<img src="http://jb-ms.com/images/Pics2/tabernacle.jpg" width=110 height=135 align="left" vspace="0" hspace="1"/>Y'all may remember a couple of stories I posted about going to the holy rollie revivals at the old Tabernacle, here's another short story about going to one of the revivals in 1948....
We left home in plenty of time to get to the Tabernacle before the services started but had a flat about halfway there and by the time my father got the tire changed we were running late. It started to rain while Dad was changing the tire and in addition to getting wet he rounded off one of the lug nuts. By the time he got the tire changed he was soaked but his temper was red hot. Mom wanted to go back home but Dad said no, we had started to the Tabernacle and dammit we were gonna go. The service was half over when we did get there, it was still raining and since my Mom and sisters didn't want to get wet they told Dad to get as close as he could to the door so the rain wouldn't mess their hair up. Cars were parked everywhere but Dad saw a gap between some trees near the front door and managed to squeeze the car, a 1935 Cheverolet, between several of them and get within 15 feet of the door.
The service was going full blast, with preaching, singing, music, clapping and several already taken with the Holy Ghost jabbering up a storm, all at the same time. We jumped out in the rain and ran inside to find it was so crowded we were stuck right inside the door, but that was ok. It was more than loud enough to hear what was going on and we would be the first ones out when it was over. It was a typical service, with lots of shouting and jumping around, except the roof leaked pretty badly and in addition to the carryings on a lot of folks got kinda wet.
As soon as it was over we all ran back to the car and jumped in so we could get out in the road before the other cars blocked us in. Problem was it was black dark, Dad had to back the car out of the trees and there were no lights. None. 1935 Chevies didn't have backup lights and the one taillight it had was so dim it was hard to tell for sure if it was working or not, but Dad's temper was still a tad hot and he wasn't the least bit deterred. He opened the door, leaned out and started backing out but had forgot the first two trees he had to back between only left about 6 inches clearance on each side. He remembered when the drivers side door hung the one on his side and broke completely off. When the door broke off he jerked the wheel and turned the car enough the left front fender got in the tree and smushed it up.
He jumped out of the car and started cursing like a mule driver. Dad was a big man with a big voice, he knew a lot of cuss words I'd never heard before and used them all. The folks coming out the door were only 15 feet away, they all stopped to see what the commotion was about and had no trouble hearing what he was saying. Neither did the folks who lived in a house a quarter of mile down the road from the Tabernacle. Mom was trying to get him to stop, she kept yelling, "SHSSSSSSH! Elmer, we're at church! Stop cussing!" at him but it's doubtful he heard her.
After what seemed like an hour of nonstop cussing he grabbed the broke off door, threw it in the trunk and backed out without worrying about hitting the trees. And he hit most of them. That was an exciting and educational event. Nobody could remember anything like that happening, or any language like that used, at church before. It was talked about for a long time afterward, and I learned some new words that got me some severe butt beatings.
We left home in plenty of time to get to the Tabernacle before the services started but had a flat about halfway there and by the time my father got the tire changed we were running late. It started to rain while Dad was changing the tire and in addition to getting wet he rounded off one of the lug nuts. By the time he got the tire changed he was soaked but his temper was red hot. Mom wanted to go back home but Dad said no, we had started to the Tabernacle and dammit we were gonna go. The service was half over when we did get there, it was still raining and since my Mom and sisters didn't want to get wet they told Dad to get as close as he could to the door so the rain wouldn't mess their hair up. Cars were parked everywhere but Dad saw a gap between some trees near the front door and managed to squeeze the car, a 1935 Cheverolet, between several of them and get within 15 feet of the door.
The service was going full blast, with preaching, singing, music, clapping and several already taken with the Holy Ghost jabbering up a storm, all at the same time. We jumped out in the rain and ran inside to find it was so crowded we were stuck right inside the door, but that was ok. It was more than loud enough to hear what was going on and we would be the first ones out when it was over. It was a typical service, with lots of shouting and jumping around, except the roof leaked pretty badly and in addition to the carryings on a lot of folks got kinda wet.
As soon as it was over we all ran back to the car and jumped in so we could get out in the road before the other cars blocked us in. Problem was it was black dark, Dad had to back the car out of the trees and there were no lights. None. 1935 Chevies didn't have backup lights and the one taillight it had was so dim it was hard to tell for sure if it was working or not, but Dad's temper was still a tad hot and he wasn't the least bit deterred. He opened the door, leaned out and started backing out but had forgot the first two trees he had to back between only left about 6 inches clearance on each side. He remembered when the drivers side door hung the one on his side and broke completely off. When the door broke off he jerked the wheel and turned the car enough the left front fender got in the tree and smushed it up.
He jumped out of the car and started cursing like a mule driver. Dad was a big man with a big voice, he knew a lot of cuss words I'd never heard before and used them all. The folks coming out the door were only 15 feet away, they all stopped to see what the commotion was about and had no trouble hearing what he was saying. Neither did the folks who lived in a house a quarter of mile down the road from the Tabernacle. Mom was trying to get him to stop, she kept yelling, "SHSSSSSSH! Elmer, we're at church! Stop cussing!" at him but it's doubtful he heard her.
After what seemed like an hour of nonstop cussing he grabbed the broke off door, threw it in the trunk and backed out without worrying about hitting the trees. And he hit most of them. That was an exciting and educational event. Nobody could remember anything like that happening, or any language like that used, at church before. It was talked about for a long time afterward, and I learned some new words that got me some severe butt beatings.
Maybe Left hand thread? Ya think? I had heard the words before but never run into them as I was not much of a mechanic.
Funny how the curse words stick with us after only hearing them one time, and are used at a later time, usually when among out friends while trying to impress them. 
