In 1960 we were living in a four-room cabin in the foothills of the Ozarks. The nearest town was eight miles away. Its population was listed as 300. I don't know how much land area was included to arrive at that number. There was a general store, a bank, and a gas station.
Everyone was white. There were no churches in town, but there were two church buildings nearby, closer to the highway. One was Methodist and one was Baptist. I had observed no more than six or seven family names in the area--all names (except ours) originating in Britain. Some families were better-off financially than others, but everyone lived modestly. I had never before lived in an area with so little diversity.
A weekly newspaper was printed in a nearby slightly larger town and the paper featured a column of news items for each of the smaller communities. Two examples from our community news column: "Mrs. Hardy and Mrs. Wilson drove to Imboden Friday to buy dresses." And my very favorite, featured with a bold headline: "Jimmy Smith's Battleship Docks in San Diego." The ship's Captain and the U.S. Navy may have thought it was their battleship, but as far as his community was concerned it was Jimmy Smith's.
There was some general socializing at the general store, and some male-only socializing at the gas station. Probably the churches were the social centers of the community. We didn't attend church and were content as we were.
From time to time we received a big box of books, magazines, and literary journals mailed from another state by my Dear One's bluestocking aunt. This cleared her house of some clutter and was a great treat for us. One Saturday afternoon the mail carrier left off a box and I read about Archibald MacLeish's play "J.B." which had won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama, and a Tony for Best Play and Best Director. "J.B." was a retelling of the Book of Job.
When he returned home with a string of sunfish for dinner, I told D.O. all about it. He was thrilled with the fresh reading material--everything from essays to detective novels-- and as he looked through our haul he remarked, "What is the Book of Job?" (As a child he spent many Sundays in the woods and very few in Sunday School.) After dinner I handed him a King James version of the Bible open to the Book of Job, which is short and a fairly interesting read.
The next afternoon in one of those odd twists that happen now and then, we were sitting in the backyard when a car pulled up to our cabin. We almost never had visitors, but a middle-aged couple who lived in the general area had stopped by on their way home from church.
We invited them to sit down and I brought out some iced tea. The men started talking about fishing. Excluding the subject of swapping things, fishing seemed to be the topic men in the area discussed the most. Or at least it was their main topic of discussion among themselves when women were present.
Our neighbor lady straightened in her chair, took a deep breath, and said, "We've come to invite you to church." Her husband looked a bit uncomfortable, but she was determined to do her duty as she saw it.
"It is very hospitable of you to ask us," said my tactful husband, "but we don't go to church."
Her husband had an "Oh, good, that's over," facial expression and went back to the topic of fishing. But his wife gave it one more try. "It is important to read the Bible..." she began.
Dear One jumped in. "We were reading the Bible just last night. What was that we were reading, Honey?"
"The Book of Job," I said.
"Yes," he replied, "Job lost all his wealth and cattle, because God was testing him. Job lost all his children because God was testing him. Then Job lost his health, because God was testing him." Here my Dear One paused slightly. "But Job still had his wife...because God was testing him."
Our male visitor whooped with laughter, which he quickly squelched. The visit ended soon after. I expect that story may have made the rounds at the gas station.