From Cotton Fields to Mission Fields: Stories I Love to Tell

By Fred M. Allen and Duane Allen of The Oak Ridge Boys

As a thirteen year old boy on an East Texas farm, Fred M. Allen read a book about explorer/missionary David Livingstone and was mesmerized.

Many years later, he stood at the edge of the mighty Victoria Falls and gazed upon a statue of Livingstone. By then, Allen had spent a lifetime in service for the Lord.

From Cotton Fields to Mission Fields reveals the experiences that led Allen to make it his mission to spread God’s Word, beginning with his boyhood in Texas and extending to his decades of work as a missionary in Zambia.

Allen began writing his stories for family and friends but realized how much his words could inspire others, after being given a column in a weekly newspaper.

Then his brother, Duane Allen of the musical group “The Oak Ridge Boys,” offered to share his stories on social media. Over and over, people asked, “Are these stories in a book?”

In this inspiring Christian memoir, Allen looks back on his life, collecting those stories in one place. His experiences highlight the importance of faith, hard work, and walking the path that God intended.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Feb 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664219014

Fred M. Allen

Fred M. Allen has served in churches in the United States of America and spent twenty-seven years as a missionary in Zambia, Africa, where he developed indigenous music and youth ministries. He was instrumental in coordinating the digging of fourteen water wells and hunger relief projects in Zambia. Upon retirement, he and his wife, Joy, were involved in a variety of ministries in Texas.

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Copyright © 2021 Fred M. Allen.

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except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher

make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book

and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

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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.

Cover image credit Henrik Hansen, Maasai Mara National Reserve, Kenya

Photo by Henrik Hansen on Unsplash

Thanks to @HenrikH37216993 for making this photo available freely on @unsplash

Allen family—Our Family Together photo used by permission of KimHayesPhotos.com

Scripture quotations taken from The Holy Bible, New International

Version® NIV® Copyright © 1973 1978 1984 2011 by Biblica, Inc.

TM. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

ISBN: 978-1-6642-1900-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-1899-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-1901-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021900412

WestBow Press rev. date: 02/17/2021

Contents

Foreword

Preface

Early Years in Texas

A Man with a Vision

A Star Comes to Hutsonville

A Tribute to My Parents

Baling Hay the Old-Fashioned Way

Basketball for a Lifetime

Bump, Bump, Bump!

Cunningham Musicals

Fifth Sunday Singings

Fishin’ in Grandad’s Pool

Get to the Storm Cellar Now

Getting Ready for Santa

Growing Up on the Farm

Life at Hutsonville School

Lorette’s Quilting Party

Ordering from Catalogs

Popcorn Party Smoked Out

Rasslin

Rolling Cotton on the Farm

Runaway Horses, Vehicles, and Camels

Stripping on the School Bus

Ten Miles in Reverse

The Chicken Peddler’s Comin’

The Cotton Pickin’ Truth

The Lord Spoke to Bob

The Taylortown Quartet

Trapping Has Its Surprises

World War II Memories

Preparing for Ministry

A Big Toe in Recital

Booger Boys Forever

Crashing through the Ceiling

Hitchhiking to Glorieta

In the Military during Peacetime

Life at East Texas State University

Life at Paris Junior College

My Call to the Ministry

My First Jalopy

My Most Embarrassing Moments

North to Alaska

Our Call to Be Foreign Missionaries

Our Return to the Seminary

Serving at East Paris Baptist Church

Serving at James Avenue Baptist Church

Serving at Wichita Street Baptist Church

Shipping Our Goods to Zambia

Shopping for the Next Four Years

Train Ride to Ajo

Life and Ministry Overseas

A Broken Fan Belt

A Hen in the Pulpit

A One-Rehearsal Cantata

A Visit with the King

A Weekend to Remember

African Animals Up Close

AIDS in Zambia

Answering 828 Letters

Baboons in the Parking Lot

Beth, Brenda, and Betty

Bible Way Reaching In

Bruce and His Soccer

Bruce and His Vundu Catfish

Bruce Saved Fisherman’s Life

But I’ll Do It

Cashew Nuts

Children Scraping the Bottom

Christmas in Kenya

Christmas in Zambia

Compassion at Its Best

Cutting Our Way through the Bush

Dig a Little Deeper in the Well

Digging without a Shovel

Downstream Three Kilometers

Filling the Air with Music

For Such a Time as This

From a Pole to a Brace

Gary’s Last Visit Home

Getting Physical with Gangs

God’s Word Will Not Return Void

Good News Club

Growing Vegetables in Zambia

His Name Is Obvious

Humor on the Mission Field

Hunger Relief Project

Hunger Relief Results in New Churches

Hungry for the Word of God

International School of Lusaka

Josie, a Dedicated Christian

Lifted Up Twice

Lioness Visits Camp

Lizard Island in Lake Malawi

Mangoes and Clabber Milk

May I Play?

Memorable Experiences in Music

Mezi

My Musical Handsaw

No Milk in Town

O Ye of Little Faith

Odd, Strange, and Curious

One Wheel in a Well

Our Family Together

Our First Trip Overseas

Our Story to Tell

Patriotism in an Adopted Country

Potholes

Ran Our Soccer Man

Randy Saved a Boy’s Life

Religious Films in Ministry

Rift Valley Academy Enriched Our Family

Samson, the Young Musician

Sharing a Blanket

Shortages in Zambia

Singing to Keep Awake

Snerd

Stuck and the Water’s Rising

The Bush Was Alive with the Sound of Music

The Crowd Roared When We Arrived

The Last Chicken

The Longest Day

The Shepherd Boy

They Sang All Night

Thieves Love Briefcases

Thieves Stole My Firewood

Thieves Stole the Roof

This Is the New Baptist Church

Tragedy to Triumph

Two Close Calls in One Day

Two Flats and One Spare

We’ll Make Our Own Net

When Electricity Goes Off

When War Comes Close

White Water Rafting on the Zambezi

Our Children

Gary Allen

Randall Allen

Valerie Allen

Bruce Allen

Pray for MKs

In Retirement

Alzheimer’s Hits Home

Being a Sports Nut

Directing the Lawrence Welk Band

Growing Vegetables in Texas

Missions Projects in Texas and Mexico

Musical Memory Singers

My Best Christmas Gift

Pecans on the Golf Course

Singing Men of North Central Texas

The Golden Heights Choir

The Joy of My Life

Watching the Super Bowl

What’s Your Name

About the Author

Foreword

I could never beat him playing basketball, especially shooting shots from the foul line. And, growing up, I always wanted to be like him.

I followed my older brother, Fred, to Paris Junior College (PJC), and just like him, I took part-time jobs to help work my way through college. Fred sold clothes. I sold clothes. When I graduated from Paris Junior College, I followed the path that Fred had made before me. I went to Texas A&M University-Commerce, formerly East Texas State University. I majored in music, just like Fred, and I studied with some of the same professors.

I have always called him my perfect brother. I’ve never heard him say anything unkind about anybody. I tried to copy almost everything he did. There was a time when I tried to pick as much cotton as Brother Fred, and I didn’t even come close.

Fred decided to follow the calling of God Almighty into the mission field. While I love and respect the work that he gave his life to do, I chose a different path and planned a musical career that ultimately led me to the Oak Ridge Boys. We both studied classical music, because that was all that was offered at that time.

Reading through the stories that Fred shared here, I realized that he experienced almost a decade of growing up that I did not. No electricity, going to a one-room school, farming with horses before we got tractors. But the things we learned from our parents and being raised on the farm are memories we share as a part of the Allen family. Those memories are the same as mine growing up. Our parents were not rich in money, but they were rich in love. We worked hard on the farm, and our family grew most of the food we had to eat.

Mother and Daddy taught us kids about God, love for one another and our fellow man, and how to sing. They also taught us about the importance of giving back to our community and that God loves a cheerful giver. The Allen family were givers. I don’t ever remember getting one penny for our singing when we sang at church, school, community events, old-fashioned singings, and even funerals. It was all about using our singing abilities to give back. When as many as four of us were together, we always had a quartet.

From Cotton Fields to Mission Fields: Stories I Love to Tell is the beautiful story of the life of my brother, Fred M. Allen. He shares stories about growing up on the farm in East Texas and following the calling of God that led him and his wife, Joy, to serve the Lord in Zambia, Africa.

His stories and experiences offer insight into how a family of six survived in a world that is hungry for the story of Jesus. Stories that Fred and Joy experienced, while on the mission field, give the reader a front-row seat to each and every part of his life. You can pick up the book and start reading no matter where the pages open.

My brother, Fred, and his wife, Joy, dedicated their lives to the mission field to win souls by the saving grace of Jesus. Now my perfect brother shares these experiences in a way that will make you feel as if you were there as it happened. All his stories have a good moral to them. And most are stories of faith.

I learned about faith, family, and serving others from my parents, but my brother, Fred, set the example for me to follow. Why don’t you take that trip back with me and read about one very extraordinary life.

—Duane Allen

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Duane and Fred

Preface

This book is a collection of true stories written over a period of time, for the purpose of sharing life experiences, entertainment, and, in some cases, spiritual encouragement. Initially, my intended audience was family and close friends, but as I shared copies with others, I was pleased with many positive responses and suggestions that these stories should be published. I was given a column in a local weekly newspaper where my stories are printed. When I sent copies to my brother, Duane Allen, lead singer of the Oak Ridge Boys, he asked permission to post them on his Duane Allen fan page. Apparently, several readers liked the stories and suggested that I compile them into a book. Several of my family members encouraged me to pursue this, so now it has been brought to fruition, and I am excited about it.

Each story is stand-alone and covers a wide variety of experiences as they actually happened. Many references are made to family, friends, coworkers, missionaries, schools, colleges, seminaries, churches, and mission organizations. Some names may have been changed. Hopefully, your imagination will kick in as I share details.

In my advanced years, I am amazed at the details I can remember that enable me to write stories such as these, and at age eighty-five, I continue to write stories as God brings them to my mind, usually in the middle of the night! My sincere prayer is that these stories will brighten your day, lighten your load, and bring you a breath of fresh air.

Fred M. Allen

February 21, 2020

Update:

On April 2, 2020, our dad, Fred M. Allen, joined the heavenly choir. While in the hospital, he asked us to finish this book should he not be able to, and we promised we would. We worked hard to print a rough draft and delivered it to him (we could not give it to him personally due to the COVID-19 restrictions for senior living communities). He called that evening and said he sat and cried as he held and looked through his book. Five days later, he and Mom had a wonderful video visit. The activity director said they waved, grinned, and blew kisses to each other, then started singing one of their signature songs, Let Me Call You Sweetheart. Dad didn’t have the strength to sing the whole song, so Mom sang it to him. Two days later, he passed away. Thank You, Lord, for blessing us with parents who loved each other dearly and loved You even more.

Contact the Allen family at: [e-mail]

Early Years

in Texas

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A Man with a Vision

B. Fred Allen, my father, was a man with a vision. As a boy growing up on two different farms near Taylortown, in northeast Texas, I remember him in various capacities. As a farmer, rancher, and provider, together with my sweet mother, Lorette, they raised a family of six children. The following accounts attest to the fact that he was a man with a vision.

In the spring of 1956, when I was a senior at Texas A&M University-Commerce, formerly East Texas State University (ETSU), I went home to visit with my family one weekend. When I arrived on Friday night, Daddy said, Son, I need your help on a project that we will do together tomorrow morning.

After a hearty breakfast, which Mama always served us, Daddy and I picked up a grubbing hoe and a shovel and began the one-mile walk through our farm. We arrived at the corner of our farm at a hairpin curve in the Sandy Creek that ran through our 160-acre property. Spring rains had been falling for several days, and the water was rising and had almost reached the top of the banks of the creek. We reached the hairpin curve, which turned the flow of the water sharply to the east, causing much of the flooding of the crops as the water backed up and spread out over the area on both sides of the creek.

Daddy said, I believe we can stop the flooding or at least reduce it by removing the pedicle that slows down the flow of water. We’ll use our grubbing hoe and shovel and cut a ditch across the forty-five-foot pedicle and see if the rising water will do the rest as it enters the freshly dug ditch.

We began our digging, and within three hours, we reached the other end of the pedicle. We dug a ditch one foot wide and two feet deep. Now, he said, let’s see what the flooding water will do.

A few weeks later, I was home again, and Daddy asked me to go with him to view the place where we had dug the ditch. I could not believe what I saw! The hairpin curve was completely gone, and the water flowed straight south without slowing down. The recent rising water had run through the ditch we had cut and quickly removed everything in its path, opening up the pedicle to straighten the curve completely. The potential for flooding our land had been greatly reduced. What a brilliant idea!

Daddy had a vision of how to get clean water for the family, so he hired a well driller to dig a well at the bottom of the hill, and that provided clean water for many years. Before that well was dug, we had used cistern water. During droughts, we had to haul water from the stock pond with either a homemade horse-pulled sled or a tractor with a fifty-five-gallon barrel. Yes, Daddy was a man with a vision. He and Mama provided a very happy home for us six children, which required a lot of hard work. Together they provided adequately for us and encouraged us to have a vision, work hard to achieve it, and be the best we could be. I will always appreciate them for that.

Not long after Daddy died in February 1988, we entered the Cunningham Baptist Church, where my parents were members, and one of the leaders came to me and said, Fred, come with me to the choir area and let me show you something.

As we walked up into the choir loft where Daddy and Mama had sung for years, we were shown the plaque that the members had attached to the back of one of the pews. The plaque was engraved with a quote from Daddy: I feel closest to God when I’m plowing, with family, or singing. What a tribute to a man with a vision!

A Star Comes to Hutsonville

In 1944, the community of Taylortown planned a night of entertainment at Hutsonville School in southeast Lamar County, near Paris, Texas, a rural farming community. The invited guests included Hawkshaw Hawkins and Blaine Smith—two country music stars of that day. I had never even heard of either of these men until the publicity built up my excitement to the point that I could hardly sleep as we waited for the day of their arrival.

Local singers and musicians had been invited to prepare their best songs to present before the stars performed. Everyone in our family loved to sing, both individually and as a group, so we began practicing our favorite songs. As the big event drew near, we felt we were ready to participate along with other friends and neighbors in the community. It was going to be the first time many of us had performed before a large audience.

Our oldest brother, John, had his own weekly radio program on KPLT Paris, so he was the only local singer with much experience performing in front of large audiences. In fact, he had helped plan the big event for the benefit of the community. He served as master of ceremonies. As the day arrived, we drove our Model A Ford the two miles to the school, well in advance of the starting time. We all wanted to practice singing or playing our instruments on the stage before the crowd arrived. It was showtime in Taylortown for sure.

The whole community came that night, not only to see and hear Hawkins and Smith in person but also to encourage the local talent. As the master of ceremonies welcomed everyone, he announced regrettably that he had received word that Hawkins had to cancel—perhaps because of his duties at nearby Camp Maxie, where he was stationed with the US Army. But John assured us that Smith and his band definitely would arrive shortly. We were disappointed that Hawkins had to cancel, but we were pleased that the local talent and Smith would be entertaining us as planned.

The program began with many locals singing and playing various musical instruments. We younger ones were on early, which included me accompanying myself on my mandolin as I sang the cowboy song Out on the Texas Plains. My sister Nelda sang I Want to Be a Cowboy’s Sweetheart. My older brother Bob and oldest brother, John, along with several other locals, sang their favorite songs, which turned out to be an entertaining program in itself. Then it was time for the professional, Blaine Smith, to take the stage with his band. He had some beautiful songs, which he presented with his smooth and polished voice. We could have listened to him all night, as it was the first time most of us had ever heard a professional singer in person.

Unfortunately, Hawkins died in 1963 in the same plane crash near Camden, Tennessee, that killed Patsy Cline, Cowboy Copas, and other musicians. We were so sorry that we never got to hear him sing in person. Blaine Smith went on to a successful career in country music.

For that one night in 1944, at Hutsonville School, Blaine Smith was a real star, and several of us local singers and musicians had the opportunity of a lifetime to be a part of something exciting, which we shall never forget. Ah, what a wonderful memory.

A Tribute to My Parents

This is not a comprehensive biography of my parents, Fred and Lorette Allen, but a brief tribute to express my deep appreciation to God for their hard work and Christian commitment to provide us—their seven children—with the best foundation possible to prepare us for the future.

Benjamin Frederick Fred Allen was born in Cunningham, Texas, in southeast Lamar County, in 1907. He was the third of nine children. He grew up on the old Allen place on the southeast corner of the old town loop just south of Cunningham. He attended Oakdale School on the loop and finished the seventh grade. He had to drop out of school to help his mother on the farm since he was the oldest son and his father died in his forties. Mabel Lorette Bell Allen was born in Cunningham, Texas, in 1908. She was the third of six children. She attended the Cunningham school and completed the ninth grade.

Daddy and Mama were married in 1924 in Paris, Texas. Their first home was a log cabin on the old Allen place, which was just inside the gate, where my three older siblings—John, Robert, and Barbara—were born. Soon after Barbara’s birth, the family moved about two miles west, still on the loop, to a house on a corner, where Nelda and I were born.

Tragedy struck our family in February 1935 when my oldest sister, Barbara, died at the age of four. As children were playing with matches among the dry broom weeds outside of our home, Barbara’s dress caught fire. It was such a heavy burden to bear, especially for my mother. Through the years, she often mentioned little Barbara’s passing with tears in her eyes. It was a tough time for our family. Soon after, we moved about one mile north of Cunningham, where we lived for two years. In 1938, we moved six miles west to the Charlie Hill place in the community of Taylortown, using a seven-wagon caravan for the move. It was a major change for our family. I admire my parents for being willing to take the risk in order to have a better opportunity to provide for their growing family. The Charlie Hill place consisted of a two-story house and a barn, a good pond, a cistern, a fenced pasture with good grass, and good soil for cultivation of crops. An elementary school and a community church were not far away. We were sharecroppers. My younger siblings, Martha and Duane, were born in that house in 1940 and 1943, respectively. During our eight years on that farm, we six children grew and learned many life lessons from our parents, who demonstrated the qualities that are important in life: serving the Lord, which included singing his praises; strengthening our family; getting a good education; working hard; and practicing fair play, honesty, integrity, love, compassion, patriotism, and teamwork.

It was while living on that farm that I learned of Daddy’s great patience. I made many mistakes as a young boy, one of which I will share to illustrate my point. On a hot summer day, Daddy was plowing in the bottom land. It was very hard work. Mama prepared a quart jar of iced tea and gave it to me to take to Daddy. When I was within about one hundred yards of him, I dropped the jar and broke it, losing the iced tea. I felt so bad but couldn’t do a thing but apologize. He forgave me. He was a patient man.

In 1945, our parents took another step of faith when they purchased our own 160-acre farm, which was located three miles north. We named this place Combination Farm because it consisted of a hundred acres of pasture land and sixty acres of cultivated land. Sandy Creek ran through it. The house was small so Daddy hired a carpenter to add two bedrooms before we moved in. Some years later, he added a screened-in back porch and a bathroom after we got a well dug. We still did not have running water until electricity was finally added in 1949. After all of us children finished school and left home, my parents continued to live there until they retired.

They sold the farm and bought a house on a ten-acre farm in Cunningham, where they both were born. They lived in Cunningham until they died, Daddy in 1988 and Mama in 1990.

Both my parents were strong Christians who taught by example how to live a Christian life. They loved to sing. They sang in their church choir and often sang specials with others. They loved to attend the All-Day-Singings and Dinner-on-the-Ground. We as a family often sang special music, usually as a quartet. In fact, we loved to sing at home and at work. We often sat around at night and sang southern gospel, hymns, and country songs. As we all got older and met together on holidays, we always sang and had a great time. As our own children were old enough, they also joined us in singing. At times, we recorded tapes of our music, which now are keepsakes. Family was so important to my parents. They provided for our basic needs and encouraged us to pursue whatever we felt God was leading us to do in our lives. We felt their full support.

Daddy and Mama were very hard workers. Being farmers, their days were long and hard, and they seldom took a vacation because the cows had to be milked and the animals had to be fed every day. When it was too wet to work in the fields, Daddy would sod sprigs of Bermuda grass on land he had cleared to provide grazing for our livestock. If he wasn’t doing that, he was making needed repairs on machinery. During harvest time, Mama and my sisters also helped in the fields. Mama would work in the fields with us for a while, then go to prepare lunch. She would signal to us by hanging a white cloth on the back door when lunch was ready. We could easily see it, for our house was on a hill.

Our main crop was cotton, but we also grew other crops along with a large vegetable garden and fruit. Mama cooked from scratch and usually used vegetables and meat that had been grown on the farm. Of course, we always had milk from our cows and eggs from our chickens. She was an amazing cook. Mama was also a great seamstress and made many of our clothes, our curtains, and so many other things that made our house a home. Before we had electricity, she used a pedal sewing machine. One of her more difficult jobs was to make beautiful dresses for herself, Nelda and Martha. Also, every year, she made herself a bonnet for working outside.

Daddy read a lot. His favorite was paperback westerns, but he also read many other books, magazines, and local newspapers. Since we had no TV in those early days, we all listened to the radio when we had batteries. Daddy had a great interest in keeping informed about what was going on in the world. Daddy often joined me in listening to baseball games on the radio. Mama loved to keep us all informed about what was happening in the family and in our neighborhood. When we left home, she wrote us faithfully. It was such a blessing to receive her detailed letters while we were in Zambia for many years. I responded in a similar way, and she kept all my letters. Now, I have both sets of letters in scrapbooks, which are valuable records of our family history. My parents loved to fish in the ponds on our farms and to share that experience with family. Daddy stocked those ponds with catfish and bass; then he would feed them. They also loved to watch us children and their grandchildren catch fish in those ponds.

My parents were honest and trustworthy. They instilled those traits in us when we were very young. They both had love and compassion for others. When a new family moved into the community, Daddy made a special trip to welcome them and to offer to assist them in any way possible. Mama took food to neighbors in their times of need. She gave gifts to every member of our family at Christmas and at other times, for she found great satisfaction in doing things for others. They always had a big garden in which they grew vegetables. They preserved about five hundred jars for later use. In subsequent years, they both were employed by a sausage shop in the neighborhood to help process and package sausage, which was a quality product. They really enjoyed working there.

Daddy took a nap after lunch each day. He used his work shoes as a pillow and slept flat on the floor. Another place where he loved to take naps was on the bench under the big tree in the front yard. When we lived on the Combination Farm, he often slept in the bed on the screened-in back porch, even in the wintertime. He loved the outdoors! He loved to tell stories of his earlier years. His many boyhood friends became household names. My uncle told me of the time when Daddy was attacked by a swarm of bees, and he ran and dived, fully clothed, into the pool!

My parents gave me advice as I was growing up, which helped me to make difficult decisions later on. Daddy taught me how to relate properly to the opposite sex. On the day I left home to go to college, Mama said, Son, always be the boy your daddy and mama knows you are. I did not forget those words. I wanted to please my parents in the way I lived. Several years later, my brother John interviewed Mama and Daddy on a videotape; we were given a copy, which we now cherish. In that interview, Daddy told about the time that Mama rode a horse into the forest to pick berries. She got lost and, for a time, was not able to find her way home. Daddy realized that she had been gone too long, so he organized a