CHAPTER 1
The Time Before
My name is Charles Michael Ridulph. I was born on February 11, 1946, in the typical small mid-western town of Sycamore, Illinois. World War II had ended, and I was among the first group of children who came to be known as the Baby Boomers. A normal family in a normal small town. My father had immigrated to the United States from Italy when he was nine years old and my mother was a first-generation American of Swiss and German descent. I had three sisters: Patricia (Pat) who was five years older than me; Kay who was four years older; and Maria who was four years younger.
Growing up at the time and in the place where I grew up was the next best thing to perfect; if there is such a thing. It was just after the war, a time when it seemed we had everything we could possibly want; a time of contentment so to speak. Unemployment, although there must have been some, was not an issue. We had electricity, although some in the rural areas (which by the way were within walking distance) was provided via a windmill. We had running water, except again, in some rural areas where it had to be brought into the home from the pump next to the windmill. Most of us had telephones, the kind connected to the wall by a wire; the kind in which you needed the aid of an operator (a real person) to connect you to any person outside of your immediate area. But most of us had telephones which used what we called party lines. Party lines were phones that used the same line. In other words, when you wanted to make a call you first had to pick-up the phone and listen to make sure someone was not already using the line. I think private lines were available for an extra charge, but during those days most people were not willing to pay extra for anything that would have been considered an unnecessary extravagance. At my house we were very lucky. We shared the line with the Johnsons across the street and they almost never used the phone. It was like having a private line but without the extravagant extra cost.
Now, television on the other hand was something different. It was considered somewhat of an extravagance. Well, maybe extravagance is really not the word to be used here, because in the early fifties black and white television sets had become fairly common household items. We had four channels. I think. And at midnight (or maybe before on some channels) The Star Spangled Banner was played and they went off the air. We had it all!
My father, who had an eighth grade education, worked as a machinist at the Diamond Wire and Cable Company just a few blocks from our house. At that time Sycamore offered a large variety of opportunities for employment at their many local manufacturing plants. Nearly all Sycamore residents worked locally, and there was company as well as employee loyalty. The factories and employees became an extended family. There were factory picnics and Christmas parties; and I mean real PICNICS ... with loads of food, unlimited pop and ice cream, clowns, fire engine and pony rides, softball games, horseshoes, sack races, and egg tosses, and of course bingo. And CHRISTMAS PARTIES ... real Christmas parties with a tree and carols; with food, drink, and an assortment of cookies. There would be a Santa and a gift for each of the kids along with a turkey for each of the families. The factories provided summer swimming pool passes. They sponsored sports teams, everything from Little League baseball to mixed adult bowling leagues. The family, not just the employee, was important to the company.
My mother came to Illinois from a farm in Iowa so she could attended Joliet Junior College. She later met my father in her small breakfast and lunch diner which she had built in downtown Sycamore. After their marriage they ran the restaurant together until it was sold so that she could spend her time raising their children. Nearly all of my memories of my mother as a child were of her being a stay-at-home mom.
We lived in what today would be considered a very small house, especially for a family of six. It was a seven room house with one full and one half bath. It had a full basement with a one car garage. At the time I was growing up it did not seem small, even though I shared a bedroom with my little sister Maria. We had a nice yard with the back fenced in, and of course a large garden; large enough to furnish nearly all of our vegetables for the entire year. We also had a peach tree which provided only a few peaches every other year, and yet was my father's pride and joy. We had an apple tree and a pear tree which provided what seemed to be an endless supply of fruit, and our neighbor had a cherry tree which was loaded with cherries each year. It was a harvest which they did not appreciate, so we adopted that tree and its bounty for our own. I still remember the tedious job, which seemed to always be mine, of pitting all those cherries. One by one each cherry was placed into this primitive spring loaded punch which was mounted on the lid of a quart mason jar. This device when pushed would punch the cherry pit through the cherry and through a hole in the lid into the jar. Then you would brush the pitted cherry into a bowl and repeat the process ... over, and over again.
The fruits and vegetables which were not grown and harvested at home were gotten fresh elsewhere. Sweet corn and lima beans were available from our local canning factory. Asparagus was found in abundance growing wild along the railroad tracks, and berries of all sorts could be picked at local commercial farms. It was a great deal of work, preparing, canning, and freezing all this produce, but boy was it worth it. And, a bonus; it was a family affair. I remember vividly all of us out in those strawberry patches picking berries, and perhaps eating at times more than we picked along the way. I remember it as a fun thing to do; not as a chore. Yes. We grew up, at least as I like to remember, as a family living, and working, and playing together.
Growing up in Sycamore during the fifties has often been referred to as growing up in Mayberry, R.F.D., and our families being compared to the Cleavers. I would like to think of it that way, and in some ways it definitely was, but I am afraid I must say not that perfect. I loved my early childhood, and I can't say that we wanted for anything. It was sure a lot simpler then; not as many distractions. The police and others in authority were respected. We listened to our teachers, at least for the most part, and we were polite to our elders. Was there any mischief going on around town? You can bet there was. I remember one time we found an old life-sized mannequin in an alley behind Anderson Brothers clothing store. We dressed it up with some old clothes and a hat we found around the house. We then put it on roller-skates and attached a rope to it. That night after it turned dark, we hid behind a tree and pulled it across the street in front of on-coming cars on Center Cross Street. We were awfully cleaver for just a bunch of neighborhood kids don't you think? But, all-in-all Sycamore was a place where you felt safe and secure.
One thing I can tell you for sure, as a kid growing up in the fifties we knew how to play. And, living in Sycamore, the entire town was our playground. School grounds, back yards, and vacant lots became our arenas. There we played baseball and football. We built boxing rings and platforms for concerts and plays. We played cowboys and Indians, and built igloos and mounds of snow for king-of-the hill. We were in Little League, in Cub Scouts, then Boy Scouts, or Brownies, then Girl Scouts. We rode bikes and walked around with a skate key tied around or necks. There was Ennie-Eye-Over, hide-n-seek, and even Monopoly and Canasta, kick-the-can, and rover-come-over. Yes, Sycamore was our playground.
Was it all fun and games? No. With life here on earth, regardless of the era, there are life's problems. In my house, for as long as I can remember, my mother and my father would fight, and sometimes those fights were knock-down, drag-out. Not always though. Mostly it was calm and quiet. My parents bowled in a league together and belonged to a card club. Other than that they would seldom go out, with the exception of New Year's Eve. New Year's Eve was a big deal around our house, almost like a little Christmas or Easter. On New Year's Day my sisters and I would rush downstairs to claim our choice of hats, lays, and noise makers from the assortment they would bring home from the party they attended. It didn't take much in those days to make a kid happy.
I think it is important to let you know that I did not start here when I began writing this book. The night before I actually started to put something down on paper, when I thought about testing the water to see if I was really going to attempt this, I was lying awake in bed, as I often do, with my mind just wandering. The day before, I had seen Jimmy McMillian at the YMCA. Jimmy was my sister Maria's age and lived down the street from us at the time Maria was kidnapped; in fact he still lives in the same house today. At the trial of Jack McCullough for the murder of my sister Maria, Jimmy was one of many interviewed by the press. He said, "I can't stop thinking that if only I had been with Maria and Kathy that night maybe I could have done something to stop him." That statement just would not leave me. That is where I began in the writing of this book. I began with the chapter on The Reliving. At the time I thought it was a little strange not to be starting at the beginning, but now as I write about The Time Before I am glad that I did. I am glad because now as I look back to the beginning I see it from a different perspective. I am able to write about the time before with a greater appreciation. I am able to write about the time before from the perspective of the impact of this horrible crime. I am able to write about the time before not only from a historical point of view, but I am able to really appreciate The Time Before. Yes, thank God for all the memories of the time before.
Great are the works of the Lord; they are pondered by all who delight in them. He has caused his wonders to be remembered.
Psalm 111:2-4
Prayer on remembering the wonders.
Father of all mercies, I come before you today knowing that you are the provider of all good things. And yet, I still so often forget. I often fail to remember your great gifts of the past. I often fail to remember your protective hand which has brought us to today. Father forgive me.
Father of all mercies, I come before you today with a thankful heart as I remember and as I acknowledge how richly I have been blessed. I thank you Father for providing all that I have needed, and so much more. I thank you Father for bringing to memory all the good which you have placed in my life. I thank you Father for bringing to memory your great wonders which overpower any and all difficulties which the world brings.
Father of all mercies, now I would ask that you continue to bless me with your goodness. I ask that you enable me to remember and to see the wonder of your hands and your marvelous works of the past. I ask that you enable me to know with certainty that your wonders will never cease. And I pray all this in Jesus name. Amen.
Next Thursday, February 11, 2016, I will turn seventy years old. The day before yesterday I received a note from my good friend Mark Overby. He began with a quote which read, "We do not remember days; we remember moments." And then he went on to say, "On your 70th birthday, I hope there are many moments that you will always remember. May your day be bright and full of laughter and fun, and the love of family and friends."
This morning I preached on the Transfiguration of Our Lord, a special event in the journey of Christ to the cross. And I began by speaking of crossroads; of different kinds of crossroads at different times of life. And, when you come to a crossroad, you tend to stop for a moment and look around. You look forward to what lies ahead, and to look back at what has come and gone before. This is what I am doing here today. I have come to a crossroad and I am stopping for a moment to look around.
You will be changed into a different person.
1 Samuel 10:6
Prayer on personal change.
Lord of heaven and earth, I bow before you with praise and adoration. You are the ruler of all things, past, present, and future. I bow before you with complete trust, since I have seen your miracles.
But Lord, sometimes I falter. Sometimes I do not remember your miracles. Sometimes I do not anticipate your good and gracious gifts. Sometimes I forget your promises. Lord, please forgive me.
Lord of heaven and earth, I thank you for all your blessings, and I look forward to each new day with anticipation of greater things to come. I know of the victory which is mine in Christ Jesus, and I know of your great love for me. Lord, I thank you today especially for the family and friends which you have placed in my life as a reminder of your goodness.
Lord, as I remember the past, and as I come to the crossroads of the present and of the future, enable me to stop for a moment and look around. Enable me to change. Enable me to be more Christ like. Oh Lord, enable me to be uplifted and guided by your might and your power, for I have indeed seen your great love. In Christ Jesus. Amen.
The Ridulph family vacations were modest, but we always looked forward to them, and we always took one. No Cruises or anything like that. But usually a week in a cabin on Lake Ripley, Wisconsin, and then a week in Iowa to stay with Mom's family on the farm. You know, as I look back on this time, I see that my early childhood in Sycamore was like one long vacation, and these special summer trips were simply a part of it.
Life in the fifties was different than now. It was certainly slower, and as I think about it, I would say it was also more structured. There seemed to be set times and days for nearly everything. Not so many options as there are today; not so many conflicts, and more absolutes. Have you ever heard the phrase, "The family that eats together stays together." Or, even "The family that prays together stays together." Or, "The family that plays together stays together." Sounds so simple doesn't it? And, you know what? It was simple.
In our house we were active, and I mean active as a family. My mother was a Cub Scout pack leader for me, and a Brownie leader for my sisters. My father was active with me in the Boy Scouts, and coached me throughout baseball Future, Little, and Pony leagues. We would hunt and fish together, and our friends were always welcome in our home. And, you know what? I don't ever remember fighting with my sisters over anything. Never! As I write that down on paper even I find it hard to believe. My parents fought. Boy, did they fight. But, I never recall fighting with my sisters.
My father and I spent a great deal of time together. I would help him with the yard work, especially with the gardening. He was always helping me in making things. I was the only kid around with a home-made kite, and boy would it fly. We would take it across the street to the West School yard and on just the right day we could put that kite up so high that we could just barely see it as a speck in the sky. We would tie it to the fence and go home for lunch returning later to start the process of rolling that nylon string around a stick in order to bring that kite back down.
We had all kinds of pets, which over the years, beginning with Pat, then Kay, then me, and finally Maria, made their way to show-n-tell, at first to the "old" West School house and then to the "new". There they went: a dog named Mitzi; a cat named Puffy; then rabbits, pigeons, fish, and an occasional hamster or a frog. I started hunting with my dad at about the age of six, and got my first 410 shotgun for Christmas when I was eight. We would go fishing at every opportunity and it didn't really matter if we caught anything. Many a late summer afternoon was spent in the back yard where my dad would give me batting practice by pitching to me the apples which had fallen from the tree. Yes. My life as a kid was good.
My father was a Roman Catholic from childhood although not practicing as an adult. (He later became a confirmed member of the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod shortly after I started study for the ministry) My mother was a very active member of St. John Lutheran Church in Sycamore, a Missouri Synod congregation. She sang in the choir and was a member of the Ladies Aid. Church, our faith, was an important part of our lives. I grew up in a family where our Christian faith always played an important role. In fact, there was never a time in my life in which I did not believe in Jesus Christ. I grew up in an era in which for most Christian children church or Sunday school was not an option. We were not asked if we wanted to go to Sunday school, it was just a given that we would go. Even when going on vacation we would go to Sunday school always getting a signed confirmation that we had attended since we did not want anything to interfere with our perfect attendance. And it might be a surprise to many today, but this is not simply something which our parents wanted for us, but something which we as children wanted. Yes. The perfect attendance Sunday school pin was very important and we wore them proudly. All of us had them: Pat, Kay, myself, and Maria. All of us had perfect attendance in Sunday school.
