Chap. 20: We Take THE Step of Faith...

CHAPTER TWENTY

We Take THE STEP of Faith
Then Satan Tries Even Harder


It was now January, 1977.
Ever since a friend suggested we try attending Faith United Church of Christ last year, we felt very uplifted from the services. Very close to Him, which was where we wanted to be.
We sensed we could feel His working in our lives, and a single event of this month added greatly to the depth of that feeling, and to our Commitment. What we weren’t prepared for was the extra effort Satan would then put into trying to pull us back, and the ways he would go about it.
Our minister decided to begin holding weekly meetings for what he called "Prayer and Praise". We jumped at the chance. Because the prayers and songs of praise were our favorite parts of the services. We thrived on 'em.
Sunday night, the 23rd, 7:30 p.m. About 10 of us were gathered at Ken and Joan Luther's home. Ken and Joan were very active in our church, and beautiful people. Joan had been "Baptized in the Spirit", as she put it, for some time now. And she, along with a few others we knew, always radiated kindness, love and a willingness to help others. We also sensed that this "charismatic" group possessed a sense of peace and contentment that many of us just did-n't have. If they had any big problems, they certainly were not disturbed about any of them. We wanted to know more.
Reverend (Donald D.) Myers finally arrived at 8:10 p.m. "Late as usual", we needled him. He asked if there were any present who had specific needs they wanted to place before the Lord when we had prayer. There were a number of requests; among them was an unspoken request from Linda and myself. In making an "unspoken request", it is known that the content is of a personal nature, and that the content thereof would be known only to the petitioner(s) and the Lord. Our request was for His help in handling the fact that Satan appeared to be making a strong effort at undermining the beautiful communication we had between us, and we knew we could not deal with the likes of him on our own. Also, we wanted the Lord’s guidance in learning more about this "charismatic" thing.
After all requests were in, we prayed. Linda and I closed our eyes and bowed our heads. As the "atmosphere deepened" and each person "let themselves go" with that mood, we heard some of them speaking in low tones, in sounds, or languages (?), that made no sense to us. All requests were made, including ours. For some reason, as that prayer ended some 15-20 minutes later, we felt a great sense of relief; as if those issues had suddenly been lifted from our shoulders.
We seemed to feel His presence then in a way we had never experienced before. We had always felt He was in church with us on Sundays. But now we realized the true meaning of another Bible passage. The one that says that where two or more are gathered in His name, there He is also. We knew He was there. In that living room with us. We felt it.
A few minutes later, Reverend Myers asked if there was anyone present who wanted to be Baptized in the Spirit and had not yet had the opportunity.
As I walked to the center of that room, alongside Linda, I thought, "For a guy who hates being the center of attention, this sure is easy to do!"
We knelt on the floor. The others gathered around us, placing their hands on our heads and shoulders. I noticed there were three of us. Linda, myself, and Betty Weier. She and her husband began attending here when we did. They were members of our old church, too.
Then the prayer began.
Within seconds, Linda was spouting what sounded like a combination of Italian and German. And I knew from first hand experience that the only foreign language she'd ever learned was French. And she flunked the third year of that. So I knew something was going on inside her.
At the same time, I wasn't shooting off my mouth, but I felt a peace I'd never known fill me from head to toe. I didn't have a care in the world. I sensed that as long as I was true to Him, He'd handle all my problems. "I wonder why more people don't let Him help," I thought as we knelt there. "There's something missing here. I'm not making any sounds like the rest of them," I suddenly realized. I wasn't worried about it, though. 'Cos I knew He'd take care of everything. I was puzzled and a good bit disappointed at the difference, but not worried.
The prayer ended. We stood up, hugged each other, then went back to our seats. The rest of the evening was spent singing many songs of Praise to Him and listening to some members of the group tell how the Lord had helped them through a crisis or other uneasy situation in their lives. I don't remember any of their situations, but I will never forget how quickly I realized that we were definitely on the right Track now.
During the course of that evening, another two or three prayers were said. And each time, Linda prayed aloud, yet softly, using only that German-Italian she had never known before that night. And it fascinated me. The words (if you could call them that), flowed effortlessly. Like it was her native tongue. Not having experienced it myself as yet, I wanted to know more.
Soon, the Prayer & Praise meeting closed with a final prayer for His guidance through the coming week, and His protection. And with that, we headed home.
But, as you might expect, as I drove I just had to find out about what happened to her back there.
"Lin, do you know what you say when you talk like that?"
"No, Jim. All I know is that the Spirit brings the words. I don't even think how to make the sounds. He does it all. I guess I'll get used to it, but right now it feels kinda strange to hear all these sounds. I know they're coming from me, physically, but I'm not doing anything to generate them. It's kinda like these people who can pick up radio waves in their gold fillings. That's the closest I can describe it right now, except to say that it's totally effortless. Whenever I want to pray, or sometimes just think about Him, the words come. It doesn't bother you, does it?"
"No way, honey! I'm really fascinated with it and just wanted to try and understand it a little more. Don't worry. It doesn't bug me in the least."
"Okay, honey."

I didn't have the heart to tell her, then, that I still felt a little disappointed at times that it hadn't happened to me. Yet. But I knew, inside (there's part of that Peace again), that it would, someday.

Sometime in those first two months, two close friends of ours at Faith Church asked us if we’d done a spiritual housecleaning of our apartment before we moved in. When we admitted that we didn’t know what they were talking about, they asked when it would be a good time to stop over and take care of it.
The next evening, a Friday, I think, Joan Luther and Betty Weier, from our Prayer and Praise group came over. They opened at least one window in each room to provide a spiritual exit. Then, as we walked with them, hands in the air, they went through each room in the place, opening every door, including the closets, and cast out any evil spirit that may have been residing in every nook and cranny of that apartment since, well, God knows when. And at that point, He was the only one that DID know.
“That should keep the enemy from causing you two lovebirds any major problems, at least as long as you’re living here,” said Joan after we closed the windows again and sat down. I may not have had my prayer language like Linda yet, but it was obvious to me that He was in that room with us. There was a strong sense of peace, of safety in that place that hadn’t been there before. Soon we’d all noticed it. That’s when Betty and Joan said the task was really complete and headed home.
Linda and I felt more relaxed than ever in that apartment, and slept like logs that night. The relief the housecleaning had brought to our lives showed from the start. And we would later find out how important that housecleaning really was.

March of 1977 brought a new problem. That strike at Emery's Cincinnati plant was now 3 months old. The economic ripple effect it brought the company finally started back-feeding through the office area. Result? In programming I was the first to get laid off.
Luckily, this time I found a spot in a small manufacturing company. Only three people in the whole programming department. Nice informal atmosphere. What nobody told me was that the company was having a few problems. The Vice President who was over the Accounting and Data Processing areas was the type who knew practically nothing about D. P., and thought he knew everything. The programming manager warned me about that one right off so we didn't ruffle any feathers. 'Cos we liked things the way we had 'em as far as running our own little area. So the less interference the better. Only that V.P. was not the only problem...
Meanwhile, on the home front, the frequency of major arguments had leveled off just a little, though they were still an issue. And the other side of that coin, the fantasies, had escalated just a little bit. Just to the point that Linda was into some things others would consider a little "eccentric", or maybe even "kinky".
One evening, right after she finished the dishes, she walked up to me in the living room, put her arms around me and asked, “Jim, we still have all those water colors from the painting spree I went on last year, don’t we?”
“Yes, we do, honey. They might be hard, but we can soften them up again and see what happens. Why? You want to get back to that?”
“No,” she said with a mischievous look in her eye. “This time I want you to do the painting. Because I’m going to be your canvas.”
“Whaa…??” I asked, taken by surprise.
“Get the paints softened and I’ll show you.”
A short while later the paints and brushes were ready to go.
“Follow me,” she said, entering the bedroom. “Put them on the dresser.”
As I did, she began undressing. Needless to say, I watched her. She knew I never could take my eyes off of her when she was undressing, and she loved the attention. Naked now, she laid down sideways on the bed, on her back, her arms and legs wide apart.
“Okay, Picasso,” she said through a naughty smile. “Go to work. Paint whatever you want. I want every inch covered that won’t be visible when I’m dressed.” She looked at me with that naughty smile again.
“You… serious?” I asked, the idea of being that intimate with her in a new way start-ing to appeal to me.
“Like I said, Picasso, get to it!” she “ordered”, still smiling.
Somewhat nervously, yet now intrigued by the whole thing, I picked up a brush and got started. I began with three circles on and around each breast, each a different color and width. Where the circles from her breasts met between them, I started a large diamond shape that extended to the curves at her sides, and ran down past her navel, stopping just at the edge of her pubic area. I filled it in with a series of smaller diamond shapes. “EVERY inch?” I asked again, smiling. I wanted to hear her say it again.
“EVERY INCH!” she ordered, now almost laughing.
“OK, OK,” I laughed, picking up the brush again.
“And that includes my sides, too!” she smilingly added.
“Gotcha, boss! Umm… you know you’re going to have to lay there until it’s dry, don’t you?” I grinned. I was wondering if she’d thought of that yet.
“Yes, I know that,” she said. “It’ll give me time to decide how long I want to leave it on. How long do you think you’d like to see me this way?” she asked. I could tell she hadn’t considered that yet. “What about a couple days?”
“Sounds reasonable to me, honey. And you can always wash it off sooner, you know,” I said as I worked on painting her sides as she’d recently instructed.
“It means I can’t take a bath for a couple days. Does that bother you?”
“Not a bit, sweetheart. You know I get turned on by your natural odor anyway,” I said, finishing up and putting the brush down.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, smiling. “I forgot about that.” She looked down at herself. “Gee, Jim, you covered me down to my legs and then some. Just what I wanted. Thanks, honey!”
“You’re welcome, dear,” I said. “I would have gone farther down on your legs, but I thought you might want to wear a dress or a skirt.”
“I know,” she said, smiling. “You like me better in those than pants anyway.”
“Well…” I said, with a naughty look in my eye.
“Actually, it’s nice to know you feel I’m attractive enough to look good in those.”
“You always did look good to me, darling. You know that. And you always will.”
“Thanks, sweetheart,” she said warmly. “Now. How long do you think it will be be-fore I’m dry?”
I lightly touched one of the original circles around her left breast. It was almost dry. “I’d say about an hour more, honey. Maybe a little more.”
“OK. I think I can handle that.”
A couple hours later, after all the paint was dry, she tried on a few typical outfits. Most were OK, but a couple had some paint showing because the tops she had on had lower neck-lines.
“Oops,” she said. “We didn’t think about that, did we?”
“Nope.”
She decided she’d better not take a chance in case she had unexpected time with her mom or something while I was at work. She took a shower at bedtime and the “entire body of my original artwork” became history.

One evening a few days later, she disappeared for a couple minutes while we were sitting in the living room. When she came back, she had a small roll of clothesline in her hand. She sat down in her chair.
"Jim?" she began.
"What is it, Lin?" I stopped reading the paper when I noticed the slight nervousness in her voice.
"Would you do something for me one of these nights?"
"Sure, sweetheart. You know that." She smiled half-heartedly, then continued.
"Don't tell me when, but find some picky excuse to rough me up a little. As a matter of fact, go as far as you want to - I'd like that better - just so nothing shows and no one catches on to what we're doing... use this if you can."
She tossed me the clothesline. "You...want me to… tie you up?" I asked, a bit dumb-founded.
"Y… yes. And hurt me, too. I know it sounds crazy, but I want to know what it feels like. Just let your imagination go. And... don't just do it one night. Keep going back to it every few nights. Maybe touch on it in conversations at night to keep me guessing." She sat back, nervously waiting for my response.
"You really want me to?"
"Yes. I need to feel it."
"Anything?"
"Anything that comes to mind that won't show."
I hesitated. "Okay, honey. If you really want it that bad. It's a deal. Just let me know when you want to stop."
"Thanks, Jim. I will. And I love you. You...don't think I'm...crazy, do you?" She paused, waiting nervously for an answer.
I thought, "What can I say? It's sure different, but if that's what she wants to be happy, so what?" "No, Squeek. You're not crazy. I gotta believe there are people running around who're stranger than that."
"Thanks, honey. Thanks for understanding." Her fear of my reaction gone, she ran over and kissed me.
The following evening I made my first effort at her new idea, and things had steadily picked up from there. These "episodes" became interspersed with the fantasies, and were used more often. And sometimes we even combined the two ideas.
One evening in April, the hamburgers she fixed for supper got a bit overdone. While it wasn’t really any ‘big deal’, she had said to find some “picky excuse”, so I picked up on it. After she finished the dishes, I grabbed her shoulders, turned her toward me, and carefully slapped her face.
You KNOW I don't like my hamburgers that well done!" I snapped. She caught on right away, smiling quickly then catching herself. I shoved her ahead of me into the bedroom. "Take off your clothes!"
“I'm not gonna help you!" she shot back.
Forcefully, yet careful enough not to damage her clothing, I stripped her. And I made use of subtle motions which would add to the depth of the fantasy for her because she would never remember their origin. Not with all her seizures. Like the fact that she had told me shortly after we were married (now almost 9 years), that she didn't like the feeling of her breasts flopping against her body. Even in pajamas, she didn't like it and would tuck some of the material beneath them to stop direct contact. So what did I do? I grabbed the lower edge of her bra and pulled upward, her breasts responding freely, doing exactly what she disliked. A few minutes later, she stood naked before me, having offered only playful resistance to my ef-forts. I played with her for just a moment, then pushed her toward the bed. Hard. She fell face down on it, her lower legs dangling over the side.
"Get up on that bed and lay on your stomach!" I commanded.
"On...my...stomach? What are you gonna do?" As she turned her head toward me to ask that question, she noticed I was taking my belt off. "Oh."
"Your choice, girl. The hand or the belt. Which is it?"
"The...belt."
"Geez," I thought, a touch surprised. "She really does want it tonight! I didn't expect that." I looped the belt in half and began. Gently at first, then picking up a little at a time. Sometimes she'd yelp, sometimes she buried her face in the pillow. But she never made any effort to ward off my blows. I stopped when her back and buttocks were a pale, but even shade of pink.
"Had enough?"
"You mean that's...the best you can do?" she shot out teasingly while catching her breath.
"O.K. doll. You asked for it. Nobody talks to me like that and gets away with it," I said firmly, but not as gruffly as earlier comments. "Turn over!"
She didn't realize what that would mean until she was on her back. I patted her breasts with my hand.
Maybe you'll feel it more here and learn your lesson," I barked.
"Please," she said softly, but making no effort to stop me.
After 8 to 10 light strokes with the belt, her breasts were criss-crossed with subtle pink stripes and both nipples erect. She hadn't uttered a sound.
"Well, if you didn't feel that, we'll try something else. Spread your legs!"
"No!" she blurted, realizing the predicament she was in.
I lightly struck her there with the belt. She (instinctively or intentionally?) covered herself with her hands.
"You better move those hands unless you want them aching too, lady." She put her arms at her sides, but she'd let her legs close up a little.
"Spread those legs, girl.” She moved them about an inch or two. “Wider!" I barked. She obeyed.
Every stroke I gave her, she yelped. I couldn’t tell if it was the pain she expected to feel, or the little pain she felt. But I picked up on that, too. "Look, girl. One minute you don't utter a sound, now you're yelping like a puppy. Let's just see what kinda willpower you've got. I'm gonna let you have it down there 3 times in a row. And I don't wanna hear a peep outta you. Got it?"
She nodded. She also yelped on the second stroke.
"Looks like we gotta start over, doll." The disappointed look on her face was ideal. I remembered that weekend of "split personalities", and thought, "she's one hell of an actress." She’d done so well that weekend that even I’d started to think it had become real. "Try and get it right this time!" I barked.
I gave her the three strokes. She stifled a yelp on the last one, lips closed. But it was audible. "Too bad, lady. Now we're gonna keep this up till you get it right. And each time hasta be harder 'cos it's gotta be getting sore down there." I patted her there with my hand. "Here goes."
Three more strokes. She gritted her teeth, but didn't make a sound. "Congratulations, girl! You made it. Learned your lesson yet?" She nodded.
I went to the edge of the bed. "Know somethin' else, girl?"
"What?" she asked, still “scared” as she was catching her breath.
"Maybe you learned your lesson, but I'm gonna make sure you remember it!" I took my clothes off and climbed on the bed. "Spread those legs, lady!"
"You're going to...?"
"You got it."
"But it's... sore. From the belt." She playfully covered herself. That gave me the open-ing I was looking for. I could finally use that clothesline like she wanted. I got down off the bed and retrieved it. She started to get off the bed as I returned.
"Lay back down and stay there!" I ordered. She quickly did as she was told. I pro-ceeded to tie her hands to the corners of the headboard. Then I brought her legs up in the air and ran clothesline from her ankles to the headboard corners, with her knees bent. That gave me open access to her and she couldn't do a thing about it. I climbed back onto the bed.
"I'm helpless," she wailed, starting to smile.
I reached between her legs, pinching a piece of her moist, pink flesh between the fin-gernails of my thumb and forefinger.
"You beast!" she yelped.
Unable to wait any linger, I mounted her. The medication had been overcome, and she thrashed excitedly as far as her bonds would allow.
A little later, as we finished, I suddenly had an idea I'd never had the nerve to use be-fore. But now I did, and she'd been saying she wanted something different. It was at that mo-ment that she had her first experience with oral sex. What I don't think she realized, on ac-count of the excitement of the situation, was that it was my first time, too. I quickly realized that I enjoyed her flavor, and planned on doing that fairly often in the future. It seemed strange at times, but she was happy, and that’s what mattered.

As the year progressed, so did the unusual bedroom activities, and that strange situa-tion at the office began to unfold.
By mid July, the other two employees of the Systems and Programming department had quit. Patricia, the other Programmer/Analyst, had moved out of state, to New York, and Rick, the manager, had no problem finding another local position. Four months' total experience on that particular make of machinery (it was, and still is, my only experience in a non-IBM shop – JAW 9/1/99), and there I was left to run the show. It was a good feeling, but I knew I couldn't handle it. And I didn't want to get fired again.
What really made me suspicious, though, was that six weeks later, toward the end of August, both jobs were still unfilled. Somewhat typically, I guess, I found myself thinking, "There must be something wrong with the positions, the salaries, or the company itself that keeps people from taking the jobs. (Or that V.P. doesn’t know enough about the positions and D.P. at large and it’s obvious to applicants, so they decline? – JAW 9/1/99) And I don't need a sinking ship." I decided to get out. But where to?
At home, things were also continuing to pick up tempo. Now, she wanted the light physical abuse even if it didn’t end in making love. And there were times when I began initi-ating it because I wanted to do it. Something bothered me about that one, but I couldn't help myself. Between the two of us we managed to come up with enough new ideas and variations to make her happy.
Something should have told me that all this didn't fit in with the fact that we had been Baptized in the Spirit, but I didn't see it. (Looking back, I don't know if I just chalked it up to the fact that the closer we got to God, the harder Satan worked to pull us back, or whether I was simply blinded to it. Either way, it got past me.)
Since I'd decided I had to get out of that solo programming situation, and I had no jobs lined up, I got gutsy, and decided to try my hand at doing the piano work full time. The idea had been kicking around in my head for some time, and had been reinforced by comments from a number a people concerning how well they thought I could handle it. So, having no capital and no location, I made phone calls.
I got a real estate friend, Judie Krody, to locate a storefront shop for me that seemed feasible. I’d repaired a Recordo upright expression player for her that she and her husband Bob had purchased about 3 years ago, in late ‘74. With the quality of the work she’d seen on that repair job, she, too thought the shop was a great idea and was more than happy to help.
I remembered a friend from church, Cathy Lamb, who had said she'd love to do the bookkeeping for me if I ever tried the shop. So we got together, ironed out the details of a business partnership, and she set the technical wheels in motion.
I got an advance on the two jobs I had just started, and Cathy and I set up a budget we hoped would hold out until the first couple jobs were turned around.
I called a piano dealer friend of mine, Earl Pollitt. He was one of those who had sug-gested the shop long ago. I arranged to take on a couple jobs a little simpler than those first couple, so we could speed up the initial cash flow, and he could get something restored to a saleable condition to compliment his newer sales lines at his Valley Gem piano shops in Georgetown and Ripley, Ohio.
Finally, in October, 1977, "The Piano Man" was off and running. During our first month, we found ourselves confronted with the age-old business problem: can't improve job throughput/cash flow without more workers, but can't afford the workers without the im-proved cash flow. We decided we had to break that circle.
Late in October we hired another church friend, Linda Bickleman, to help the situa-tion. Linda B. and Cathy both had a beautiful knack for the detailed work involved. Their first efforts, under my tutoring, were virtually as flawless as results my father and I were obtaining after all our years of effort and learning.

On extremely rare occasions a seizure brought with it unexpected, sometimes humorous, but always unusual “side effects”, including one or two with a positive twist to them.
One of the service calls we got that first month the shop was open was
what I would consider typical of what I anticipated getting.
“Jim, if it’s OK with you I’d like to ride along with you on this one. I’d like to see what you do to check this stuff out.”
“Sure, honey. I wouldn’t mind the company, either,” I said smiling.
“Oh, YOU!” she laughed, punching me with what had now become “the proverbial elbow”. She’d been doing that to me every time I even slightly embarrassed her with a remark that was even remotely intimate since we’d met. It got to the point where I would have been disappointed if she hadn’t done it. We got in the car and headed out. It was about 45 minutes into Kentucky.
Upon arrival, we were warmly greeted by the lady of the house and shown to the basement recreation room where the piano was ready and waiting for inspection.
The customer complaint was typical: “It played fine all summer, but when we turned the furnace on this fall it quit in about a week. You have to pump the pedals so fast that you wear your-self out.”
Linda and I looked at each other and exchanged Mona Lisa smiles. We knew, but we wanted to confirm our suspicions before committing ourselves. Minutes later the cover panels were removed and I had run the thing through a few basic maneuvers.
“Lin, honey, stand behind me and hold onto the bench, will you? I keep sliding back away from the piano on this tile floor.”
“I noticed that, Jim,” she chuckled as she got into position, her hands holding the back of the high-backed, special design bench on which I sat. I resumed my playing.
About a minute or so had elapsed when I felt the right side of the bench pulling right up off the floor, leaning me well to my left. “Hey, Squeek, what’re you trying to do, dump me on the floor?” I asked affectionately. She always liked to pick the unexpected times to tease me.
No answer.
I stood up and turned around to see what she was up to. She had gone into a seizure. Some-how (we never did figure this one out) her mind always knew whether she was in a public or pri-vate place. “Private”, to her mind, for purposes of seizures only, was our home or a relative’s home. “Public” was anywhere else, like here. In public, she never let out that yell. Only in a family mem-ber’s home. All of her other reactions and motions were the same at all times. She had had an iron grip on that bench when she was upright. But then I stood up and turned around. With no resistance to her motion now, she immediately went toward the floor, flipping the bench as she fell. Only be-cause of the angle of the bench to her body was it wrestled from that vice grip of hers.
I managed to grab her as she fell, and ease her to the floor so she didn’t pound her head too hard. As Linda continued to move about, the lady said she appreciated my calm manner, and asked me about the situation.
“Is she having an epileptic seizure?”
“Yes, she is,” I said in a calm, routine tone.
“How long will she be like that?”
“Just a few seconds, maybe a minute.” About 15-20 seconds after I said that, Linda went into “Phase II”. The lady and I got her up into a lounge chair, and as she slept it off, I went back to the piano and resumed answering her questions about Linda at the same time. “I’m not being insen-sitive,” I explained. “The best thing is to let her go through it and wake up naturally. If we tried to bring her out of it early, it would double the size of her headache. I’ve just learned some “tricks” of that trade over the years, too.”
“I understand,” our hostess said, warmly. “How long will she sleep?”
“Maybe about 10 minutes or so. I’m sorry it startled you.”
“No, that’s all right. I hope you don’t mind my questions.”
“No, not at all. It’s a nice chance to help others understand.”
“Does she work with you in the shop?”
“Yes, and she’s also my wife.” I smiled inside. “Even after all these years it still feels good to say that. I’m still proud to have her by my side,” I said to myself. “I should tell her that when she wakes up. She knows how I feel but I haven’t thought to say it that way in quite a while.”
“Oh! That would explain your calm actions. You’ve been through this a lot?”
“Not as much as you might expect. She’s only having about 3 of them a year right now.”
“How long have you been married?”
“9 years this year.”
“Did she have it when you met?”
“Yes.”
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d like to know. Did you know about it before you asked her to marry you?”
“Yes, I did, and as you can see it didn’t change my mind,” I said, knowing that would be the next question. I knew it would also prompt other questions, and I wanted the chance to enlighten her. Then she could tell others. Even if it was done out of curiosity, the word would slowly spread that there is no reason to fear someone who is an epileptic.
“That’s why I was wondering, yes. Um… didn’t it bother you at first?”
“Sure, because it wasn’t familiar to me. We all fear things we don’t understand; we all fear the unknown. But sometimes to get what we really want we have to face those fears head on. I knew little to nothing about epilepsy when she told me she had it, yet the moment she told me I also knew I loved her too much to let something like that change what I felt. That I wasn’t going to give up the one I had fallen in love with just because she had a medical problem. That’s not love; that’s running away. I was just going to have to learn to handle it; and I did,” I said calmly, finish-ing the piano repair at the same moment. I started pumping again to check it out, and it worked fine. I continued pumping to make sure. “And surprisingly, it’s not as scary or fearsome as people have been led to believe,” I continued. “That’s why I don’t mind answering your questions. It’s a chance to let people know that it’s not something to be afraid of.”
“I think she’s coming to,” the lady said. “Can I get her anything?”
“Three aspirin would help if you have them,” I said as I walked over and knelt by the lounge chair. I began stroking her head, explaining why as I went about the effort. Minutes later her eyes opened. They were expressionless, as usual, but this time she looked over, right at me. She had already noticed nothing around her looked familiar. I could tell. The look on her face was, “Where am I? What happened?” I kissed her wet lips. I didn’t hold it long because her breathing would take a minute to clear. But I made sure she felt it.
She smiled, as best she could. As many years as we’d been together, and as many times as I’d seen her come out of a seizure, I knew all the feeling of love, affection and appreciation that was behind that weak, little, lovable smile. And I let her know that I knew. She closed her eyes and dozed for a couple minutes. Then she started coming out of it, her speech very slurred as usual.
“Jim?!”
“Right here, sweetheart.” I kissed her again.
“Where are we?”
“On a service call in Kentucky.”
“Oh, yeah.”
I picked up the aspirin and the glass. She was conscious enough to handle ‘em now. “Here, honey. Got the aspirin ready and waiting for you.” She took the aspirin. I helped her guide the glass. She was using two hands, but she still had to deal with the lack of detailed muscle control. I sat the glass on the table next to her chair.
“Thanks. Ouch. Did it again, right?” Out came the tongue.
“Yep.”
“Darn.”
“You just rest there while I finish checking out the piano, then we’ll head home.”
“Okay. Sorry to be such a problem.”
“Hey – cut that out!” I lovingly barked. “You could never be a problem and you know it,” I said, smiling and kissing her again.
“No problem at all,” our hostess added. “I’m just glad you’re O.K.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you mind if we waited about another ten minutes before leaving? It will be a little bit before she’s coordinated enough to walk easily.”
“No, not at all. Would you mind another question or two?”
“No, not a problem,” I said as I smiled at Linda. She smiled back. I knew she could hear the conversation and just didn’t want to embarrass herself by trying to talk too much yet. She would need that long sleep before she’d have her speech back without sounding drunk.
“Is what I just saw her go through one of those ‘grand mal’ seizures, or a smaller one?
“Nope, that was grand mal, alright,” I said calmly.
“Well, then, you’re right. It wasn’t as scary as I’d thought it would be from all the talk you hear about those things. It wasn’t even very violent, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t,” I agreed. “Now not every epileptic that has grand mal seizures is going to go through the same type of motions, but regardless of that the basic idea is still the same. Follow me?”
“Yes, I do. Does the medication I’ve heard about help control the seizures?”
“Yes, it does. Dosage and effectiveness will vary between the individuals involved, and has to be closely gauged to each individual’s body weight, but the vast majority of epileptics do benefit very much from the medication.”
“Has she ever had a job of her own?”
“Definitely. A number of them, because it took her a while to find an employer who wasn’t harboring ‘old wives’ tales’, if you’ll pardon the expression, and being prejudiced about the prob-lem. The first two or three jobs she had she lost as soon as she had a seizure at work. Naturally, they claimed that wasn’t the reason. Her most recent job, however, was a joy to both her and her boss. She liked the job and he liked her work. She was a secretary for a publishing company. It’s definitely good to hire an epileptic because they’ll have a serious dedication to their job that some more typical people, like you and I, may or may not have. Their job is important to them, and their seizures don’t take that much time away from their work. Problem is, there are still far too many businesses who don’t give them the chance.”
“Then why did she leave that last job?”
I looked lovingly at Linda and smiled. Still looking at her, I responded, “She did that for me.” Linda smiled. “Not because I’d asked her to, though. I admitted to her that I was concerned about the possibility of a seizure happening at the times she was between home and work, but then she told me that she didn’t really want to work any more. That she wanted to be home to make the best possible home for me that she could. I think maybe I need to explain one other thing for you to fully appreciate that statement. We were high school sweethearts, and I was the first guy to even give her a ‘second look’, if you know what I mean. As soon as we admitted we loved each other, and I asked her to marry me, she became fully committed to the relationship. She’s told me much more than once since that time that she will always be that devoted to me because it’s her way of thanking me for caring enough to love her in spite of the seizures. So, when she said she wanted to concentrate on making a home for me, and for us, I had to let her.” I lovingly looked at Lin again and smiled.
“Thank you, honey,” she said quietly, but audibly. Her voice was still a little slurred but not as much as earlier. “I love you, Jim,” she finished slowly, watching her pronunciation, and smiled.
“You know you don’t have to thank me, sweetheart,” I said warmly. “And another thing, darling,” I continued, not taking my loving eyes from hers, “I want to tell you something I should have said far more often before now. I thought of it again while the two of us were talking while you slept a bit ago. Linda, darling, even after nine years of marriage, I want you to know that I am still very, very proud to have you by my side as my wife. I love you.” I saw the tears building in her eyes, so I leaned down and kissed her.
“Thank you, Jim!” she said haltingly, but with the love obvious in her voice as she fought the slurred speech and the tears at the same time. I kissed her again and she just quietly smiled at me with that look of love she’d had the night of The Play. (Yes, “The Play”. That was our name for that special night when she found out I wasn’t going to walk away and leave her behind like all the others.) Even if I hadn’t been sure yet that she understood, that special look in her eyes told me I’d gotten my point across and had left no room for doubt. I smiled back at her.
“I see what you mean,” said our hostess as she fought to keep control of her own emotions after seeing and hearing our exchange. She finally succeeded. She began again. “I’m sorry. Umm… I think what you two obviously have between you is priceless. Don’t ever lose that. Um… I see what you mean, though. About the seizures, because I noticed her speech, and about the way she feels about you. That’s showing in her face, and in her eyes,” our hostess finished warmly. “Would you mind if I told a few others about you two and our discussion today?”
“Please do,” I said calmly. “As I said about answering your questions, I don’t mind because it’s a chance to help others understand. Feel free to tell anyone you like about this. It can only help. Just be prepared for an unexpected reaction from some people. There are still far too many out there who are prejudiced and won’t give epileptics a chance.”
“I will. Thanks for the warning. I may just find out from this who my real friends are. And I’m beginning to think that’s something I’d want to know anyway. I may even have an idea who one or two of ‘those people’ might be.”
“How do you feel, honey?”
“Pretty good now.” I noticed her speech was even clearer now, but still noticeable. She continued: “You know, Jim, I heard everything that went on during the seizure. I heard you ex-plaining to her about how I’d come out of it O.K. and what to expect and all that. That’s never hap-pened before. I tried to tell you when I first woke up but I couldn’t get my mouth to work.”
“Never happened at all before, huh?”
“Nope. That’s a funny feeling. Taking in everything around me and yet unable to respond to it, no matter how hard I tried.”
“Maybe we better tell Dr. Cardosi about this. It may help in some way.”
“Yeah. It sure can’t hurt anything.”
“Think you can walk OK, honey?” I asked.
“Yep,” she said, smiling. “You might have to steady me a little though, honey.”
“Sweetheart, as you’ve known for the last nine years, I don’t mind it one bit, because I like to be needed, and with you there’s no question about that,” I said as I helped her up from the lounge chair. The three of us walked to the door. My arm was around Linda’s waist at all times, and she leaned on me for balance since she hadn’t yet had that long sleep.
“Thanks for the repair job, and the education. What do I owe you?” our hostess asked.
“Let’s make it $40 even, I said. I’ll throw in a discount for your gracious hospitality.”
“It’s money well spent,” she said as she handed me two $20 bills. “In more ways than one. My thanks to both of you,” she said, smiling, as we walked to the car.
“You’re quite welcome, I said. “Thanks for asking the questions.”
“No problem,” she said. “Can I call you if I have other questions about this?”
“You certainly can,” I called back as I held the car door for Lin to get in. “It would be a pleasure to answer any question you have.” I saw her smile at us as we backed out of her driveway and headed back to the shop. Linda had used the seat belt in the center of the seat so she could lay her head on my shoulder as we rode. She was asleep by the time we got there. (This was before the seat belt laws; she used it to help keep herself from having problems staying in a sitting position on turns, or leaning too far forward if I had to hit the brakes. She didn’t have enough muscle control back yet to be certain she could handle those moments unassisted.) When we arrived, I spread out one of our cushioned mattresses we used when we were laying underneath a baby grand, and she slept on that for the next couple hours or so, then was back working with Linda Bickleman, Cathy and I for the rest of that day.

By mid-November, we had completed two restorations. Unfortunately they were not the two major ones we had started with. One was one of the "simpler" players we arranged to restore for my dealer friend, Earl. The other was for him as well, but it was a "straight" (non-player) grand, and the restoration was simply the soundboard, plate and strings. But it was money. On another front, Earl had been delighted with the player restoration, the piano played beautifully. Nonetheless, he became quite skeptical when he discovered that I had not done this restoration myself. Dad and I had done work for him in the past, and he knew our quality. I thought he'd trust my ability to over-see the operation. He loved the piano's performance, but would never lose his skepticism about someone else physically doing the work.
Also about mid November, Cathy was not getting along with her parents at all, so she moved into the back of the shop. Army cot, chest of drawers, and all. It got kind of chilly in there at night, but she still wouldn't stay at home. Not that I could blame her, after what I'd been through with my parents over Linda.
Late that same month, our oil furnace at the shop quit. We discovered it would be the next day before we could get service. Result? Linda B. and Cathy were working with the hot animal glue as rapidly as possible without sacrificing quality. And my Linda was busily removing old tuning pins from a straight upright of Earl's, in preparation for re-stringing, using a brace and bit. And all of us wearing winter coats and gloves, inside. It was 20 degrees in the place. We had to look ridiculous to passersby (our storefront included 2 huge picture windows).
From the onset, the only music I would allow to be played in the shop was Country-Western. Except for the players, naturally. I think, looking back, it was because it was my favorite, was relaxing to me, and I needed that relaxing effect more and more as time passed and our finan-cial stability began to wane. And everything Linda and I had was riding on this.

About mid December, Linda asked me if I’d ever thought about becoming a Mason. She said that the Eastern Star is basically the women’s side of the Masonic fraternity and that she felt I’d really enjoy it because the whole organization is based on biblical principles and events as well as humanitarian things like the Golden Rule. She used that as an easy example, she said. Her East-ern Star membership had been possible because her dad had been a Mason for a long, long time, and to join the Star you have to have a close relative who’s a Mason. She asked me to think about it, and said that if I had any questions I could ask dad at any time.
It didn’t take long for me to realize that if I was going to make a fair decision on the question, that I would have to talk to dad and get more details on what goes on in the meetings, etc. So, about 10 days before Christmas, I asked dad to sit down with me and answer some questions. The next night, while mom, Cork and Linda were out Christmas shopping, we sat down at the bar and got down to business.
“Dad, what’s the basic idea behind the Masons?”
“Well, Jim, it’s to teach men how to apply things like respect, self discipline, and other positive attitudes to our daily lives to help us become better men for it. But it also helps us keep focused on God so we have far less a chance of going down the wrong road at some point in our lives.
“Originally, when Masonry was founded, over 3000 years ago, it also
taught young men things they would need to support themselves and their families. There were no organized schools then, so the Masons taught Geometry and other mathematics as well as carpentry and actual masonry work, hence the name of the organization. Today, we use elements of those teachings, such as the square and compass, to symbolically guide ourselves in our efforts to become better individuals.”
“That explains the square and compass I see on the lodges that we pass on the road, right?”
“Right.”
“What denominations are welcome to join?”
“Any and all men are welcome as long as their belief is in one God, not multiple deities.”
“What are the meetings like?”
“Well, they are times of ritualistic work that are biblically based and used as a means to convey the principles I mentioned earlier, along with a few others, to new members who are just joining us. I think you would find the meetings very interesting, Jim. Since it is ritual work, it’s re-petitive, but there are at least two challenges to it, if not more. One is to make your delivery of the ritual as meaningful as possible for the new member since it’s also intended as something of an education, and the other, to me, is to get the words of the ritual down pat and letter perfect. I think you’d enjoy the ritual work, Jim and find it very rewarding. That last challenge I mentioned, getting things letter perfect, is enhanced by the fact that our ritual is not done in today’s English. It’s done in the English of 3000 years ago, in a sense. Let me put it this way as just an example. You could say it’s closer to Shakespeare’s English or that of King Arthur than it is to what we’re saying now. It’s a bit tougher to do, but it makes the meaning of what we’re trying to teach even more meaning-ful. And as sensitive a person as you are, I think you would thoroughly enjoy getting involved with the ritual work, which is 90% of what we do. The other 10% is the regular monthly business meet-ing to pay the bills, like any organization has to do,” he finished, smiling.
“If I decide to join, what happens then?”
“I’d give you a petition to fill out, and turn it in to our lodge at the next business meeting. It has to be signed by three currently active members who support your admission, but in your case that’s not a problem. I’ll be more than happy to sign, and I can introduce you to a couple others that live nearby. Once they’ve met you, and with my recommendation, I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to sign. That petition would then be read in the lodge and referred to a committee of 3 mem-bers who would make arrangements to come talk to you, and Linda about the organization, explain things in more detail, and find out how Linda would feel about you joining. We already know how she feels, but the committee needs to make sure for themselves. The organization is not intended to create a problem for any family. To the contrary, it’s intended to help make families stronger by providing the man of the house with a better feeling about himself and his ability to handle crises that arise, than he had before he joined, and to help him stay focused on God for help in leading his family. So the committee will want to make sure that no tension is created between him and his family by his joining. His wife must be totally supportive and understand that he’s not just “going out with the guys” on meeting nights.
“The committee will then check the references on your petition to determine an opinion of your character as an individual, your ethics, and so on, to help decide if you are the type of person we think would be an asset to the organization as well as one who would benefit from the experi-ence.
“Then, at the next business meeting after they’ve done their work, the committee will make a recommendation to the membership as to whether or not you should be admitted. The member-ship in attendance that night will then vote by secret ballot on your petition. The vote to admit you must be unanimous, but any member attending that night that does not know you personally, is ob-ligated to vote in your favor.
“If your petition is accepted, you’ll be contacted to arrange a Wednesday night when you can be available to participate in the first of 3 degrees that you must take to become a full member of the lodge. After each degree you’ll be given a booklet that you and I can go over to help you pre-pare for an oral test you have to take on that degree before you can receive the next degree. The oral test is done on each of the three degrees. These degrees are the meetings I mentioned earlier where the ritual work is done in the old English, and are very exciting times. Once you pass the test after the 3rd degree and pay your first year’s dues, you’re in.”
“Thanks, dad. Let me think about it a little and I’ll let you know.”
“Sure, Jim. Take your time. It’s an important decision. There’s no time limit, so take as long as you like, and if you have any more questions, let me know.”
“I’ll do that, dad.”

Two more times before the end of December, I sat down with dad and discussed things with him about the lodge. Things like the fact that these three degrees I’d be taking, while being the ba-sic ones (there were actually a total of 32 degrees I could go through, as he had), they were also the most important and meaningful. The others were based on these three, and involved related organi-zations such as the Scottish Rite, York Rite and the Shriners. There is a 33rd degree, but to receive that one the process is not voluntary. A 32nd degree Mason may only receive that degree if he is voted to receive it by a panel of his peers. Having known George quite intimately as the father I never had, and having had that relationship with him for ten years now, there was no doubt in my mind that this man deserves that 33rd degree. I have known what kind of man he is for ten years, and my opinion hasn't’ wavered.

As the year drew to a close, so did the shop. In the end, three factors combined to kill it. Lack of capital (and the resulting cash flow problem), winter weather (resulting in a lack of walk-in customers and hampered delivery of many parts), and a back order on vital parts for those two ma-jor projects, which ultimately was to stretch to 6 months. My mother, of course, blamed Cathy for the shop’s demise, saying she’d been “taking money off the top”. But mom had admitted from the beginning that she didn’t like Cathy, and she had never seen the books from the shop to back up her claim. Yet her opinion on the failure of the shop never wavered. At year’s end, Cathy moved in with Linda and I, and we closed "The Piano Man", and it's chapter in our lives.


This work is taken from “A Once In A Lifetime Love: An Autobiography of Two High School Sweethearts”, copyright 2000, as yet unpublished, by the same author.