Modern Screen (Jan-Dec 1960)

ing to the graveyard behind the church while the choir sang Abide With Me so sweetly my heart almost broke. They lowered my daddy's wooden coffin into the ground, and I started to bawl like a baby. "He'll never, never forgive me," I screamed. "He'll never forgive all the sass and trouble I gave him!" And my Aunt Rene said, "Pray, child, pray. Pray for his soul to go to heaven." I prayed, but I could never forget all the hard times I gave my pop. All the nights we yelled and hollered because I wanted the radio playing while he watched his favorite wrestling and boxing matches on TV. Sometimes, I got up in the middle of the night, all nervous and sweaty, because my father's face appeared in the darkness, and I'd say, "Pop, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for any trouble I caused you." But he wouldn't say a thing, and my heart would thunder and I'd cry. I PRAYED every Sunday at our First Baptist church, and every time I'd hear our choir sing a sad hymn I'd think of Daddy and all the terrible trouble I caused him. One winter night, after we had moved to Nashville, my mom and sisters and my brother and I went to church. It was so cold that the moon looked like a hunk of ice, and when we stepped inside the church, I'll never forget what happened. A child was singing, Jesus Is the One. She sang it so sweetly that tears came to my eyes. And up at the altar the preacher was asking the congregation if we had ever asked ourselves, searched into our souls to find out, if we were really and truly Children of God. "A Child of God," the preacher said, "is baptized clean and pure in the name of the Father and the Son." The little choir child sang another hymn, and the preacher told us how this fiveyear-old already had had the urge to be baptized, to be cleansed and born anew. "Does anyone here wish his soul saved, his soul cleansed, his soul baptized in the name of Jesus Christ Our Lord?" I'd heard our Baptist preacher in Georgia give the "altar call" before, but I was never moved. I always looked to see who felt sinful enough to march down the aisle. Well, all of a sudden, from out of some dark corner in my heart, a voice, faraway and holy, cried, "Go ... go forth, sinner. Step forward and be saved." I didn't know what to do. I looked at my mother who had her eyes closed as she sang a hymn. I closed my eyes and sang, but the voice in my heart wouldn't stop. Go forward. Be saved. Now! I had sinned against my father. I knew that. I had defied the Ten Commandments. I had not obeyed him. The voice prodded at me like a prickly thorn, and I started to shake, knowing my time had come. Then, the strangest thing happened. As soon as I stepped forward and started to walk down the church aisle to the preacher, the most glorious feeling came over me. It was as if trumpets were sounding in heaven and calling me to hold hands with the angels. I knew then God wanted me to be baptized. And I walked forward with pride and confidence and with the most thrilling feeling in my heart that I've ever had. "I want to confess all my sins," I told the preacher when I reached the altar. And the preacher looked up and cried, "O Lamb of God, hear this sinner!" I knelt before him, and I listened to him pray, and I prayed with him while the heavenly sound of trumpets called and I saw the shining, beautiful face of our Good Lord, Jesus, smile upon me. I couldn't wait then for the day of my baptism. On that day I wore a white dress, and I walked into the river up to my waist, and the preacher stood in the water beside me. : "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost," he said, "I baptize thee, i Brenda Lee, a Child of God." And he touched my head gently and immersed me into the water. I came out of the water, soaking wet, and I opened my eyes to the most beauti j ful sight I'd seen. The sun shone on every j thing, and the hills around the river were emerald green. And I thanked the Lamb of God silently for giving me "the call" to baptism and true Christianity. I thanked Him for saving me. . . . HOW DID THIS HELP ME? If you believe in God, it's enough to know that He returns your love. And while He may not shower you with gifts, if you pray and have faith He'll ultimately take your hand and guide you. He gave me strength. I made personal appearances in out-of-the-way places, never expecting anyone to hear about them. But Red Foley came once, unex j! pectedly, and he signed me to sing with him for six months. After that, I was signed by Steve Allen and Perry Como to appear on their shows. Then I recorded Sweet Nuthin's and it collected dust for months. Everyone at the recording company complained it was a dud. I prayed. I didn't lose faith. And one day, my manager, Dub Albritton. told me that we had made the Hot 100 chart in Billboard. After Sweet Nuthin's climbed to the top. I recorded I'm Sorry, and an album called Brenda Lee. And before you could say boo, I'm Sorry topped the Hot 100 lists, and, after that, the album became a bestseller. Every morning and every evening I thank our Good Lord for His blessings, for all the happiness He's given me, and I ask Him if I can help Him in any way to have other sinners see the light. end A Soldier's Love Story (Continued from page 31) stretch in Texas. Nancy wrote to him every day, and he read her letters a dozen times before he fell asleep in the canvas tent he shared with Jock, his kibitzing buddy. "You've really got it bad," Jock told him one night after chow. "What?" "You're hooked, man. Hooked! You're walking around like you were in a daze, and if you don't get married soon you're going to pass out from nervous exhaustion." Tommy never talked about Nancy to Jock. Somehow, she didn't belong in this harsh world of curt commands and clanking mess kits. She was the dream he dreamed day and night of a world beyond this rigorous life of soldiering. He wondered how men, during the war, were able to spend so many months and years away from their dear ones. NOW, THIS WEEKEND, he was to see Nancy. She was driving to San Antonio since his commanding officer had promised the airmen week end passes if the maneuvers went well. He hadn't seen Nancy for months, since his leave last summer, and he wondered what it would be like, seeing her, after so long a separation. Would things be the same? Maybe, he shuddered, she had changed her mind about everything. Maybe she didn't want to get married. Maybe she had found someone else. Maybe things were different. He was right. Things were different. She pulled up to the tan clapboard orderly room that cloudy Saturday afternoon, and when the C. Q. announced his name over the squawk-box, he bolted from his barracks and ran to her. He let out a yell and reached out and embraced her. and the two of them kissed. Holding her tight in his arms, Tommy whispered, "Nanny, oh Nanny, I've missed you. You'll never know how much." Nancy was tongue-tied. She didn't speak. She looked up at him in his neatly pressed airman's uniform. "Hey," he suddenly cried out, "you want to see something new?" There was a flash of excitement in his eyes. "Take a look. Feast your peepers on Mr. Choptops himself!" And Tommy removed his blue airman's cap and winked an eye as he bowed his head to show Nancy his GI crewcut. Her eyes lit up and she smiled, and she reached out to touch his short, furry hair. "Tommy," she said shyly, "I ought to check in at my motel." "Okay, honey," he answered softly. "Let me sign out first." The slate-gray sky rumbled and it started to rain. Tommy hurried into the orderly room. After he returned, he said, "You know, I ought to introduce you to Jock, but I guess that can wait. I've never talked to him about us, but I can tell he wants to meet you. He swears I'm gone, real gone, over you. And you know he's right!" Nancy gave Tommy the key to the car. She sat opposite him on the front seat. He started the motor and pressed the acceler ator. "It's just a mile away," Tommy said. "We'll be there in no time." AT THE MOTEL, Nancy checked in and the clerk wouldn't let her go to her cabin without asking her a dozen questions about her father. Tommy ultimately interrupted. "Maybe you all can talk later because right now I'm famished and I'd like to get some chow." The clerk took Nancy's suitcases to her cabin, and Tommy waited in the lamplighted lobby. Something's the matter, he told himself. Something isn't right. Why was Nancy acting so distant, so strange? In all her letters she had vowed her love for him, and now why was she acting as if they'd just met . . . ? They drove in the chilly autumn drizzle as dusk veiled the dry countryside. "Honest," Tommy said, "I'm not hungry I only said that to get the clerk off his third-degree kick about your dad." "But you must be a little hungry so let's stop." "No. baby, I'm not." They drove on in the darkness, the headlights of the car shining on the rainspattered highway. At an intersection. Tommy turned and the car jostled along a bumpy country road. Tall black trees seemed to sigh from the rain, roadside gulleys gurgled. At the top of the small hill. Tommy pulled the car to the side of the road, braked it and turned off the ignition. He cleared his throat, and they sat beside each other. Their eyes looked at one another, and for a moment Tommy thought he would go out of his mind. What was the matter with Nancy? He closed his eyes and drew an uneasy breath, and in that next minute he felt her warm fingers clutching his hand, holding