The photo shows the old Salem Methodist Church in Evansville, Indiana.   It was built in 1846.  I am sure some of those people are my ancestors.  The photo was taken in the 1920’s.

        My family was very church-centric.  It was the organization that provided most of our social activities.  We were members of Salem Methodist Church.  I was always thankful that the church was not a “fire and brimstone” type church, but instead our domination of Methodists a taught a very liberal type of Christianity, things like; “Be kind to everyone,” “Do good works,” and “Help those that are not a fortunate as you.”  I took those moral values with me for the rest of my life, even though I lost all religious dogma that was taught.

        During the first years that I can remember, the church building was an old brick, traditional-looking country church, whose sides where lined with vertical, arching stain-glass windows and its roof featured a steeple pointing toward heaven.  

        It was fairly small with an interior featuring rows of hard wooden pews, separated by an aisle that ran down the center of the church.  There was a pulpit for the minister on one side of the alter, and an organ off to the other side.   Just behind the pulpit,  I remember a wooden sign, where each Sunday the number of attendees from the previous Sunday was posted.

        Attached and behind the 100 year old church building was an addition that consisted of a basement with a darkish hallway that led to the handful of rooms that were used for Sunday School.  We kids always attended Sunday School where we were taught Bible Stories, and life lessons. 

        One memory I have of a Sunday School Class happened when I was in the forth grade.  Dennis, one of my friends, came in with his face all swollen and pink.  I asked him what had happened and he explained that someone had told him that if you ate a poison ivy leaf, it would prevent you from ever suffering the terrible itching of the plant for the rest of his life.

        He tried the “Cure” and his face was the result.

        On the main floor above the Sunday School rooms was a large open “social hall” with a stage at the end, and one the side was a kitchen.  The hall was where big gatherings would be held.

        It was in the social hall, where the “Family Night Suppers” (potluck dinners) and weekday kindergarten classes took place.  We always looked forward to those Family Night dinners, because of the delicious variety, and sometimes “exotic” types of food, that we never got at home.  It was at the family night dinners that I first got my first taste of shrimp and also pecan pie.  The varied dishes of food that people brought were laid out on the tables that ran down the center of the hall, with the dining tables along each side.

        The Family Night Suppers also gave us kids a chance to chase each other around through the hall, weaving through the tables, up the stairs, across the stage, and down the kindergarten “slide” that had been pushed to the side.

        Each Sunday, once our Sunday School lessons had ended, we had to go to the sanctuary where we had to sit quietly and resist squirming on the hard oak pews, while we endured the regular church service.  My mom and uncle were in the church choir, whose songs and hymns did animate the service a bit.

        The minister knew all of us kids were bored out of our skulls, so after the hymns, the announcements, and musical presentation by the choir, we kids were invited to walk up to the front of the church and stand at the alter, while the minister gave us the “Children’s Sermon,” a short talk with a moral.  Then we walked back to join our families on the hard pews.

        With the circulation of our legs somewhat restored from the walk, it was time to numb our brains through the adult sermon.   After the singing of the last hymn ended, we were free to go outside and again talk to our friends.

        Periodically, there was an escape from the church service provided for us kids.  A church group of elderly women that belonged to the WCTU (Women’s Christian Temperance Union) once a month, put on a program for us kids.  Not only did their programs allow us kids to escape from the boring Sunday sermons, but also enticed us with Kool-Aid and cookies, so we were always happy to attend.

        Once there, our little minds were pummeled with anti-alcohol, anti-tobacco, and sometimes, anti-drug propaganda and endless examples of people who destroyed their lives and the lives of their families through addictive drink.  The propaganda they espoused certainly scared the bejesus out of my little brain, and made me a teetotaler for the rest of my life.  

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