Trail Posts: Defining Moments of My Life

By Richard A. Mansen

Trail Posts is an inspiring memoir of faith-filled adventures as Rich answers God’s call to one of the world’s unique, complex, yet rewarding careers—Bible translation. Rich takes his family to live among the Wayuu, the preliterate people of Colombia and Venezuela. He and his wife learn their unwritten language, provide a basis for literacy, and translate the Bible.

Rich follows divinely placed trail posts. Some lead to hardships and extreme challenges—which he takes on with faith and tenacity. Others point to the joys of love, marriage, and family—which he takes on with delight. But when the love of his life dies of cancer, he wonders how he can complete the work alone. He desperately needs God to place another trail post on his uncertain path.

Trail Posts brims with faith, heartaches, victories, doubt, hope, and love. Rich’s compelling narrative, told with honesty and sensitivity, will transport you to places few will ever travel and to cultures few will ever experience. If you want to serve God courageously, you’ll see a man who risks everything to follow his Lord. If you’re going to press on after a heartbreaking loss, you’ll be inspired by Rich’s refusal to give up. Trail Posts is a heart-changing memoir that will stay with you long after closing the back cover.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jul 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781973667339

Richard A. Mansen

Richard A. Mansen grew up in Chicago with loving family, loyal friends and good role models. He received his B.A. from Wheaton College, his M.A. in linguistics from UCLA, and his Ph.D. in cultural anthropology from the University of Illinois. With his first wife Karis and their three children, he worked in Colombia and Venezuela, translating the Bible for an indigenous people group. After Karis’ death, he continued serving in Bible translation with his new wife, Jackie. They retired in 2013 and live in northern Illinois.

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Trail Posts

Defining Moments of My Life

Richard A. Mansen

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Copyright © 2019 Richard A. Mansen.

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

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

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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 Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The NIV and New International Version are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

Author Photo: By Lifetouch Church Directories and Portraits, Galion, OH.

Cover art: By Steve Firchow

Map of Colombia: By Richard A. Mansen

ISBN: 978-1-9736-6732-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-6734-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-6733-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019908562

WestBow Press rev. date:  07/05/2019

CONTENTS

Endorsements

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Preface

Part 1:   The Start of the Journey

Chapter 1:     First Day of School

Chapter 2:     In the Furnace

Chapter 3:     Hiking to Downtown Chicago

Chapter 4:     Night Alone in the Woods

Chapter 5:     Stairway from the Clouds

Chapter 6:     Little Sis

Chapter 7:     Safety Patrol

Chapter 8:     Time Heals

Chapter 9:     God’s Gift to Me

Chapter 10:   Swedish Roots

Chapter 11:   My First Date

Chapter 12:   A Vision Planted

Chapter 13:   A Scout is Trustworthy

Chapter 14:   Disappointment

Chapter 15:   The Little Dutch Grocery Store

Chapter 16:   Overhauling My Chevy

Part 2:   God’s Call

Chapter 17:   Sputnik

Chapter 18:   My Gift to God

Chapter 19:   A Change of Direction

Chapter 20:   Sleeping on the Hard Floor

Chapter 21:   Letters to Mom

Part 3:   Romance and Preparation

Chapter 22:   Postcards to Karis

Chapter 23:   The Long Train Ride

Chapter 24:   No Turning Back

Chapter 25:   The Launch Pad

Chapter 26:   A Bumpy Start

Chapter 27:   Go, No Go?

Chapter 28:   Jungle Camp: Main Base

Chapter 29:   Jungle Camp: Advanced Base

Chapter 30:   Firstborn

Part 4:   Wayuu and Life in Colombia

Chapter 31:   A City in the Mountains

Chapter 32:   Glimpses of the Wayuu

Chapter 33:   A Dry and Weary Land

Chapter 34:   Called Home

Chapter 35:   A House on the Prairie

Chapter 36:   The Whistling Place

Chapter 37:   Delays

Chapter 38:   A Home in the Desert

Chapter 39:   Big Steps

Chapter 40:   Let’s Call Her Valerie

Chapter 41:   Detours

Chapter 42:   Second Chances for Andrés

Chapter 43:   Moments in Time

Chapter 44:   Baby Lambs

Chapter 45:   Dangers, Toils and Snares

Chapter 46:   Puzzles and Predicaments

Chapter 47:   In Over My Head

Chapter 48:   Victories

Chapter 49:   While We Were Away

Chapter 50:   Back With the Wayuu

Chapter 51:   A Long Way to Go

Chapter 52:   Strategic Decisions

Chapter 53:   Working Alone

Chapter 54:   Translation Progress

Part 5:   Losing Karis

Chapter 55:   A Crisis That Changed Everything

Chapter 56:   Why Me?

Chapter 57:   Emotional Roller Coaster

Chapter 58:   Fears and Struggles

Chapter 59:   The Songbird Has Flown

Chapter 60:   Her New Rings

Chapter 61:   He Giveth More Grace

Chapter 62:   Music Was Her Heartbeat

Part 6:   Finishing Well

Chapter 63:   One Hundred Days

Chapter 64:   Moving Forward

Chapter 65:   The End in Sight

Chapter 66:   The Fullness of Time

Chapter 67:   Epilogue

ENDORSEMENTS

Rich’s story shows the power of God’s Word when it is in the heart language of the people—in his case, the Wayuu of northern Colombia. In the face of many obstacles, Rich and Karis demonstrated the perseverance required to put the Scriptures into a previously unwritten language. It was a privilege for my late wife and me to be co-laborers and eyewitnesses of the work of these good and faithful servants!

—Forrest Zander, Wycliffe Bible Translators, co-worker/pilot in Colombia

Rich recounts in vivid detail how God has directed his journey, both personal and spiritual, from youth, to marriage and family, and completion of a ministry in Bible translation among a minority language group. The reader will find that this memoir covers the spectrum of temptations, challenges, losses, and victories common to a man seeking to live for his Lord.

—David Captain, M.A., Wycliffe Bible Translators, co-worker among the Wayuu in Colombia

Trail Posts is a story of commitment and courage, which had to be told and must be read. It will inspire you to higher levels of excellence and deeper levels of intimacy with God. It is written by a man whose character has been forged in the furnace of a life well-lived and one that should be imitated. Well done, good and faithful servant!

—Verl Taylor, pastor, Woodland, California

Rich has written Trail Posts in a style everyone can enjoy. I am confident his memoir will generate a desire in its readers to experience for themselves the glories of a servant’s heart, whether at home or in a foreign land.

—Mark Hamilton, friend

Rich has written a memoir with life lessons told in stories appropriate for all ages. Children will enjoy his stories in the Start of the Journey. Teenagers especially will be challenged with the hard lessons he describes later in that section of the book. College students and those making career choices will be encouraged by God’s Call on Rich’s life as they read of the ways God directed and guided him in making many difficult decisions, including changing his major. All ages will enjoy the stories of Rich and Karis’ Romance and Preparation as your heart is touched by their commitment to put God first in their lives. Anyone interested in missions will be encouraged to see the way the Wayuu welcomed the Mansens into their homes and hearts. Thousands of Wayuu are now worshiping God, singing His praises, and reading His word in their own language, both in Colombia and Venezuela. Readers who have experienced the untimely loss of a loved one will identify with Rich’s deep disappointment and sorrow in Losing Karis, his beloved wife. This memoir will make you reconsider your own priorities and commitment to God and His leading in your life.

—Edna Headland M.A., Wycliffe Bible Translators, co-worker in Colombia, author

Trail Posts opens wide the door of Rich’s early memories and life goals which ultimately formed his genuine commitment to God.

—Ruth Berry, professor

Trail Posts is a chronicling of Rich’s defining moments from youth to retirement. He always set the bar high and even in the most difficult times made calculated choices to move forward. Resolutely, he never quit. Trail Posts is a heartwarming, inspiring and meaningful story of a life dedicated to serving the Lord. Throughout the early journeys, Rich would quote his Boy Scout motto, Be prepared! That motto matured to Be prepared to be unprepared! As he noted in Proverbs 16:9: In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps. Well done, good and faithful servant!

—Judith N. Long, Wycliffe Bible Translators, librarian

The Bible is essential for the human race, but many people do not have God’ Word in their mother tongue. The work of Rich and Karis Mansen was to take the Scriptures to people who had no written language, reduce the language to writing, teach the people to read and translate the Bible into that language. This memoir is a classic in the field of translation and missionary work.

—Elvin C. Myers, missionary in Colombia, pastor, author

Readers will marvel at Rich’s story of tackling one of the world’s most complicated, challenging careers—living among the Wayuu people of Colombia and Venezuela, learning their unwritten language, developing an alphabet, and translating Scriptures and other materials into the Wayuu language for them—a project that takes forty years.

But Rich’s story begins many years earlier. In his fascinating memoir, Trail Posts, he looks back and recognizes that even as a young teenager God was bringing him face-to-face with divine trail posts that read, This is the way to go. God’s trail posts point Rich into increasingly rugged experiences: Boy Scouts, college, and grad school, and then into extraordinary training to become a Bible translator. Many would have given up, but not Rich—he is no quitter. Throughout the decades, Rich follows those trail posts with a single-mindedness most of us will never experience. Other trail posts lead him to his wife, his gifted colleague in Bible translation, and then to their children and the joys of family and friends. But when his wife dies of cancer, Rich loses not only his beloved but his translation partner and, without her, he doubts he can complete his translation work among the Wayuu. He wants to give up. Will all the years of training and hard work—and God’s call—come to nothing? He desperately needs God to put up another trail post.

Within the pages of Trail Posts, you’ll walk alongside Rich as God points him through adventures, complexities, exhausting work, surprise twists, delays, delights, and love—love for God, family, colleagues, and the Wayuu people. Though Rich might not recognize it, his faith and commitment to follow God transform him into a current-day man after God’s own heart. If you like adventure, you’ll tag along with Rich through experiences aplenty. If you want to know and serve God with more zeal, you’ll find out what it’s like for a man to unflinchingly follow where God sends him. If you long to survive the loss of a loved one and find new meaning in life, you need to read Rich’s story. After you read Trail Posts, you’ll want to buy copies for your kids, grandkids, grandparents, colleagues, pastor, and friends. Rich’s story is just that remarkable.

—C. MacDiarmid, writing coach, author

DEDICATION

To David, Valerie and Debbie, always a joy for their mother and me! They still light up my life.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to Jackie, helping at my side through the entire revision process. To Linda and Edna, my critique partners. To Mark and Betty and countless others, my cheerleaders.

PREFACE

In the summer of 2015, I posted on Facebook an old photo of me in an isolated village of southern Mexico. In response, a friend commented, If you write a book, I’ll read it.

I thought, Maybe I’ll write a book about my first wife, Karis. I want my grandchildren to know her. So within a month, I had drafted the story of her year-long battle with cancer. Now, how do I tell the rest of the story—the story of her life? It will no doubt include a little about myself.

About that time I went to a retreat in the woodlands of northern Wisconsin. There I met a couple of authors who said, Why don’t you write a memoir about your own life? That would be the best showcase for sharing your memories of Karis. So every afternoon at my ceramics class, as I struggled to make little dishes on a pottery wheel, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Yes, that’s what I’ll do! And so began the book you are holding.

I chose Trail Posts as the title of the memoir to set it in the context of a journey. Trail posts represent God’s guidance at significant times on my life’s journey, as the Scripture makes clear: Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight (Proverbs 3:5-6).

I found this to be true. As a young teenager, God led me on the path to himself. In college, he guided me to a new field of study, opening the door to a career in Bible translation, to serve him in another part of the world. After graduation, he led me to the woman I would marry and directed us to the people group we would serve. Thirty years later, just when we were about to reach our life’s goal, everything fell apart, and I was ready to quit.

But I wasn’t a quitter. I desperately needed God to provide another trail post to help me find my way. The book tells how, through all of our surprises and joys, challenges and victories, heartbreaks and healings, we learned to trust each other, and we learned to trust God.

As for the subtitle, it came about because I’ve often said, The most important day is today. The most important moment is right now. So I wanted this memoir to portray my life in terms of individual moments. Though I describe many memorable moments, I explicitly identify some as defining moments. You won’t have to look hard to find them!

I’m hoping this account of my life will inspire my children and grandchildren and others who read it. May it motivate them to follow good role models and be a model for others. Since I’ve learned to trust God and have found him faithful, I’m hoping some of my readers will do the same. Some might even be challenged, as I was, to become Bible translators. That’s a decision I’ll never regret.

PART ONE

The Start of the Journey

MansenColombiaMap.jpg

CHAPTER 1

First Day of School

My first step to adulthood began on a hot August day in 1944. While our Yanks were pushing against Germans in the hedgerows of France, I was pushing against some natural childhood fears. I was to start kindergarten today!

While I nervously picked at my bowl of Wheaties, Mom quietly dressed baby sister Ruth Ann. I’ll walk you to school since this is your first day, she hollered to me. I knew what she was thinking: Pushing the buggy, she would walk me one block up Normal Avenue, then another block along busy 115th street, then leave me in the care of safety patrol boys who would assure my safe crossing to the looming red brick building, Brenan School.

I felt good and bad about the plan. I asked myself, Am I a sissy if my mom walks me to school? It made me feel as if I couldn’t take care of myself and I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to be treated like a child. She sometimes reminded me how once I wandered off by myself and a policeman found me three hours later. My standard reply was always, Mom, I’m grown up now; I’m not going to get lost!

Before I could empty my cereal bowl, the doorbell rang. It was Matt, a friend my age who lived across the alley. Mrs. Mansen, can Richie walk to school with me? We’ll cut through the alley since it’s faster. The alley! I froze. It was scary, dangerous, and dirty, and I never went there! There were garbage trucks and cars in and out of garages. I wasn’t allowed to play beyond our back fence. I got close to the alley only when I had to empty the garbage.

I looked at Mom, and she glanced back at me. Would you like to do that? she asked. I wanted to say Yes! But I hesitated. The alley! I had dreamed of bravely playing there but was always too afraid to try. But this was a new day, a very different one! Mom’s eyes said, Go ahead! Your friend will be with you.

I grew up that day. Well, not completely. Overcoming fear was a big step, thanks to a mother who allowed me to take risks, and to a friend who offered me strength in a time of weakness.

CHAPTER 2

In the Furnace

Our house had an old coal-burning furnace in our basement like everybody else. It was a lot of work in winter keeping it filled with coal. Some cold nights Dad had to get up in the middle of the night to add more. Mom hated it because the coal dust settled on everything in the house and she, the typical Dutch lady, loved a clean house.

In the summer of 1944, just before my sister was born, Mom said to Dad, If our baby is a girl, let’s get one of those new gas-burning furnaces! So when Ruth Ann came along, Mom knew she would get her new furnace. But it didn’t happen until after the war and Dad had a steady income. The basement and house stayed cleaner after that.

Each fall our old furnace needed to have the unburned chunks of coal poked out of its grill, a task which could be done only by someone small enough to climb inside. When my older brother Bob got too big, it was my turn! I don’t think Mom would have let Ruth Ann get into the furnace. It wasn’t a girl’s job, especially a girl who was a princess.

Next to the furnace was the coal bin, a small room with a window to the alley through which a ton of coal was slid down a chute into the bin. Before I was in second grade, Mom gave me the privilege of sweeping the basement floor near the furnace and making the entrance to the coal bin look nice.

Across the basement was a gas range which Mom used for canning, making fall a busy time of the year for our family. It took a lot of work and Mom needed our help washing, peeling, and cleanup, all done at the laundry tubs. I loved her applesauce; if it didn’t show up on the table, I ran down to the basement to get a jar. One thing that made it fun for us was the old music we played from old-fashioned, thick 78 rpm records on a wind-up Victrola, corny songs like Barney Google.

The first room at the top of the stairs was our kitchen. I remember when Dad replaced our icebox with an electric refrigerator with an ugly circle of coils on the top. Mom’s kitchen stove and oven were rarely still. I don’t remember a supper when the five of us were not at the table. Having the whole family together around the supper table provided security for me. We had no TV or radio in the kitchen to distract us, so we enjoyed conversing and telling about our day. That bound us together as a family.

When Illinois sweet corn was in season, our supper was often just ears of corn with real butter. After Dad finished his tea, he would always head out to the garage for another couple of hours fixing cars. I felt terrible when he had to go out in winter. The three of us kids usually did the dishes, with a bit of complaining if something was not properly washed.

After supper, our family sat around in our small den listening to the radio, programs like Jack Benny and Abbot and Costello. I liked it when Dad came in from the garage early enough to join us. The den became less used once we got our first TV because it was in the living room. I was a Cub Scout at that time. At one of our Cub meetings, our den mother said to me, Richie, since you are the only family with a TV, can we meet at your house next week? What a meeting! Six pairs of eyes glued to a flipping black-and-white screen watching Howdy Doody and Milton Berle!

During the week our dining room table served for school homework. I don’t remember that any of us needed prodding to do our assignments. The table also held Mom’s sewing projects. She taught me to use her sewing machine for my Boy Scout merit badges.

But on Sunday the homework and projects were put away and places set at the table for the noon meal after church. We often had guests, usually some of the Hamater clan, Mom’s family. Among her many sisters, we thought Mom was the best cook. Her meals could win a prize! I enjoyed being with my many cousins at those gatherings. After lunch, we kids played table games or out in the yard. While the ladies did the dishes, the men sat lazily in the living room waiting for dessert, and two uncles smoked their cigars. After everyone went home, Mom diligently aired out the house of tobacco odors.

Mom was a well-loved aunt to all my cousins. She showed interest in others and treated everyone with respect. I still remember her singing at the piano, especially her favorite hymns, like In the Garden.

Dad worked days as a diesel mechanic at a railroad yard. Mom was a dedicated homemaker. At home, there was a clear division of labor. Dad had charge of the garage, where he worked on cars in the evenings and on Saturdays. Mom was responsible for the house—yes, all of it! She, like Dad, worked tirelessly without complaining. They expected us to do our part in keeping the house neat and clean and helping with yard work and cleaning the basement and garage.

As I grew, I watched Bob take on more and more of Mom’s household tasks. Soon Ruth Ann and I would do the same. The grass needed cutting in the summer and raking in the fall when we would burn piles of leaves at the curb. In winter, snow needed shoveling and neighbors needed help pushing their cars out of the snow. Hanging screens in spring and storm windows in the fall was hard work. I helped Bob until I could do it by myself.

Whether through brilliance or deep-seated wisdom as parents, they were able to instill in the three of us a long-lasting responsibility for making our house a home. I believe that character trait is foundational to how we live our lives to this day. I’m still benefitting from all they taught me.

CHAPTER 3

Hiking to Downtown Chicago

My first adventure was unforgettable—hiking to downtown Chicago. It was the summer of 1950 on my eleventh birthday. I had just graduated from Cub Scouts to Boy Scouts. We walked twenty miles from my home community of Roseland on Chicago’s far south side.

As we made our way northward, the neighborhoods got more congested than where I lived, with lots of cars parked at the curbs and little homes crammed together. Some had boards on the windows and bars on the doors, something I wasn’t used to. Scattered among them were little shops, some converted into churches. The schools we saw had some broken windows and smaller playgrounds than mine, and it made me sad.

Lots of people were out walking or just hanging around at street corners. Most were people of color. At my school and in my neighborhood there were only white kids. It was the same in my Boy Scout troop—just white faces.

Roseland had Italian, Polish, German, Swedish and Dutch folks, and our neighbors were all of the above. I was about to start sixth grade at Brenan School, where I had known most of my classmates since kindergarten, some Catholic, some Protestant, some Jewish, but all white. At times I overheard Mom and Dad talking about whether they might move if the neighborhood started to change.

Mile after mile as we hiked northward I thought, What a different world! I’ve never been here before. What are their schools like? Their churches? All my teachers are white. My church is white—pastor, teachers, choir, friends. I’ve never been in a non-white church. Do they believe the same as me? What would it be like to sing with them? Pray with them? Eat with them? What would it be like to have a person of color for a friend?

After completing the first arduous ten miles, we stopped for a lunch break in front of a mom-and-pop store at 55th Street and Michigan. When I bought a Pepsi and told the store owner where we were headed, he surprised me with, You be careful, young man. These parts of the city are not very safe! I sat down on a rickety bench chained to the wall of a store-front church. As I munched my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I had seen and heard and wondered what might lie ahead.

Late that afternoon we finished the final ten miles to downtown Chicago, safe but tired. The hike had taught me lessons I had not anticipated. Having walked the full length of Chicago’s south side allowed me to see places up close that were different from the comfortable neighborhood I called home. I saw poverty up close for the first time, and it planted a seed of compassion in my heart.

CHAPTER 4

Night Alone in the Woods

The night is moonless and dark. The breeze is mild. The woods are quiet, except for the rustle of leaves that are my blanket. I just awoke from a brief but restless sleep. I’m alone—really alone! What time is it? No way of telling. I had to leave my watch behind.

Earlier that evening, a hundred of us Scouts stood solemnly around a blazing bonfire. A tall camper dressed like a Sioux Indian chief with eagle-feathered headdress silently circled the outside of our ring. None of us knew which ones had been chosen for the honor. As the fire crackled, illuminating our somber faces, I heard the sound of three slaps on the shoulder of a camper, announcing that he had been selected. Moments later I heard it again, and then again.

Sensing the Indian chief approaching my spot, I trembled with anticipation. Had I been chosen? Then it came—once, twice, three times, the slaps on my shoulder, almost knocking me to the ground. He then placed a hemlock wreath around my neck. Why me? I whispered the Scout salute, I promise to do my best, to obey the Scout law, to help other people at all times.… Had I taken that oath too lightly? Something in me said I can do better. With this new honor comes the responsibility to be a role model to others.

That was the summer of 1951, and I had just turned twelve. It was my second time at Camp Owasippe in Michigan, a two-week adventure for Chicagoland Boy Scout troops. The campfire ceremony marked my selection to the Order of the Arrow, an honorary camping society that recognizes Scouts who exemplify character, service, and leadership.

I was among ten scouts selected that night. A 24-hour initiation began for each of us, all the time wearing the hemlock wreath. We were not permitted to speak until the initiation was complete. As soon as the campfire ceremony ended, a man led me silently to a spot deep in the woods where I was to spend the night alone. The moment my guide left, my heart began to pound. I was alone, without tent, sleeping bag, flashlight, matches, food, water, knife, jacket, rain poncho, whistle, or compass. Truly alone!

I survived the night—no snakes, few mosquitoes, no scary noises. At the crack of dawn, I brushed off the leaves, put on my wreath and headed back to camp, whistling a little tune of triumph. I felt proud as I silently entered the dining hall for breakfast. Here and there was a sleepy-eyed Scout like myself, sporting a wreath and sitting in silence. None of us would speak until the sun went down that night. Having survived a night alone in the woods, I felt I was one of them.

At lunchtime, it was my turn to wash pots—ten large cherry-cobbler pans to clean! The word responsibility came back to me. After everyone had left the kitchen, I was still there. But I got the job done and done right. I would wear my Order of the Arrow patch with pride. My motto after that long night alone in the woods has stood with me all my life—Be Prepared to be Unprepared.

CHAPTER 5

Stairway from the Clouds

Willie and I stood on the top floor of Chicago’s tallest building, the Board of Trade, constructed of beautiful grey Indiana limestone. Mounted on the copper roof was a three-story statue of Ceres, the goddess of agriculture.

We gazed out the observatory windows, amazed at the sight of our hometown from 600 feet up! Northward we looked over the Canyon, a line of majestic buildings shading Lasalle Street on both sides. Southward our eyes strained through the haze, hoping to spot the smokestack at our grammar school twenty miles away. Westward, beyond the Chicago River, we spotted a plane landing at Midway Airport.

Our best view of all was eastward over Lake Michigan. Our eyes feasted on historic Navy Pier, the Art Institute, grassy Grant Park, and, like ancient Greek monuments, the architectural wonders of Adler Planetarium, Field Museum and Soldier Field.

But there was still a lot more to see at street level, so we headed for the elevators. Surprisingly we noticed a door on our right that said Exit. I laughed, An exit on the 45th floor? We could just step out onto a cloud!

Willie replied, Sorry Richie, no cloud, just stairs!

All the way down to the street? I asked seriously, a plan beginning to take shape in my mind.

Reading my thoughts, Willie frowned, It would take forever to get to the bottom! It’s not worth it.

I said to myself, But it is worth it! But then I hesitated. Instinctively the thought came, What would Mom think? I knew she trusted Willie and me to go downtown by ourselves. My mind went back to when, as a four-year-old, I was lost for three hours exploring our neighborhood, causing her to worry. I would hate for something to happen now on those stairs. What if we tripped and broke an ankle or somebody tried to rob us? We couldn’t just pretend we were superheroes!

HOW DID WE GET INTO SUCH A PREDICAMENT? Our trip to the heart of the Windy City was taking place on a sunny Saturday in August 1951, just before Willie and I went into seventh grade. Filled with excitement, we had left home to spend the day roaming around downtown Chicago.

Willie and I lived in Roseland on Chicago’s far south side. We had taken an early bus at 115th and Normal to catch the Illinois Central train and arrived half an hour later at the underground station.

We emerged at Michigan and Randolph into the sunshine of a new world waiting to be explored—grand buildings, bustling shoppers, honking taxis, whistle-blowing traffic cops, and tiny cafes squeezed into the entrances of buildings and department stores. Even a blind person would know they were in Chicago by the clickety-clack sound of the L, Chicago’s iconic elevated train circling downtown, giving that area its name, The Loop.

In those days, people had no cell phones or credit cards. Armed only with my Brownie camera and ten bucks from my paper route, I was out to capture fantastic black-and-white pictures. Endless sights to see! There was the Water Tower, still standing after the big fire of 1871, and Buckingham Fountain, one of the largest in the world. I was eager to explore, alert to every new challenge.

But before heading over to the Board of Trade, Willie and I had some shopping to do at Marshall Field’s, the most elegant department store in Chicago. I had come there with my mother every Christmas to see their famous window displays and have lunch next to the giant Christmas tree. But today, Willie and I had come for something more meaningful, something to be found only at the Boy Scout counter on the 5th floor.

We both had come to claim our Pioneering merit badge, one of many steps toward the rank of Eagle Scout. We had just earned it at Owasippe Scout Camp, and it recognized us as experts in fire building, knot tying, lashing, and other skills needed in a wilderness setting. The final requirement had been for our troop to build a thirty-foot tower with just wooden poles and rope. We could not use a hammer and nails so the tower would stand firm only if the lashing were done right. It was exciting to attempt something we had never dreamed of doing and, in spite of the challenges, to complete the job well and earn the badge.

LEAVING MARSHALL FIELD’S with our coveted badges, Willie and I had hiked over to the Board of Trade and taken the elevator to the observation deck where we marveled at the sights for over an hour.

Now, as we hesitated at the exit door on the 45th floor, my mind raced instinctively through a list of questions: Was it illegal? Was it wrong? Was it just stupid?

Quickly my moral compass gave me the green light, and I said to Willie, I think we can do it if we’re careful. Then, trying to get him excited, I added, It’s something we’ve never done before. I bet nobody at school has ever dreamed of doing it. Just think what a great story we’ll have to go with our pictures!

Willie looked at me with a grin and said, OK, let’s do it!

Racing through the door, we flew down the narrow cement-and-steel stairwell two steps at a time, our laughter echoing against the grey walls. Down, down, Floor 39,