Big Bad Burly Brothers who like to corner you

by Terry 6 Replies latest jw friends

  • Terry

    In my local congregation w-a-a-y back in the 60's, there was a brother who was an Uber-Witness.

    Brother H. T. Jones, as I recall.
    Stolid. Impassive. Hewn from stone.

    He was built like a cast iron furnace. When he shook hands, your own hand disappeared into his hairy paw

    and a sickening crunch soon followed.

    His specialty was cornering the Friends, sucking them into intense conversation about some trivial minutia concerning their duties and especially with a view to creating discomfort. i.e. "guilt trip."

    Few came away with joy in their heart but him.

    Brother Jones sudden appearances were blitzkrieg.
    Before you could shout inwardly,"OH SHIT!" Brother Jones had you pinned down like a butterfuly - withering under his steely doll's eyes like Spielberg's shark.

    There was no wiggle room, only inevitable surrender.
    He'd grill you.
    You'd squirm.
    He'd counsel you.
    You'd skulk off and take a cold shower and drink too much.

    _______Image result for photo of the girl in the hairy paw KING KONG and FAY WRAY_________________

    One day I was walking down the street minding my own damn business when a large truck slowed, made a U-turn and puttered up beside me as I made my way from Point A to Point B.
    My policy--to ignore encroachments.

    There was a minute of me walking and the truck ominously creeping beside me along the edge of the street.

    Presently, the truck sped up just enough to cut over in front of me!

    The window rolled down and the monstrous head of Brother Jones appeared like a storm cloud full of thunder bolts of crackling malevolence.

    He glowered silently.
    I paused with the realization I was doomed to one of "those" conversations.

    I waited for a greeting. (After all, he stopped ME.)
    I could have waited till the sun went down. He never greeted.

    His clipped monotone was pure law enforcement declarative; no-nonsense.

    "Get in, Brother Walstrom."

    "Oh, thanks for the offer, Brother Jones. You see, I'm out getting some refreshing exercise and. . . "

    "GET IN."
    (Easy to see why he had so many successful Bible studies going ...)

    I did climb in to his truck. (You would have as well!) It was a serial-killer victim moment if ever there was one.)

    Once inside the cab of his truck, Brother H.T. turned only his head on a neck the thickness of a tree trunk.

    The impression was like that of an enormous owl.

    "Have you made out a daily schedule?" His voice was flat, without a trace of human feeling.

    My mind's computer sorted, collated while searching to provide me with context; which was more than Jones had done.

    (Sidebar: At the previous Service Meeting, a talk was given counseling all JW's to create a personal schedule to manage their every waking moment. The purpose was now suddenly clear to me. It was to prevent idiots such as myself from wasting time walking down the street instead of knocking on doors.)

    I had to decide whether or not to play this interrogation game with Brother Jones.
    Some part of me bristled. I tend to become insubordinate when cornered. But I tried to be pleasant.

    "Sure. In fact, I'm scheduled to be about a block from here at this very moment--had you not stopped me."
    I grinned. (A slowly dying grin.)

    No trace of emotion on his side of the truck!

    "When you sit down to make your schedule do you know how you are supposed to start it?"

    Pure condescension.
    Now I was getting steamed; I don't like intimidation!

    "Of course. First things first. Second things second. Third things third--well, I think we can see where this is headed." I didn't smile.

    His eyes narrowed only by a millimeter or so. He had no sense of humor or radar for sarcasm or--well, he had nothing personable to offer.

    "You put the things you HAVE TO DO first. Our service to Jehovah is what goes to the top of the list. Everything else goes second."

    Parsing this flash of infinite wisdom in my head, I pursed my lips thoughtfully.

    "Not much room for 3rd, 4th, 5th, eh? FOOD, SHELTER, CLOTHING. What about bathroom breaks?"

    I guarantee you, this man did not detect for an instant of time that I was anything but clueless!

    He sat there.
    He. . . just. . . sat there.

    I sat there.
    I. . . just. . . sat there. Until I couldn't take the torture any longer.

    "Well, thanks Brother Jones for this little chat!"
    I grabbed the door handle - my escape route inches, only inches away.

    Sunlight, fresh air, and FREEDOM. . . if only I could make it out unscathed!

    Jones' hairy paw clutched my elbow. I was Fay Wray to his King Kong.
    He had SOMETHING ELSE to say!

    His voice changed. Perceptibly. I can't say how exactly.

    "I have an hour sermon this Sunday at the congregation in Denton. I have to go out of town. I need for you to present it in my place. The outline is in the glove box."

    ("What the fuck?") was not in my vocabulary. At least, not at that time.
    I did manage to compose myself long enough to utter the word, "Huh?"


    So, that is why he stopped me. The pretext of counsel on how to make a schedule was just bullshit.

    It was a Friday and the Sunday hour public sermon was two days away.
    Lucky for him he saw me, the one Brother known for having a super memory.

    I delivered the talk in Denton, Texas.
    The title was, as I recall--"HOW PRACTICAL IS THE SEARCH FOR WEALTH."
    It went over well. I like to think it was because I ad-libbed my way through it and inserted humorous asides
    you'd now be castrated for doing.


    Now I ask you, who was the REAL uber-witness in that situation?
    The Bro who fobbed off his assignment or the poor schmuck walking to see his girlfriend who got kidnapped?


  • Sea Breeze
    Sea Breeze

    Gripping read. Your girlfriend got kidnapped for real?

  • scary21

    Great one Terry. I want to know more. Please continue. The girlfriend................................

  • WingCommander

    I would have told him that my schedule was already full, and he should go find himself another victim.

  • Terry

    The year was most likely 1966. My girlfriend was Jeanie Young.
    She was a sort of Country Girl type with red hair, freckles, and a sumptuous figure in profile (he said discreetly.)
    I'd been working on her for months. First, double dates at Drive-In theaters in which I barely made a move. (Barely).
    Once I did the old arm-stretch and put behind her on the seat move.
    She about jumped out of her skin calling me on it.
    "What are you doing?" She asked as though I had unzipped my trousers and grabbed her hand.
    "I'm just getting comfortable. Are you okay? Have you had a bad experience, Jeanie?"

    Turns out, other Brothers had groped her and even slid sneaky hands up her thigh.
    Shocking, I tell you, simply shocking a Christian male would do such a thing (nobody said...ever.)
    I commiserated.
    I was as virginal as Jeanie.
    I was as inexperienced as Jeanie.
    Turns out, I was as horny as Jeanie. It took time, patience, and above-all: instincts.

    The day Brother H.T. accosted me on the Road to Damascus with his truck, I was walking to meet Jeanie out in the woods for spiritual communion.
    I didn't have a car and neither did she.
    I'd walk probably six miles over her way and she'd walk maybe a mile.
    We never did anything at all explicit. Amazing, really.
    If I knew back then what I know now -- it would have been a far different world which spun beneath our innocence.

    Instincts for sex are amazing. I was a very shy person and so was Jeanie.
    We both wanted the same thing. Jehovah stood there like ice water on blue balls,
    Lord of the Cockblock!

    Once Jeanie and I went for a walk in her neighborhood and I spotted a vacant house.
    We found a way inside.
    Now here's the problem . . .
    It was Texas summer. Outside was very hot. Inside a vacant house without working air-conditioning it was a sauna.
    We fumbled around pretty hot and heavy (doing innocent but provocative things you'd laugh at) until perspiration was ejaculating from my pores. (A poor substitute, indeed!)
    She was drenched. Sweaty too.
    Lucky for our virginity it wasn't perfect weather . . . or the electricity still hooked up . . . or a furnished bedroom, eh wot?

    One other time, we were at her grandmother's visiting right on Lake Worth.
    We walked down the sloping grassy hill to water's edge out of sight line.
    We had beach towels.
    Both of us were hornier than the Nashville Brass Ensemble.
    We got worked up and something in my sub-conscious shouted at me: "Get into the lake water and you can *whisper whisper whisper*).
    Was this (in retrospect) anything other than a damned stupid suggestion?
    We got in.
    Was the water cold?
    But your boy was undiminished in purpose and perpendicularity.
    I...t-r-i-e-d. . . but the door was clenched tighter than the gold depository at Fort Knox.
    Cold water + virginity = hokey pokey with no hokey and all pokey.
    Inefficient it was, non-productive, frustrating, and - did I mention? STUPID!

    This was loose conduct, technically. TIGHT loose conduct.

    Jeanie and I broke up during the Dallas Assembly at Market Hall when she showed up before the first talk having CUT HER HAIR short.
    She had had luminous, luxuriant, flowing red hair that filled my soul with blazing embers of desire - until that moment. Now she looked like she was auditioning for Peter Pan.

    I'm so disappointed in myself now looking back. I flipped out.
    I actually broke up with Jeanie over something trivial like that. Which only goes to
    actualize how clueless a human being I was in 1966.
    Imagine breaking up with a beautiful young JW girl, compliant in every sense of the Me:Tarzan, You: Jane JW mentality.
    I had done all the preliminary priming to suddenly - now - abandon ship.

    Moron was me.

    Her next JW boyfriend had her bedded so fast they were almost DF'd. They got married instead. Her name changed from Jeanie Young to Jeanie Jackson.
    She subsequently (I am told) became a model in Dallas. Divorced. Left the Org.
    I'd love to know what really happened with her and how her life turned out.

    She was very fortunate to have me break up with her. I was less fortunate.

  • tiki

    "Lord of the Cockblock" that is Nobel prize worthy!! Being a teenager in the same time frame these tales ring so true...except rigid new England congs had far less colorful members than your hot Texas types....

  • Terry

    I have to chuckle at our hot Texas efforts toward remaining blameless whilst going as far afield as imaginatively possible.
    I think the counsel, admonition, and exhortations of JW leaders toward stifling natural and healthy sexual expression is not only wrong-headed but unkind and rather malicious.
    Nobody has succeeded in keeping the lid on hormonal volcanic urges . . . ever.
    The best you can hope for as a Dub is an early marriage.
    Even so, so many prohibitions on self-expression still exist even within the marriage arrangement, a different set of frustrations arise.
    How did we ever make it through our teen years in that Organization?

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