N then, they got down on their knees t' pray!
And I said t' myself, "Well! I'm not gonna get down on MY knees! A
strong young fella like me? No! I'm not gonna do that!" I sat on my
chair. An 'then, they began t' pray.
The
first one prayed: thankin' the Lord for havin' mercy on 'im; sparing
their lives for another week; confessin how unworthy they were, how far
short they felt they'd come from all they'd ought t' be; askin' the Lord
if he'd forgive them where they'd failed 'n help 'em live better nex'
week than they had the week b'fore. 'N, each one of 'em prayed in a
similar way.
'N,
after one or two of 'em prayed. I thought, "Well, someday I may be one
of these people. 'N, if that's part of it, I may as well learn 'rt now."
So, I got down on my knees. Didn't pray. Just listened t' the others.
An', it impressed me very much t' hear their sincerity and honesty.
An',
then, their testimonies were something along the same line. Simple
thoughts from the scripture. expressed sincerely 'n honestly. 'N, after
the meeting was over, some friendly greetings 'n an invitation t' come
back. I went on my way homeward sayin't' m'self, "Well, t'day, for the
first time in my life, I've been in the presence of people who worship
God like the Bible says. An', I don't see what a better way could be
than this. These are honest, sincere people, just tryin' t' do what the
Bible teaches. It IS different. But, it's the way it oughta be."
An',
that cleared that matter up t' me. Then, when I got home. somebody
said. "You better be careful now, or those people'll get you!" But, I
said, "I don't know what this is, but what I've seen an' heard t' day
really impresses me."
Well, that was in the spring time. 'N, the convention came on at the end of June. In those days, Wyoming didn't have a convention. So Wyoming folks went t' west Nebraska.
The convention there was held at the home of Mr. and Mrs. John Kinnion,
'bout thirty miles north of Mitchell, out in the ranch country. And,
these folks invited me t' go with 'em t' the convention, which I did.
An’
I was takin' notice of everything. One thing that impressed me was the
friendliness of the people. Whenever they'd meet one another, they
seemed so glad t' see each other. Everybody was pitchin' in, helpin' t'
do all the work that had t' be done. My first job at the convention was
cuttin' bread. Didn't have sliced bread like t' have now. So they had a
little corner there, 'n they put me in it, 'n gave me loaves of bread t'
slice. The women folks would all bake the bread at home, 'n bring the
loaves.
Anyway.
The convention started on Thursday morning. An', I was takin' notice of
everything. An', I was impressed with all I saw. 'N, I made a start to
serve the Lord there. N', I was baptized there in the Niobrara River, along with ten or twelve others.
I
stumbled, an' floundered, an' made plenty o' mistakes. But, I never
changed from my purpose t' do God's will. 'N, that's seventy years ago.
No. It's more than seventy years. I was 24 years old when I went into
the work (the ministry). 'N, 'it was two years b'fore that I made my
choice. October twenty-second, nineteen twenty-nine, I left t' go into
the work. An', I can testify to the faithfulness of God an' his patience
in bearing with me. An', the end is comin' up soon fer me.
Jan: Tell us what the convention was like, Lloyd. Were there quite a few people there?
Lloyd: I think there was. I would guess there might have been about three hundred gathered there.
Jan: So was it at a farm?
Lloyd: A ranch/farm, yes.
Jan: And how many days were they there?
Lloyd:
Four days. They had a big barn, these folks. It had an upstairs in it.
Downstairs they cleaned out one corner fer the cooking. The other part
of the downstairs was fer the dining. Then, upstairs was fer the
meeting. We slept in the outbuildings. Had straw ticks fer mattresses.
We had all things common. Some people brought potatoes, some bread, 'n
some brought other things. The food was all prepared there. 'N, nobody
was paid fer nothin'. All our work 'n all was done free. No one paid fer
anything. So, I thought. "Well! That's the way it oughta be!"
Jan: How did you earn your living before you went out to preach the gospel?
Lloyd:
Well, o' course, I helped m' dad on his place. 'N, during harvest, I
helped Clarence Hitt, fer part o' the crop. N', when I left fer the
work, I'd been helpin' a man, name o' Mr. Manning, fer a part o' the
crop. But, b'fore I went away t' high school, I carried the mail fer the
folks that lived down in Goshen Hole Canyon.
A dollar a month they gave me t' carry the mail t' the edge of the
canyon, put t' in a sack with some rocks t' weight it down, "n send t'
down a rope attached t' their house at one end 'n t' the canyon wall at
the other end. You haven't seen the place I'm talkin' 'bout?
Jan: No, I haven't.
Lloyd:
It was about a hundred feet straight down. You could go right along,
then suddenly, one more step 'd put you over the edge. It was about a
hundred feet straight down. Then, 't'd slope off a ways, maybe two,
three hundred feet. Then, it was straight down again, another hundred
feet or so. Was, maybe, a thousand feet altogether.
Jan: Did you go down to collect your pay?
Lloyd:
That was part of t, y'know. There was a path,'t widened out further
down. Went down once a month t' get my dollar. Part of t' was steep 'n
slippery. But, we used to climb up 'n down t', my brothers 'n m'self.
Went down once a month, got paid, 'n got a fresh supply o' bags. Did
that three years, until I started high school.
Jan: Where was high school?
Lloyd:
In Wheatland. Dad bought a little two-room house. He gave five hundred
dollars for the house 'n the lot. We "bached" there, me 'n a neighbor
lad, n' my brothers, when they were old enough.
Jan: You cooked your own meals? Did you go home on the weekends?
Lloyd:
Yes. We cooked our food. No. Most gener'ly we didn't go home. But,
once, I did. I got so homesick! Friday night, after school, I decided I
would walk home. Twenty-three miles. So, I struck out on foot, down
across Chug' Creek, out through Antelope Gap. Got in about two o'clock
in the mornin'. Crawled up on top o' the haystack t' finish out the rest
o' the night. 'N, then, t' had t' go back t' high school Sunday! So,
that gave me all o' Saturday at home. B'cause o' homesickness.
Jan: So, you finished high school?
Lloyd: Here in Wheatland. Spring of 1923.
Jan: Were there lots of rattlesnakes around in those days?
Lloyd: Lots of 'em! Dad gave us boys a penny apiece fer each rattlesnake we killed. A penny apiece.
Jan: Did you skin them and tan the hides? Or what did you do with the dead rattlers?
Lloyd: Hung 'em on the fence t' make it rain!
Jan: What about your dad? You helped on the homestead until you went into the ministry. Right?
Lloyd: Yes.
Jan: And so, your dad was sort of dependent on you boys to make the place work?
Lloyd:
Well, yeah. We were workin' right into t'. There was three of us boys in
a row. I was the oldest. But, it hurt Dad. Hurt Mother, too, when I
left 'n went in the work. 'N, it hurt me to hurt them. So, it was one of
the hardest things I had to face. Nobody told me I had t' do it. I just
knew I had t' do it.
I got troubled at the convention in Denver, Colorado,
in the year of 1928. They sang a hymn that's still in the book. One
verse in the hymn says, "My heart condemneth me, when keeping ought from
thee, or seeking selfishly, my life to save." An, I couldn't get those
thoughts out o' my mind. It was with me when I went t' bed at night, 'n
when I woke up in the morning', 'n when I went t' work, 'n all day
through. "My heart condemneth me ..." I had t' admit, I had certain
selfish thoughts.
Not
altogether sinful, selfish, but enough o' self in it that t' wouldn't
lead t' the best. I was thinkin' 'bout havin' a home for the workers.
'N, then, I thought, "Whose gonna BE the workers? Seems like they're
gettin" old 'n wrinkled. 'N, some o' them's not too well. An whose gonna
BE the workers?
'N,
here I am, young 'n strong, nothin' t' hold me back." But, I didn't
think I could make a worker. So, I had quite a battle on that, until I
came t' the place where I could say, like Isaiah, "Here am I. Send ME."
At
that time I was workin' for Mr. Manning. 'N, I was kinda gettin' in
with him. He had a good sized farm, where I could've worked my way right
in with him. I could've put my life INTO that 'N, what would I have t'
show for t? But, I told 'im, when I started in the spring, I said, "...
Now, I'm leavin' here this fall.' But, he didn't seem t' take it serious.
He thought I'd get over that foolish notion.
So
when it got 'bout a month from the time I'd be leavin', I told him
ag'in. Then, he got mad at me. 'N, he said some hard things. One thing
he asked me, he said, "Here I am a man seventy years old 'n I never
heard this before. 'N, if this is God's true way, howse come I never
heard t' b'fore?"
Well,
I prayed a little prayer and said, "Lord, how will I answer that
question?" 'N, I said, 'Mr. Manning, now, if you'd o' heard it when you
was a younger man, would y've accepted it?" He said, 'I'll have t' tell
y' that I would not!" "Well," I said, "That's the reason y' havent heard
t. Why would God in a harvest that's so plentiful 'n laborers so few,
why would he waste time on you, knowin' that y' would only reject it,
anyway?" So, he hung his head.
Well, the folks didn't mean t' be against it. But, they couldn't understand. 'N, I couldn't make 'em understand.
Jan: So, how did you live in the ministry, then?
Lloyd: How did I live?
Jan: Yes.
Lloyd: By faith.
Jan: You went carrying a bag, on foot?
Lloyd:
Yes. Two of 'em. My experience with that was, when I was packin' up 'n
gettin' ready t' go, I put in everything that I might need sometime.
So, I wasn't too long afterwards, we found ourselves out on the road, on
foot, with two bags full of everything we "might need!" They got pretty
heavy. I said, "I've got some things I can get along without!" So, the
first chance I got, I cut 't down to the things I "had to have." And, I
learned right there, there's a big difference between what you "had to
have" and what you "might need!" So, I'm down to what I "have to have."
With the result, I don't need two grips at all. I just need one. 'N,
that leaves me with one hand free.
So
I got my first companion. Will Wilkie. We didn't do a whole lot o'
"roughin' it" that year. T' was only with 'im part o' the year. Then, I
had a full year with Harold Pollock. 'N, we had some missions around Chadron, Nebraska.
Havin' meetings there. Some o' the friends came in. I was leadin
meetin’, givin' out the hymns, 'n Harold was playin' the little organ.
Young couple come in through the tent door. I said. "There's a young
fella that sure does remind me of Harry Rozema!” Cause I'd been talkin'
t' Harry, while I was still at home, tellin’ him 'bout what I'd found.
"And there's a young man that sure does remind me of Harry Rozema."
'N,
after a while, it dawned on me, "That IS Harry!" I'd never met Bessie
b'fore. An', now, there they are. They'd moved t' Chadron. They was out
west of Slater on a dry land homestead. The very week we moved the tent
t’ Chadron was the very week Harry and Bessie moved t’ Chadron. He was a
mail clerk on a train. They located in Chadron. ‘N, they came t’ our
meetings. ‘N, they professed, in our meetings. Harry ‘n Bessie. So, that
gave me a litle bit of a boost.
Jan: Could you tell us about the night you walked 26 miles before you found a place to get shelter?
Lloyd: Walter 'n I started out after fall convention. 'N, we started up this North Platte River Valley. Lookin' fer school houses an' places where we could find t' preach the gospel. 'N, we rode the bus from North Platte
t' Ogallala. 'N, we got off the bus with about 65 pounds o' luggage.
'N, we started walkin' out the road north of town. 'N, we walked all
that day.
'N,
just about sundown, we got into a little community, where there was a
nice little school house, that we thought would be ideal fer the gospel.
An', it was late, so we had t' look fer a place where we could lodge
fer the night. So, we came t' a big house, 'bout three stories. Looked
like t' had ten or a dozen, maybe more rooms. An', I went t' the door.
Talked t' the lady. Told her who we were'n what we'd come for. 'N, we'd
be glad t' pay her fer a night's lodging. "0h!" she said, "We can't take
y'in. We don't have any room! But Mrs. Anderson has room, 'bout
half-mile further." So. "All right Thank you."
'N,
we went down t' Mrs. Andersons'. Told her who we were 'n what we'd come
for. "Oh!" she said, "I cant take y'. I don’t have room. But," she said,
"go on down t' Mr. Bentley's. He has room." So. "All right. Thank you."
'N.
down we went t' Mr. Bentley's another half a mile. "We'd like a nights'
lodging. We've come here to have meetin's in the school. It's gettin'
late on us. We've gotta get in somewhere." "Oh!" Mr. Bentley says, "We
don't have room! Can't take y' in. But, there's an old couple lives down
another half a mile. They'll take y' in." "All right. Thank you, Mr.
Bentley."
By
that time, 't was dark. 'N, we didn't know it, but there'd been chicken
thieves in that community. An', whenever the dog would bark, this lady
kept a shotgun sittin' by the door. 'N, she'd look out 'n see anything
movin', she's apt t' shoot it! We had t' walk across a cornfield. It was
in the fall. 'N, y' know how corn crunches under y'r feet sometimes.
But, this night the dog didn't bark 'n we walked right up t' the door.
Knocked on the door 'n there's this old couple standin' there. Told 'em
who we were 'n what we'd come for. We'd like t' pay them for a night's
lodging. "Oh!" she said, "We don't have room. But, we can't turn y' away
this hour o' the night." She said, "Come in, 'n we'll do the best we
can." An', they did. 'N, put us t' bed on a corn husk tick.
'N,
I don't reckon I ever slept on a better bed than that old tick, stuffed
with corn husks but, anyway, by that time, I'd rubbed a sore on my
heel. 'N, this old lady doctored me up the next mornin'. She was a kind,
old soul. 'N then we had t' go back 'n 'nounce our meetings t' these
people. So, I went back t' Mrs. Anderson's. An', she said, "I would
think you men would get awfully discouraged, walkin' aroun' the country
the way y' do. An', nobody payin' any attention to y'."
And,
right then, I think the ministering angel was on the job 'n put a
thought in my mind t' counteract what she'd said. 'N, those words came
t' me in first Corinthians 15 'n 58, "Be ye steadfast, unmoveable,
always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your
labor is not in vain in the Lord." 'N, I thanked God for those words.
They helped me then an' they've helped me many times since. 'N, we tried
t' have a few meetings there. Not very many people came. We had t' go
on t' nother place. All that country's under water now. Under that lake.
(Lake McConaughy)
By that time, it was gettin' 'bout 'lection time. 'N, that's the year that Roosevelt
was elected. 'N, we thought, "Well now, we'll just rent us a room. 'N,
we'll just rest up fer a few days. 'N, see if somethin' comes to our
minds." So, we did. Y' could rent a room fer three dollars 'n a half fer
a week. 'N, it cost us three dollars 'n a half fer groceries. So, it
wasn't doin' too bad, compared to present day prospects.
But
anyway, 'bout Friday, I think t' was, I said t' my companion, "I'm
gonna strike out over this big hill up north o' town. See what's up in
that country." So, I started out. 'N, I walked 'n I walked. 'N, I walked
'bout ten miles. 'N I came t'a lady's house. 'N, her name was Mrs.
Brown. 'N, she happened t' be one of the school board. So, she told me
that, as far as she's concerned, we could have use of the school, but
we'd have t' see the other board members. 'N, as I looked down across
that valley, there's a nice little school on the edge o' the valley.
But, there was a church in b'tween the school 'n where I was. 'N, she
told me that the preacher lived in the basement o' the church. "N, he
preaches there. 'N, he has his regular schedule 'n everythin' fixed up.
And,
I went out in the middle o' the road. And I just had a battle with
m'self. I said, "There's no use goin' any further. This place 'll turn
out just like all the other places. I'd just as well turn back 'n tell
my companion that it's no use goin' any further."
But
then, I had another thought. 'N, that was th't we're not responsible for
what the people DO. But, we are responsible to go as far as we can t'
give them the chance that God wants 'em t' have. And, that was the
stronger point. 'N, I turned and went on another mile. Overt' Mr.
Smiths'. 'N, it was just at noon time. 'N, he'd come in fer his dinner.
'N. I went t' the door 'n said, "Mr. Smith, we'd like t' see you 'bout
hav'n' meetings in the school fer preachin' the gospel."
'Oh!"
He said, "Why don't y' preach the gospel in the church! That's a place a
preach the gospel! In the church!" "Well," I said. "Mr. Smith, whether
you know it or not, those people wouldn't let the likes o' us preach the
gospel in their church." "Yes!" He said, 'That's just what's wrong with
'em! They want ev'rything their own way! Far as I'm concerned, y' can
have the school!" "All right. Thank you, Mr. Smith." And, he invited me
in fer dinner. An', they had combread 'n beans. And, I never ate any
better ones!
And
so, I hurried back t' my companion 'n told 'im we got the school. An',
we can start meetin's tomorrow night. 'N, we walked out just in time t'
announce the meetings. And, sure enough! Here come a crowd o' people the first night! Filled up the school house.
Several
of 'em were the religious people o' the community. An', one of 'em, a
man, invited us home with 'im the first night! And, we stayed among
those people 'n preached the gospel t' them. An', there's several of 'em
professed. 'N, a little church was formed in that community. An', some
of 'em are still living.
That
taught me a great lesson. I thought, "Now if I'd obeyed my feelings an'
gone back 'an told my companion, 'h's no use', we'd 'a missed the very
people that the Lord was wantin' us t' preach to." So, it convinced me,
that when y' feel so strong 'bout quittin', it's better t' do the
opposite!
Jan:
So now, you started in the work (the ministry) when you were
twenty-four. And, you've been in it all your life, since that time. Did
you come back to Wyoming to labor here?
Lloyd: Oh, I've been back various times t' the conventions 'n, once, fer Special Meetings. But, I never was on the Wyoming list until now. When I first started, I was in Nebraska. Had nine years there, the first time. Then, t' Indiana fer eight years. Went on t' Ohio fer eight years. 'N then t' Mississippi fer ... I think it was fourteen years, er so. 'N, back to Nebraska fer 'nother three 'n a half years. 'N, down t' Texas eleven years. In Oklahoma fer six years. Alabama five years. 'N, now in Wyoming four years. Does that add up t' nearly seventy years?
Jan: It does, Lloyd. You're back in your beloved Wyoming, preaching the gospel. And soon, you will finish your course here. Have you any regrets, Lloyd?
Lloyd: No regrets, but one. I wish I could've put MORE into it.
Lloyd
Wilson is living in a private home in Wheatland. The people of the
home, and others from the town and surrounding area who have benefited
from his ministry, take turns caring for him in his final days. He has
cancer and has little time left. His little canoe will soon reach the
eternal shore. I appreciate greatly the effort he made, in his
extremity, to tell me these stories.