Mentors' Glory

By Lorraine M. Plante and David E. Plante

Ones teen years are often difficult. And when a teenager leaves homeno matter the reasonit can be more than difficult. It can be dangerous.

In Mentors Glory, fifteen-year-old Jacob leaves his home in Rochester, New Hampshire, in 1957 to find summer employment. Authors David E. Plante and Lorraine M. Plante take readers on Jacobs journey as he hitchhikes down the Eastern Seaboard. Hitching rides make Jacob a conspicuous target for the perverted, and an incident in Georgia almost leads to more than he can handle. He survives the summer adventure only because his protector, Christ, is actively involved in his life and provides Jacob with mentors to guide and help him in spite of his navet. As he matures from an independent and strongwilled teenager to a young man with a family, Jacob once again finds himselfthis time with family in towon the road, looking for a job.

Mentors Glory, the sequel to Kids Dont Build Boats, tells the real-life story of a young man in search of himself. While he faces danger along the way, Jacob is confident of his safety because he relies on Gods promise to never leave nor forsake him. Included in Gods special gift s to Jacob are timely mentors who provide sanctuaries, employment, and advice as he continues his search for a meaningful, productive life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Nov 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490899442

Lorraine M. Plante

David and Lorraine Plante are married and have been Christians for many years. They both have work experience in corporate America—David in finance and banking and Lorraine in the legal field. David received his BS degree in business management. They currently reside in Florida. This is their first novel.

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Copyright © 2015 David E. Plante with Lorraine M. Plante.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

WestBow Press

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4908-9943-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-9945-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-9944-2 (e)

WestBow Press rev. date: 10/26/2015

Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chapter 1 Kitty

Chapter 2 Danvers

Chapter 3 Head Down

Chapter 4 Watch Where You Sleep

Chapter 5 His Gift

Chapter 6 A Guest

Chapter 7 Reentry

Chapter 8 The Deal

Chapter 9 Discipline

Chapter 10 Rhode Island

Chapter 11 No Man at All

Chapter 12 Hammer Down

Chapter 13 Smartest Guy

Chapter 14 Stabilizer

Chapter 15 Selection Time

Chapter 16 Final Days

Chapter 17 Shrine Game

Chapter 18 True

Chapter 19 Partner

Chapter 20 Scared

Chapter 21 Juiced

Chapter 22 Fall

Chapter 23 Namoskeag

Chapter 24 My Turn

Chapter 25 Finally

Chapter 26 Symptoms

Chapter 27 It’s Over!

Chapter 28 A Speck of Light

Afterword

Music

Notes

Lorraine and I dedicate this book to the memory of

my loving grandmother—Sarah May Littlefield.

Grammy Littlefield’s life, from as far back as we can remember, was focused on doing things for others. When she wasn’t caring for others, she was making clothes for them. When she wasn’t cooking for others, she was writing notes to encourage them. When she wasn’t caring for her disabled brother, she was praying for those she couldn’t help. Her passion was helping and praying.

The Word tells us that we will know God’s children by their fruits. We remember Grammy as a model of what we believe the Lord wants his children to be.

The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.

— Pastor Jim McCarty

Acknowledgments

Looking for help was never Jacob’s strong suit. His preference was to do it alone and in his own time. It didn’t take long for him to realize that success doesn’t usually follow the wolf that hunts alone. Therefore, it is important to acknowledge and thank those mentors who, for whatever reason, reached out and made it possible for him, first individually and then with his family, to survive the travels in search of employment and a new home a long ways away from New Hampshire.

In addition, we want to express our thanks to those special people at Westbow whose expertise made it possible to publish this book about those mentors whose efforts made a world of difference in Jacob’s life.

Introduction

Mentors’ Glory is the second book in the series of nonfictional accounts about Jacob who loved his freedom and hated poverty. This book begins with Jacob leaving New Hampshire and hitchhiking down the Eastern Seaboard in search of meaningful summertime employment. His decision to leave home was not made lightly. It was made with the desire to find employment where his true age of fifteen wasn’t known. Jacob knew that it wasn’t going to be easy and that it might be dangerous, so he prepared as well as he could and in faith prayed for and depended on God’s guidance and protection.

Jacob, knowing that he was not created to succeed alone, relied on God’s promise in His Word that He would never leave nor forsake him. Included in God’s special gifts to Jacob were timely mentors who provided sanctuaries, employment, and advice as he continued his search for a meaningful and productive life.

As you read about Jacob’s real-life experiences, we hope you will recognize and appreciate your unique blessings from God, including mentors He sends to help you in your time of need.

Most of the corporate and individual names have been changed to protect their privacy.

CHAPTER 1

Kitty

I t was late in the spring of 1959 when I, Jacob, left my home in Rochester, New Hampshire, and began my road trip in search of full-time summer employment. I was fifteen years old. I knew that safety needed to be my first priority. Having read a lot of newspaper articles, I was aware of the dangers of hitchhiking, but I couldn’t afford any other mode of transportation. I understood that being on the road alone put me in a high-risk environment where I could be seriously injured or killed if I didn’t prepare for the worst.

I thought that I might reduce some of the risk of hitchhiking by making myself appear older than I really was. So when I quietly, without my family’s knowledge, slipped out of the house early Friday morning, I wore a conservative light jacket over a collared short-sleeved shirt, long pants, and a dark baseball cap. I wanted to wear shoes, but I figured sneakers and white socks were best for walking. I also felt that being physically strong and in excellent shape reduced some risk. Nevertheless, I carried a double-bladed pocketknife and an updated address book with all the necessary phone numbers in case of an emergency. I had purchased a map of the New England states and a second one of the entire United States. I hoped I wouldn’t need the latter.

I found that hitchhiking south to Dover and Portsmouth was quick and easy. People on their way to work picked me up. I was past Portsmouth and headed to Massachusetts on Route 1 before I knew it, and I was safely out of New Hampshire before noon.

Boston (about ninety miles south of home) was my first destination. I needed a specific one because everyone who stopped asked me where I was going. Route 1 runs mostly through busy and well-traveled old towns, so I was confident of arriving in Boston by late afternoon. As a Boy Scout, I went to Boston twice to attend professional ball games; I saw both the Boston Braves and the Boston Celtics play.

Resting under a tree off the highway, I thought about my alternatives. It was midday and too late to find a job. I determined I’d have to be either very fortunate or blessed to find a work opportunity on Saturday—other than at a garage or restaurant. I also reasoned that on weekends people are out enjoying themselves, so I wouldn’t look out of place carrying my large gym bag.

I had about fifty dollars on me—a goodly amount—but I decided that I wasn’t going to pay for a motel room until I secured a job. I planned to use public facilities, where available, and sleep wherever I found a safe place.

I got up and hit the road again. In just a few minutes, a middle-aged man dressed in Sunday go-to-meeting clothes and driving a nice car stopped and offered me a ride. He was a salesman and traveled the coast between Boston and Portland. He asked a few questions as we traveled toward Boston. Then he reached over, put his hand on my leg, and suggested I travel with him for the summer. I told him to knock it off.

He said, Sorry, I just thought you might want to have some fun this summer.

Disappointed, I told him to immediately pull over and let me out of the car—which he did.

As I waited for another ride, two young construction-type guys in a pickup truck stopped and offered me a lift. They didn’t ask where I was headed because they were heavily involved in conversation about a party in Danvers. When we stopped at a light, the driver finally asked me where I was headed.

Danvers, I replied.

He asked, Do you want to go to a party?

I told him that it sounded like fun, but I really didn’t have the time because I needed to find a job quickly. I thanked him anyway. They jumped back into conversation about the prior Friday night’s party and the girls who’d attended. They described many of them in detail, including which one they thought was the ugliest. Their descriptions were hilarious; I couldn’t stop laughing. As we neared Danvers, the passenger asked me if I was interested in construction work.

Yes, I am, I responded.

He shared that he’d heard they were looking for help at the construction site of the new J.C. Penney store, which was either in South Danvers or Peabody. He wasn’t sure which town it was actually in. He understood they paid union wages, but the jobs were only temporary. I asked if they would mind dropping me off near there.

I thanked them for their help. As I got out of the truck, I found myself looking up at the new J.C. Penney building. It was beautiful and looked finished on the outside, but loads of construction equipment remained in front of the building, as well as piles of dirt where it appeared the parking area would eventually be.

A sign posted on the fence next to the open gate said Help Wanted. The employment office was in a large green trailer at the back of the property. A sign on the door indicated that the office was open six mornings a week from seven o’clock to ten o’clock and closed on Sundays. It was after four o’clock, but I knocked anyway. There was no answer.

I walked the area and found a small restaurant. After cleaning up in the restroom, I ordered the cheapest supper on the menu—spaghetti. A bulletin board with all kinds of business cards tacked to it hung on the rear wall. Before leaving, I checked it out and noticed some postcard-sized advertisements for rooms to rent and items for sale. I decided that if I was fortunate enough to land a job in the morning, I’d come back and check some of them out.

It was time to find a safe place to sleep, hopefully away from the construction site and near a public restroom where I could clean up. I walked for a long time but didn’t find a park or public restroom facility. So I headed back to the busy restaurant, went inside, sat down in a booth, and ordered a cup of coffee.

As Kitty, the waitress who had served me supper, walked past my booth, she remarked, Couldn’t stay away from me, could you?

You’re right, I responded, smiling. She’d lift anyone’s spirits, I thought. She appeared to me to be in her early thirties. She kept busy, was always ready with extra coffee, and didn’t miss a tip left on a table.

I sat there trying to figure out what to do next. I quietly prayed, Lord, thank you for my safe trip today, but where will I sleep tonight? Please bless my efforts in getting a job in the morning, and please comfort Mom. Even though I left her a note, I know she’s upset by my leaving. Amen. I wanted to call her, but it was too soon.

As I sipped my coffee, Kitty came over and sat down. She inquired, What’s in the bag?

Money, I responded, and we both laughed. Conversation came easily, and I asked if she knew of a safe and inexpensive place where a guy could sleep for one night.

Inside or outside? she queried.

Under the stars, I responded.

She chuckled and then said, Confidentially, the boss keeps an old Ford truck behind the restaurant. If you want to sleep in the cab, I’ll tell him before we close.

Are you serious? I questioned. She nodded her head yes, and I thanked her.

I finished my coffee and left a buck tip on the table. As I headed out the door, I glanced back. She waved and picked up the tip. Right then and there I decided to adopt Kitty as my road mom.

The truck was somewhat hidden under a huge maple tree. It was unlocked and clean. Darkness had set in, and I felt the effects of the long walk. The night air was chilly, so I put on my long-sleeved wool shirt and my jacket. Lying down on the seat with my head on my bag, I tried to sleep. I thought about Mom and the family and wondered if the state police were looking for me. I knew that if they found me this early in the summer that Dad would follow through on his thought of sending me to reform school, so I was determined not to be found.

I also thought about Kitty and her obvious concern for others, which led me to assume that she was part of a loving family. I wondered whether she worshipped the same Lord I did. Would she be working in the morning? I hoped the answer was yes to both questions.

I couldn’t help but reflect on the day, especially on the sales guy and how much he’d disappointed me. I’d heard about perverts but hadn’t expected to be propositioned by one my first day on the road. I took it as a warning and again thanked God for His amazing grace and Kitty’s kindness, and then I remembered Pauline.

* * *

When I was about ten years old, my grandmother had paid the fee for me to attend a boys’ Christian summer camp in Plymouth, New Hampshire. At the same time, girls were camped in a separate area. Every evening, however, the two camps joined in the worship center and listened to guest speakers.

One evening, I was running around the worship center. When I realized the program was about to begin, I raced down the aisle to take a seat and literally ran into a young female counselor, nearly causing the both of us to fall down. She looked about sixteen years old with fairly short hair and summer-tanned skin. She was wearing white Bermuda shorts and a soft, silky blouse, which brushed against me when we collided. I saw her silver bracelet fall to the floor. I tried to pick it up, but someone beat me to it. I was mortified and apologized over and over again; she just blushed. Everyone around us asked if we were okay. I was too concerned about her to answer.

After the service, she came over to where I was sitting. Her eyes seemed to convey much more than her words, I’m sorry, are you okay? I wondered what she was sorry for. I was the one at fault.

She told me her name was Pauline. Every day thereafter, I looked for her at the beach but only saw her once. When I did, I stood out of her sight and just watched her. I felt very dumb. I knew that I had a crush, and it really bugged me! I kept remembering her concerned look and the soft texture of her blouse. I couldn’t sleep or relax. I really hoped it would pass soon. Instead, it was weeks after camp was over before I stopped thinking about her.

At the beginning of that week, I, along with five other guys about my age and two counselors, hiked two medium-sized mountains and stayed overnight in a cabin on one of them. A light fog moved in as we approached the cabin, and I noticed moisture already dripping off the roof. Although a portion of the cabin was built into the mountain, it had sufficient windows, which we quickly opened to let in some fresh air.

After supper, we had our Bible study and prayer time and then prepared to bed down, but I wasn’t able to sleep. I felt a little lightheaded from the high altitude, so I got up and sat alone in the dark near the window and enjoyed the light breeze as it passed though. I not only heard the crickets but birds as well. That’s an unusual night sound, I thought. The fog eventually passed and the sky cleared. Sleep continued to escape me. So, starring up at the stars, I looked for Orion and the various constellations.

I felt closer to God at that elevation, even though I knew it was the Holy Spirit that filled my heart. For a moment, I understood why people loved living in the mountains. Eventually, I crawled into bed; but before falling asleep, I visualized Pauline standing by the lake. Kitty had rekindled my memory of her, and I couldn’t think of a better way to end the day.

CHAPTER 2

Danvers

T here may have been better places to sleep than in a Ford truck cab, but I slept like a baby. I awoke to the sound of a car entering the restaurant parking lot. I kept my head down in case it was the police. I checked my watch for the time. It was only five-thirty and still dark. It seemed too early to rise and shine. I tried to fall back to sleep, but I couldn’t. I was ready for the day.

Looking through the back window of the cab, I noticed that the restaurant lights were on and three cars were parked in the rear parking lot. The restaurant was either open or about to be. I took off my jacket and long-sleeved wool shirt. After folding and placing my shirt back in my gym bag, I put my jacket back on and headed for the rear door of the restaurant.

It wasn’t quite six o’clock and customers were already there eating breakfast and chatting. Kitty wasn’t anywhere in sight. I headed to the bathroom to wash up, change my clothes, comb my hair, and brush my teeth. I tried to clean my sneakers for today was interview day.

I took a booth near the front door. When the waitress came by, I asked her if Kitty was around. She answered, No, Kitty doesn’t come in until noon. Who are you?

I told her, I’m just a customer.

Breakfast was coffee and toast. I searched for a paper and found one. It was full of local advertisements, including rooms to rent. It didn’t take long to learn that someone usually left their newspaper on the counter or in a booth. All I had to do was simply look for it and then make sure it didn’t belong to someone who was still in the restaurant. Six-thirty came quickly, and I wanted to be at the construction office before seven o’clock. I paid my bill, left a little extra tip, and then headed to the Danvers construction site.

A few workers were standing around, but no one was in front of the employment office door. I knocked and then heard a voice from inside say, Come in. I stepped into a small, compact office. Metal desks and steel file cabinets lined the walls. A wooden chair was placed beside each desk. Again, I heard the voice. Sit down. I’ll be right with you. You’re looking for a job, right?

Taking a seat, I responded, Yes, sir. I reached into my bag and took out my address book and then removed my Social Security card from my wallet. All the while, I smelled coffee.

Well, son, where have you worked before?

I told him that last year I worked at the J.C. Penney store in Rochester, New Hampshire. Well, we’re not Penney’s, but we subcontract for them, and that’s a good reference.

I answered all of his questions and filled out all of the forms. He asked to see my driver’s license; I told him I didn’t have it with me, but I did have my Social Security card.

How old are you, son?

Eighteen.

He said, Okay, but you can’t work here if you aren’t eighteen, and we’ll need evidence of that before we can hand you a paycheck.

He went on and described the work. He said they were working hard to meet an opening date, and the building was a mess. They were behind, so most days I’d be required to work overtime. The hourly rate was $1.42 with no benefits. FICA and federal income taxes would be taken out of my paycheck. Oh, there’s one more thing, he said, I need a local contact and phone number.

I gave him the names, addresses, and phone numbers of Shane and Lonnie Cains, new