From Where I Sit

By Pat Spilseth, Columnist

Thanks for your response to my last column’s question of whether you’d enjoy more columns about my growing up in jail. Diane and Janet, who also grew up in Glenwood, remember Nicotine Nelly and Marty remembers the innocence of yesterday and said that jailbirds are so different nowadays. It’s not likely that today’s sheriff’s family would invite their jail prisoners to celebrate Christmas with them in their living room!

Another memorable character in Glenwood in the fifties was a local pastor who had an idea he presented to Dad, sheriff of Pope County, and his sidekick, Deputy Lynn Krook. The Assembly of God church Pastor L.D. Kramer suggested that they hold a gospel service in Dad’s office at our jail. Kramer and his wife would provide some music and a lesson for our prisoners, who would have an hour out of their cells. It sounded like a great idea. 

Entertainment at the jail wasn’t something one would expect, but Pastor and his wife gave an inspiring sermon accompanied by accordion music and lots of smiles. Their mission was to save folks from sin. Our jail inmates were a rapt audience of sinners. It was the perfect setting. The guys in jail couldn’t escape the message the Pastor and his wife were about to impart, a sermon about abundant love and forgiveness to all who were sorry for their misdeeds. Pastor Kramer’s rousing, riveting sermon had everyone’s full attention, including me, an impressionable teenager who didn’t want to miss anything. Knowing I was fascinated with the pastor’s idea, Dad let me join the guys at the service.

In Dad’s office, the guys set up metal folding chairs for the service. At center stage was the sheriff’s massive oak roll-top desk with millions of cubby holes holding papers, pencils, buttons, coins…you name it. Another desk and chair held the impressive, new 2-way radio to communicate with police and highway patrolmen. Two tall, varnished oak file cabinets with wide, skinny drawers and metal pulls filled one wall. A bulletin board showcased mug shots of ferocious-looking convicts, the threatening “Most Wanted” men and women throughout the country. A peg board was mounted next to the bulletin board featuring weapons Dad and Deputy Krook had confiscated from area gangs and prisoners. A menacing chain of sharp nails was mounted alongside a gun decorated with swastikas. A sawed-off shotgun, machete, bully clubs and a few tiny pistols filled the board. Several wicked looking knives held my attention for hours. Oh the stories my imagination could conjure!

The Pastor’s wife arrived nervously clutching her expanding accordion with its plastic buttons and accompanying music stand. The prisoners eyes widened…a woman plus music was there to entertain them! However, there was no dancing, only church hymns with plenty of toe tapping to keep time to the music. 

The sermon was lively; sweat formed on the preacher’s brow, and his eyes sparkled with fervor. No one could think about falling asleep. The Pastor had a purpose: he meant to save these men from their sinful ways.

Guys in jail always looked forward to getting out of their cells for a few hours of diversion from their stale routine of reading Zane Gray’s novels, pacing the exercise path around the cells and eating meals. My favorite “regular” was Blackie, an avid exerciser who performed flips, headstands and backbends for me and my pals who lingered outside at the jail windows, watching. Other guys in jail mainly sat in their cells, bored stiff. By Saturday night, they’d had enough of each other’s embellished stories and the thumbed pages of tattered novels. 

Dressed up in a starched white shirt, tie and suit, Pastor and his Missus, with pin curled hair and modest dress, were a welcome diversion. It really didn’t matter what they said or did; the guys were up for most any entertainment.

The service began with a short prayer about “gathering together” followed by the bellows of the accordion, which would open wide, then close in pleats. Pastor would get all wound up in his message: his hands would dramatically rise and fall; his eyes darted to each man sitting in attendance. I honestly believed he was looking at me straight in the eye. 

ARE YOU SAVED?” he would shout, and his voice jolted all of us to attention. Everyone sat up straight in the hard chairs and looked down at the floor, afraid to look into his pleading eyes. We were captives…there was no place to escape. I longed to go to my room or to the kitchen where Mom was probably listening. Of course we knew what to answer: meekly we responded, “YES, I WANNA BE SAVED!”

I can still feel myself sweating with fear. I still see his penetrating eyes searching for the correct answer. This was a new experience; my quiet Lutheran church never got so personal! Scandinavian Lutherans were private individuals; we didn’t go in for loud, demonstrative actions. This pastor led a different flock of folks. His evangelical church was regularly filled with parishioners who felt comfortable standing and calling on the Spirit out loud. They wanted to save more souls.   

I certainly appreciated this lively minister, but I couldn’t help feeling uneasy in his presence. Though our Lutheran minister and the Catholic priest came to the jail to see the prisoners and be served Mom’s coffee and cookies, they never got so personal as this pastor. They never checked to see if I was saved, thank goodness.

This long-ago, unique service at the jail was unforgettable. The pastor’s sermon gave each one of us seated in the tiny audience something to think about besides our routine lives. I don’t think the guys dreamed of sexy broads and steak dinners that night. They probably had trouble falling asleep as they were still seeing the pastor’s eyes looking deep into their souls asking more questions…

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To contact Pat, email: pat.spilseth@gmail.com.