Through My Eyes

By William Goddard

This is a personal reflection of a life that began during the Great Depression in Texas and that lived during the turbulent years of World War II, the Korean War, and the Cold War. This is about the years in which he recounts events that shaped and changed his life. It is a testament to Gods grace and intervention in the affairs of his own life as he recalls both people and places. He tells the story through his eyes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543436716

William Goddard

Dr William H. Goddard is a retired American Baptist pastor living in Alhambra, California. He was married to his wife Beverly for 60 years before her death in 2014. He is the proud father of two daughters, Sheryl Goddard-Cooper and Shauna Goddard-Barger, five grandchildren and two great-grandsons. He served four years in the United States Air Force during the Korean War. A graduate of Denver University with a BA degree, two Masters degrees from Yale Divinity School, and a Doctor of Ministry degree from McCormick Theological Seminary, he has authored three books: "Wonderful Words of Life", "The Seven Voices of God" and "Just Say The Words". He has pastored churches in Illinois and California,

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

WITH EYES WIDE OPEN

I OPENED MY EYES at birth in November, 1933 in Waco, Texas, I was the fourth of five children born to Austin and Oma Goddard, he a Texan by birth and a Baptist by conviction; she from Alabama, a gentle spirit with a Methodist mentality. They did not always agree, but tried to be agreeable when possible, and to keep their disagreements from the children.

My father was born in 1895 and served in the Army during the first World War. He was a wagon driver for ammunition delivery in France. He was a victim of German Mustard Gas which caused his lungs to be burned. He spent several weeks at a time in the Veterans Hospital near Waco where I remember, from early childhood, mother taking me to visit.

Roy, the first born was 14 at the time of my birth, Edith, the only girl was 12 and Jack was 10. My younger brother, Jim, would be born 5 years later.

How did you get that scar on your upper lip? was a question I was often asked through my early years as a child. My sister felt responsible for that scar, and told me the story. I was 12 months old and had just learned to walk. My sister who had been appointed to watch over me had taken one of mother’s Lipton Tea cans, removed the lid and filled the can with buttons and replaced the lid. We would roll the can back and forth on the front porch of our house which had four steps down to the ground.

I rolled the can toward my sister, but it took a turn, bounced down the steps and landed on the walk. The top had come off in the bounce. Before my sister could respond, I raced for the can, tumbled down the steps and landed face first on the sharp edge of the button can. My lip was severed with only a thin strip of skin attached my upper lip to my face. I was taken to the doctor who, I am told, while staunching the blood observed that, If I stitch the lip back on, as he grows older, his lip will be distorted. He secured my lip with adhesive tape. My scar to this day is a reminder to me to slow down my quick response, and to watch where I am going.

My earliest memory is as a three year old, being held in someone’s arms as we were part of a line of people walking past an open window of a bakery. One of my parents had a burlap bag into which a loaf of bread was dumped by someone in the window, after the paper in which the bread was wrapped was broken. This was near the end of the Great Depression. The breaking of the wrap was to prevent the bread from being sold.

I learned later from my sister that we were poor. Before I was born our father had owned his own Dry Cleaning business. There was a house, automobiles and delivery trucks. This was in Alabama. When the stock market crashed, debts were called in, the house, business, cars and trucks were all lost.

Roy, Edith and Jack were placed with three of mothers sisters who lived in Alabama. Mother and father moved to Texas to be near to father’s family, and where he had a job offer. Three years before I was born, my siblings joined our mother and father in Waco, Texas.

My next memory is as a five year old in kindergarten. My lip had healed and there must have been money to buy food as we were coming out of the depression. My father’s Baptist convictions influenced my sister to attend the local church which had an active youth group. She would take me to the Kindergarten class while she joined her friends for Bible study and worship.

One memorable Sunday i must have said something untoward to a couple of big first graders. One of them whispered to me, When this class is over, we are going to get you. Even at that early age I could recognize the seriousness of that threat. Before the class was dismissed I raced out the door and into the hall.

The two big first graders followed after me. Running down the hall I turned the corner; they were close behind. Another corner, they were still coming. I saw a flight of steps ahead and dashed up them. One of the boys stayed at the bottom of the stairs, the other I did not see. I then noticed that I was standing in a concrete platform with another set of stairs going down; the other boy was at the bottom of those steps. I looked for any means of escape. Behind me was a wall with a large Cross, before me was a pair of red drapes. My only hope. I pushed aside the drapes and immediately heard a gasp from a room full of people.

I was standing in the baptistry of this Baptist Church during the worship hour, my sister sat next to her friends with a look of disbelief on her face, the pastor turned toward me with a look of… I am not sure what his look meant… but I recognized him as my only source of help. So, I shouted: Brother Boswell, Brother Boswell, save me, save me! My sister covered her face, the two big first graders disappeared just as a large man lifted me up, closed the drapes, pulled me up to look me square in the eyes and said, Boy, I know your parents.

Soon after this my family moved from Texas to Alabama.

CHAPTER TWO

GROWING UP DURING WAR TIME

T HE MOVE FROM Texas to Alabama was on Halloween night, 1939, sitting in the back of a pickup truck with my 16 year old brother Jack, while mother and father were in the front with Jimmy, almost a year old, sitting on mother’s lap. Jack and I were seated on top of all our luggage. Jack threw fire crackers from the truck as we left Waco.

I remember tears from my eyes which were a mixture of a feeling of loss, aided by the sting of the October wind as I clung to a bundle of clothes, looking back with longing for the only life I knew and headed to a future with a promise of meeting new relatives and living in Birmingham where my father would be manager of a business with which he was familiar.

The next day, and 677 miles later, I was told to Look up, Billy, that is a statue of Vulcan, the god of steel which towers over Birmingham. It was an imposing figure which was a landmark for entering the city where steel mills were running day and night. The smoke from the blast furnaces became a constant companion as well as a health hazard.

The price of progress.

My oldest brother Roy had joined the Navy. My sister Edith had taken the bus to Birmingham to live with our Aunt and find a job.

We moved into a house in Central Park, a suburb of Birmingham a few blocks from Bessemer Blvd. where street cars made the trip from the West End to downtown in 15 minutes. I made friends, tormented my younger brother and started school after Thanksgiving, 1939.

My first lesson in life was learned in that school. It was time for recess and the teacher instructed the girls to go to the play ground, the boys were dismissed to the ball field. As we filed out the door the teacher stopped me, handed me a football with these instructions:

Billy, you are in charge of the football. Choose up sides and play touch football only, no tackling. Remember, no tackling.

No way for me to misunderstand those directions. However, I was in charge (she said so) and I was the new kid from Texas. No sissies there!

After choosing sides I announced (since I was in charge) What are we, babies? Let’s play tackle football. Our side kicked the ball, the biggest fellow on the other side caught it and started running toward us. Tackle him, tackle him, said I. No, you tackle him. You are the one who wanted to play tackle football. No coward was I. As he ran by me, I reached out and caught him by his ankle. The heel of his shoe hit my mouth (right under my scarred lip) and chipped a tooth on my lower jaw.

Over the intervening years I have had several dentists offer to fix that chipped tooth. I have always refused. Each day I run my tongue over that tooth as a constant reminder to follow instructions and be obedient. My mouth has caused me some trouble over