Tag Archives: Peru

Duncan Clan Reunion Uproariously Good

June 1965 Family Reunion, courtesy of Colin Duncan

Mr. and Mrs. Taylor A. Duncan of 16 Washburn Ave., Auburndale, with their six children and families, hired a motel near Manchester, N. H. last weekend for their first family reunion in 13 years.

Betty, Taylor, Virginia, Wally, Harley perhaps, 06.12.1965, courtesy of Colin DuncanWeary but happy after the excitement of family baseball games, musical sessions, and en masse church attendance, Grandfather Duncan’s two-word description of the Friday-to-Sunday gathering was “uproariously good.”

The 28-member clan, lacking only one youngster who had the mumps, included Mrs. Willard Kindberg (Virginia Lee Duncan) and Mr. Kindberg, who have returned from the jungles of Peru where, since 1952, they have been working with the Campa Indians, translating and defining the language of the people, preparing young natives to teach it, and establishing schools. Mr. Kindberg is a translator with the Wycliffe Bible Translators, a Protestant mission society. Mrs. Kindberg was the first graduate of the nursing school at Wheaton College in Illinois. There are six children in their family.

Mrs. Harley Smith (Betty Duncan) and her husband and two children, [sic] home from Paris, France, where they operate a school for Greater Europe Mission (Protestant). Mr. Smith is business manager for the European Bible Institute in Lamorlaye, France. Mrs. Smith, a graduate of Wheaton College, Illinois, is a teacher of music.

Mr. and Mrs. J. Wallace Duncan and their four children [sic] from East Haddam, Conn. Mr. Duncan is a quality control engineer with Winchester Electronics Co. in Waterbury. He is a B. A. graduate of Gordon College, Wenham.

The Rev. and Mrs. Robert Duncan and their three children [sic] of Mattapan, where Mr. Duncan is the minister of St. Paul’s Presbyterian Church.

St. Louis, Mo., is the home of Mr. and Mrs. Taylor A. Duncan Jr. Taylor, a graduate of Northrop Institute of Technology, Inglewood, Calif., is with McDonald Aircraft Co. in St. Louis.

The youngest son, Bertrand Stevens Duncan, was graduated this June from Boston University with a degree in psychology. “Steve” is working as a laboratory technician at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital in Brighton. He plans to study medicine.

The senior Duncans, who will have been married 40 years on July 25, have lived in Newton since 1935. They left their first address on Hartford St., Newton Highlands, at the outbreak of World War II when Mr. Duncan reentered the service.

He had been in the Navy during World War I and after that had gone into public accounting, getting his CPA in 1925. He entered teaching when he was called upon to fill a temporary vacancy at Temple University in Philadelphia, continued on a part-time basis, and was later called upon to set up business courses at Girard College.

During World War II Cmdr. Duncan spent three years in Philadelphia where he was in charge of a $115 million airplane contract between the Navy and the Budd Co. Later he was transferred to Portsmouth, N. H., where he served as the yard’s fiscal officer.

Mr. Duncan says he has retired twice. He left the Navy as a captain in 1932. Then he worked for General Electric Co. for more than five years as manager of a special auditing project in which he organized a staff of auditors. He retired in 1957.

For five years before World War II and for five years afterward he taught accounting, economics, and finance at Bentley College. He has also taught in the Boston University School of Business Administration.

(June?) 1965 newspaper article entitled “Newton-Based Duncan Clan Reunion Uproariously Good, courtesy of Polly Duncan (Bob’s wife) via Colin Duncan (Bob’s son)

Can you add to the story? Please do. Write in the box below (You may need to click “Leave a Reply” above to make the box, name, and address fields appear.).

  • Colin or Aunt Polly, what’s the name of the newspaper and the date of the edition in which this article appears? Best guess, anybody?
  • Which cousin had the mumps and couldn’t come? Can you tell who stayed home with you? Tell us about having the mumps. How long did it last? Did anyone else in the family get it?
  • Virginia, what year did Aunt Lee graduate from Wheaton as the first graduate of the nursing school? What was it like being the first graduate? What, exactly, does that mean? Was there no one else in her class? How big was her class? Was the program up and running or were there fits and starts? How long did it take her to get through? Why did she choose nursing? Why Wheaton?
  • Uncle Harley, Debby, Sandy, did Aunt Betty teach music in the school in Lamorlaye? Or did she take private students only? Did she teach anything else in the school? What was the school’s name? I presume it’s Aunt Betty playing the piano in the photo above. Am I right? Is Uncle Harley holding the trumpet?
  • Jimmy, Diane how long were you all in East Haddam? Why did you move? Can you describe your house? Remember your address? What ages were all the kids? How long was Uncle Wally with Winchester Electronics? Was he always quality control there or did he move around in jobs, up the ladder or otherwise? How did he get that job? Why did he leave?
  • Aha! The name of Uncle Bob’s church in Mattapan was St. Paul’s Presbyterian Church. Aunt Polly, what position did he serve there? What were his dates there? Was he still in seminary? Where did the Bob Duncans live at that time? How old were the kids? What happened to St. Paul’s that I can’t find anything about it on the web?
  • Gloria, Trey, how did Uncle Tad end up on the other side of the continent in California? What did he do with McDonald Aircraft? How long was he there? Did he move up in the ranks, move around? Why did he leave? What did he go to? Does your mom remember that time? What does she recall? How did they feel about moving to St. Louis?
  • Dad/Steve, can you tell about getting the lab tech job at St. E’s? How long were you there? I’ve never heard about that lab tech job. Why not? What else was going on at the time? Were you dating that painful pre-mom woman still?
  • Anything else anybody wants to tell us?

Robert Eugene Duncan, November 13, 1933–June 17, 2010

Bob, ca. 1968Mum called Thursday morning to tell me that Uncle Bob had died. On Monday, he was sitting up in the hospice care facility when Aunt Polly returned from a family wedding in Colorado. On Tuesday morning he was unresponsive and they decided to bring him home. Mum spent Tuesday and Wednesday nights with them. On Thursday morning, Mum was holding his shoulders while the hospice caregiver bathed him. He opened his eyes wide and stopped breathing.

How many people felt the air go out of them when they heard that news. Expected perhaps, but not welcome. Death never is. God comfort my Aunt Polly, my cousins Andy, Gene, and Colin, my dad and his sisters and brother. We all feel so sad.

Uncle Bob is most assuredly not sad. He’s been longing to hear his “well done, good and faithful servant” (Matt 25:21) for a while now. “I want to be at home,” he told me several times during those long months in the hospital. When he opened his eyes wide, I’m sure he was taking his first look at the Home of all homes.

He would have recognized it. After all, he and Aunt Polly created a home, not just for their children, but for me and my three sisters, for their many other missionary kid nieces and nephews, for the larger family, for their church families, for just about anybody who needed to feel welcomed. My dad tells the story of Uncle Bob catching heat from Aunt Polly when he even welcomed some hippies to set up their tent on the Duncan front lawn, years before I ever moved in.

For many of those years, Uncle Bob and Aunt Polly’s house was my Grandmother Duncan’s home, too—the family seat. When I was a kid, we would drive to the Fort Square parsonage for holidays and birthdays. Far flung family, returning from Illinois, Georgia, California, France, Peru, Colombia, and beyond, could be found in their house. All through high school and college, their home was the one to which I returned during vacations.

During one of my school breaks, I heard Uncle Bob praise me to my parents, “I’ve never walked into my own kitchen and had anyone ask me what they could get for me.” This might sound self-serving until you know that meeting other people’s needs, predicting and supplying them seamlessly was my childhood “job,” my role in the family, but no one had ever noticed that out loud. Uncle Bob saw it in me. He saw me. And for an adolescent girl, who wouldn’t figure out who she was for another fifteen years, being seen and celebrated was profoundly important. He saw into many of our souls.

Uncle Bob became my second father. There were things he could say to me, which I couldn’t have heard from my own dad. As a young adult in crisis, I craved his voice of wisdom, though it was probably the quality of his listening and his sense of assurance that changed things for me. And not just me. Years after he’d left one church, a troubled parishioner would still call him at home, usually at dinnertime, and pour out her anxieties. He always took that call.

He could listen, but Uncle Bob could speak firmly, too. During Urbana ’97, which we attended together, we met for lunch one day. I told him about a young roommate who was asking me many questions concerning women in ministry, which is still a controversial topic in some churches. Though I myself was in seminary, I’d counseled her cautiously because I didn’t want to get her in trouble with her elders. “It doesn’t sound like that is what she needs to hear right now,” he challenged me.

He was a good preacher, too. He’d trot out his sermon ideas during Saturday night dinners and I enjoyed listening to him weave them together on Sunday morning. He delivered the homily at my wedding seven years ago, driving with Aunt Polly from Ballston Spa in New York even though they had to turn around just hours later so he could be home to deliver the sermon on Sunday morning.

Uncle Bob officiated at many weddings, including my cousin Sandy’s thirty-three years ago. I still remember him complaining to my father, a surgeon: “Everybody thinks they know best. Family at weddings where I’m the minister is like relatives crowded into your operating room, all insisting, “Less blood now. Can’t you cut after the tumor is removed? No. No. We need fifteen clamps, not five.”

Being a preacher was good, but what he really wanted to be was a missionary. At least, he really wanted to experience the world. Before he tried seminary, he tried the armed forces, but they wouldn’t send him overseas because of the metal pin in his leg, the result of a youthful motorcycle accident. He and Aunt Polly even moved to Costa Rica temporarily to learn Spanish during the early ‘90s just to see if this wouldn’t morph into a call to missions.

Still God didn’t send them, so he had to content himself with traveling, which he did avidly. He visited missionaries and missionary family members ever chance he got. He led tours to the Holy Land. He joined a Presbyterian delegation to the church in Cuba. He visited his grand-children in Korea. For a long time, an apt cartoon of him in his preaching robe and hiking pack hung on the basement wall. “After the benediction,” it read, “Polly and I will be leaving for Israel.”

One time he and Polly were lost in Morocco. They’d eaten something that disagreed with them. It was hot and they were out of water. And now they were in danger of missing the ferry back to Spain. Afraid and unable to find anyone who spoke English, they leaned against a wall and prayed. Seconds later an old woman touched him on the arm and motioned for them to follow her, which they did. She led them back to the boat, but when they turned to thank her, she was gone. Years later, he still claimed that God had sent them an angel.

There wasn’t anywhere he wouldn’t go. And if he couldn’t fly, he drove. He loved to drive and he loved cars. On one long trip, we stopped at a gas station for a break. Heading back to the station wagon, he detoured to an old Studebaker. Without a qualm, he pulled open the door and leaned in to inhale. “I just wanted to smell it,” he explained.

There were many drives to and from college and during one, he collected me at my roommate’s house. “Whadya got in here, a dead minister?” my friend’s dad teased as he hoisted my suitcase into Uncle Bob’s car. Then realizing that Uncle Bob was a minister, he blushed and apologized, but Uncle Bob was too busy laughing. Laughter and tears came easily to Uncle Bob.

He enjoyed music and reading, filling his theological shelves with all comers. “Don’t read that commentary,” he exclaimed one day when he found me in his office after Sunday worship. He didn’t think the author’s scholarship was sound, but the book was still on his shelf. Another time, he lent me his favorite book A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken. “What is it,” I asked? “A love story about a couple who try to build the perfect love between them. It’s a selfish love, though, because its only expression is inward.” In that book Uncle Bob recognized his own ideal as well as the temptation to selfishness curled up inside.

Uncle Bob was unselfish, a good minister. He preached well. He pastored empathetically. He visited the sick constantly. He used to wear a clerical collar when he went to the hospital to keep security and nurses from questioning his motives. This earned him the honorary “Father” because people thought he was a Catholic priest, and some not so honorary glares when people saw him with his beautiful young wife Polly sitting in the front seat of a car together.

During this past year in and out of hospitals, his ministry to his own caregivers continued. Word of his testimony filtered back to me through many sources: Our daughter’s babysitter’s husband played cards with him a couple of times and I heard about his love for Jesus. A woman who knew one of my co-leaders in ministry was married to one of his doctors. I heard about his faithfulness from her. His family and I are grateful to all those who cared for him and for Aunt Polly through this final, hardest sickness.

My sisters and cousins and I cannot properly thank Colin, Gene, and Andy for sharing their parents with us. Uncle Bob and Aunt Polly leaned on God for their apparently endless store of family love, but I know it was sometimes your space that we took up. All of us in the church families that they served have a debt of gratitude to you. Thank you for sharing even your grieving space with us.

The last time I heard Uncle Bob pray, we were together in one of his hospital rooms. I was taking up his grandson’s space, so I gave hugs and turned to Uncle Bob. He held out his hand.

His grip was strong. Before I could offer, he began to pray. He prayed a short blessing on me and my dad, who was in Angola at the time. Then he began to bless God. He asked him to “be with us here, too” and confessed “for we do not know what tomorrow will bring” in a cadence and with a strength that sounded like Uncle Bob in the pulpit. He told God, in a tone that felt instructive to us also, that “we will be careful to offer nothing but thanksgiving” and “we will have nothing but praise on our lips for you.”

And interspersed with his prayers he said, over and over, “and we will rise with the wings of the morning. We look forward to rising with the wings of the morning.”

He was misquoting Psalm 139, applying it to himself as he looked ahead to his new day. It reads, “If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. If I fear, ‘Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,’ even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you” (vv. 9–13).

Even this darkness is as light to our God. Uncle Bob has risen on the wings of the morning. Our turn will come.

written by Dawn Duncan Harrell (Steve’s daughter) on the occasion of Bob’s death, June 19, 2010

Can you add to the story? Please do. Write in the box below. (You may need to click “Leave a Reply” above to make the box, name, and address fields appear.)

  • Do you recall other stories about Bob as an adult? Please tell us.
  • Do you have a Bob preaching story? A visiting Bob story? A Bob’s book story? A Bob traveling story?
  • Can Did you live with Bob as a child while your parents were elsewhere? What stands out to you? Do you have a story of that time to tell?
  • Did Bob perform your wedding ceremony? How did it go? What do you remember about it?

Steve’s Pocket Monkey

Amarakaeri PeruWhen I was in Peru [1966], I had a little monkey [pygmy marmoset] that stayed in my pocket. It was given to Bob Tripp by some of the Amarakaeri Indians, who lived way, way out in the jungle. We were so deep in the jungle [near the border with Brazil] that they had never been out of their isolated area.

Wycliffe had a rule that if a translator went out to an isolated tribe, he couldn’t go out alone without a partner. I was working as a lab technician in Yarinacocha, but I went with him for a month or almost a month.

The monkey would sit in my pocket at night. We had only one light, like a kerosene lantern, though we had to pump it and it was fueled by gasoline, a Coleman. Thousands and thousands of moths would circle that light and the monkey would pop out of my pocket and snatch a moth out of the air and gobble it up.

Steve with Pocket Monkey in Peru, 1966I’d be teaching numbers to the young people of that group and I had a leash on him, going around his waist. I’d put him along the side of the wall, the vertical slats, of the classroom, so he could take care of his business.

The Indians would come by and reach into my pocket and squeeze him, just to tantalize him. He was cute as a button, but smart, like primates are. He would come to a call, like a dog. He’d sit in my pocket as we ate and occasionally I’d give him a bite and he’d snatch it and eat it right up.

I fell in love with that little monkey. I don’t remember what I named him or if I named him. I was going to bring the monkey home [to the United States] with me—I was going to try anyway—but I never got it back to Yarinacocha. One day the monkey was running across the floor and Bob wanted to stop it and he put his foot down to block it, but missed and finished off the monkey.

I had another monkey on the base at Yarinacocha that I tried to train, but I never was able to get him to obey me.

story told by Steve to Dawn Harrell (Steve’s daughter), June 12, 2013

Can you add to the story? Please do. Write in the box below (You may need to click “Leave a Reply” above to make the box, name, and address fields appear.).

  • Have I spelled Bob’s name correctly?
  • Do Lee or any of her children remember any more stories of either monkey?
  • Do you remember what kind of monkey the second one was? Does anyone have pictures of the second monkey with Steve?
  • Steve, do you have any other stories of the pocket monkey?

Revival in Peru

Ball Field, Track, Sadie Hawkins Chase Field from High School side, Yarinacocha, Peru, courtesy of Kathy Courtright, May 20, 2013How good it was to get your [Shirley Kindberg-Coln, Will’s sister] letter last week and since I’d rather answer letters I’m really inspired to answer and leave the stack sitting there—here I am. We really are looking forward to seeing you in August. Now we’ve got your dates settled in our thinking, we’ve tentatively planned our summer leaving Peru around June 10 by ship for Panama and flying to Miami from there. We’ll be with the folks in Jena [sp?] June 19–July 1 more or less, and then travel north and west across the States and then come back the southern route to Dallas, perhaps leaving Bruce in that area and he’ll go on to Longview from there. We’ll all go down to visit from Dallas.

7th and 8th Grade Classroom, Yarinacocha, Peru, courtesy of Kathy Courtright, May 20, 2013Will [Lee's first husband] is in Mexico but hasn’t or hadn’t last Wednesday gotten to the job he went up there for. [?] there were problems with the programming and then the typewriter broke down. We’re so thankful that we can talk by HAM radio once a week and last Wednesday they had the part for the machine but it wasn’t fixed yet. Evidently it’s only a matter of a few days to do the typewriting and then 5–6 weeks to do the “paste-up” work which we have to look forward to yet.

High School, Yarinacocha, Peru, courtesy of Kathy Courtright, May 20, 2013Thanks so much for your gifts toward our support that come so faithfully. The Lord has sent a real revival among many of us here in Peru. Our young people have been having thrilling experiences as the Holy Spirit has worked in their lives. Eric [Lee's son] gave his testimony last evening and the young people have had several spontaneous get-togethers of Bible study and prayer and time of confession. It’s been great. They have a retreat next week for a week and we ‘re expecting the Lord to greatly bless each one of the 49 from high school.

Thanks so much for your prayers for all of us. Lovingly, Lee

As for books: I am not sure what he might want except four more copies of the hard cover Living Bible. We already have a couple. It’s excellent.

personal letter from Lee to her husband’s sister and brother-in-law Shirley and Dale Coln, March 6, 1972, courtesy of Virginia Gorman (Lee’s daughter)

Can you add to the story? Please do. Write in the box below (You may need to click “Leave a Reply” above to make the box, name, and address fields appear.).

  • Can one of the Kindberg “young people” tell about the revival Aunt Lee mentions? Eric?
  • What, do you suppose, Will was doing in Mexico?
  • In November of 1969, Will and Lee returned to Peru with Eric, but the rest of the kids were already in Peru. I presume the furlough Aunt Lee is anticipating in this letter happened in 1968. Can anyone confirm whether it was 1968 or 1969?
  • What is a “paste-up”?
  • What is Longview and why is Bruce going there?
  • Where, exactly, will the Kindbergs be July 19? I think she wrote Jena, but I cannot be sure.

Kindbergs Anticipate Their Return to the Field

The past two and one half months have been happy ones for us as we have had opportunity [sic] to visit with members of our families and also to see numerous of you [sic], our friends. We have also enjoyed telling of the work of the Lord among the Ashanica Campas, and of their needs. We have been encourages by your interest and your prayers. It has been a time of spiritual and physical refreshing because of warm Christian fellowship and the cool and invigorating climate.

Eric adapted well to his new environment here in the United States, too, and we are thankful to the Lord for a quick settlement on the insurance for his accident. We miss very much our other children who stayed in Peru, and we look forward to seeing them the end of this month.

It has been a concern of ours to help interest people in, and recruit them for, Christian service on the foreign fields. There has been some response to the challenge, but the need continues to be great. Would you continue to pray with us for new recruits for several types of mission work, especially the following:

1. Tribal teams to accept the challenge of learning a tribal language and culture, along with translating and teaching God’s Word [sic]. The task is difficult, the challenges great, but the rewards immense.

2. Teachers who would be willing to sue their abilities teaching missionary children (in English) on the mission field. There are mission schools in many countries, including Peru, badly needing grammar school and high school teachers.

3. Typists who can greatly speed up the work of translators on the field by typing manuscripts of the translated Scripture portions, reading primers, and other books in tribal languages. In Peru right now much of our materials is awaiting a typist. Peru needs a few typists and so do several other mission fields.

As we anticipate our return to the field, we would appreciate your continued prayers for the Indian believers and for us and our children that we might be physically, mentally, and spiritually well so that we can be the most use to our Lord in His work. Pray for us as we work on the revision of the presently translated Scriptures in December and as we prepare for new translation work in January—probably starting with the book of Romans.

Our address until November 15:
16 Frost Lane
Greenlawn, L. I.
New York 11740

Thereafter:
Casilla 2492
Lima, Peru, S.A.

form letter from Lee and Will Kindberg (Lee’s first husband) to “friends,” November, 1969, courtesy of Virginia Gorman (Lee’s daughter)

Can you add to the story? Please do. Write in the box below (You may need to click “Leave a Reply” above to make the box, name, and address fields appear.).

  • Eric’s accident is mentioned? Can Eric tell the story of his accident and why he needed to adapt to the United States? Can you?
  • The address until November 15 is in Greenlawn. Were they staying with Aunt Polly and Uncle Bob? Can Polly and/or Colin, Gene, Andy tell the story from their perspective?
  • How old was Eric in 1969?
  • What were the “other children” doing in Peru? Were they old enough to look after themselves? Did someone else look after them?
  • A Lima address is listed for Peru. Was the family still stationed in Pulcapa? Were they elsewhere?
  • Can someone tell us about the Ashanica Campas: where they are/were, their language, their cultural characteristics, their dress, your friendships with them, their architecture, their mode of transport, their stories?

Bruce and Will Return

Kindberg Pulcapa, Peru House, n.d., courtesy of Virginia GormanThis has been a happy week for our family. Will [Lee’s first husband] returned Monday after 5 weeks and 2 days absence. He had gotten a lot accomplished in his time away and we’re glad for his abilities, but we’re sure glad to have him home. Bob [?] Snyder and son Dave (who was here summer ’66) came out Monday, too, for a 3-day visit. They’re formerly from Brookdale.

Bruce arrived home Thursday after 5 weeks being away traveling in the tribal area. He really enjoyed his time.

excerpt of a personal letter from Lee to her husband’s sister and brother-in-law Shirley and Dale, August 30, 1970, courtesy of Virginia Gorman (Lee’s daughter)

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  • Aunt Lee doesn’t say; where do you suppose Will had been for five weeks?
  • What, do you suppose, he got accomplished?
  • Where were Will and Lee living that Will returned to?
  • Bruce was away for about the same amount of time, too? Was he with his father? With someone else? On his own? What was the occasion for his travel? What was his purpose?
  • How old was Bruce in 1970?
  • What are Shirley and Dave’s last name?
  • Who were the Snyders?

A Practical Vision for World Missions

AngolaDr. Ockenga’s vision for missions was sparked by the People’s Church in Canada and it lit up this church’s vision. His/their method of fund-raising for missions got to be famous and inspiring in always attempting from the pulpit to encourage a growth each year in the budget and the number of missionaries that it supported. I picked up the vision for missions there and also via my sisters [Lee and Betty], who were reinforced by the teaching and worldview of the church.

One of the missionaries, Dr. Robert Foster, a good speaker and lively advocate of medical missions in Africa became one of my ideals for foreign service. He was first a missionary sharing the Gospel and then a very interesting and resourceful physician and surgeon in third world service. He later became sort of a mentor by mail of my progress through medical school.

With pleasure and excitement we accepted the call for foreign missions in Angola after a stint doing medical work in South Dakota among the Sioux Indians. Park Street Church became a willing and supportive backing for our service of 17 years.

Park Street’s purpose was to be intimately involved in the lives and work of its foreign representatives. Through the 100% support policy, the whole congregation got to know us individually and in our own priorities there in Africa. A Barnabas Group, with eight to twelve members, closely followed and upheld us in their prayers and with material and emotional backing.

We were blessed greatly and more profoundly than by any of the other 15 churches that financially supported us during our time out in Africa. Only the Newton Presbyterian Church did as great a financial support though perhaps a lesser emotional and spiritual support. The Park Street vision is to be applauded and emulated by any church.

written by Steve for Colin Duncan (Bob’s son), March 18, 2011

My sister Lee had been involved with a camp specifically set up for African American children. This existed while we were in Philadelphia and I was probably five years old. It impressed me that she was doing it cross-cultural work, and not for the purpose of being cross-cultural but in service to God. Most of the time that I was growing up, Lee was out of a house in university nursing school and preparing for work, probably in the third world. So I had the vision planted in my mind that this was a way to go when I was an adult.

While I was in high school and early college, Betty and Harley when off to France in mission work. Because they too were highly favored in my estimations, they impressed me that I needed to go somewhere “out there” for the purpose of sharing the Gospel.

But perhaps the foremost in my leadings toward mission work was Park Street Church, which my father (Taylor) insisted we attend when we returned to the Boston area after the Second World War and our return from Philadelphia. Figuring in this influence were annual missions conferences,  where missionaries were paraded in front of us and challenged us to be involved in taking the Gospel to somewhere other than our own home. Among those that were a challenge and an encouragement were Dr. Robert Foster and his wife Belva. They had been working in Zambia. Later they started work in Angola, a Portuguese speaking country. I corresponded with them during my college and medical school career. It was Park Street’s minister Dr. Ockenga that started and kept the motion going toward missions as the only alternative for our future.

Both of my sisters Lee and Betty were being supported in their mission work by Park Street Church. It was only natural that after my time in the U. S. Army and in graduate school that I took six months off and went to Peru. I worked in the medical laboratory there because I had already been trained in that work. After asking Marcia to marry me, I left for Peru and its jungles. After the short term work in the laboratory, I returned in the middle of 1966 and we got married (Dec 1966). Even before Marcia and I tried tied the knot, we spoke extensively of serving in the third world. When we returned from medical school in Italy, I entered the internship at the Waltham Hospital, surgical residency at the Saint Elizabeth’s Hospital in Brighton, Massachusetts, and then five years with the Sioux Indians in Sisseton, South Dakota. We listened to an appeal for help in Angola to start a new hospital. So in 1983, we left for Portugal to get two months of training and the Portuguese language, and then flew to Luanda, Angola and eventually to Lubango in the Huila Province. Serving in a cross-cultural situation was being fulfilled.

added by Steve on November 26, 2012

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