Sheep and Wolves in Alaska

[This is a true story; only the city name has been changed.]

Steven C. Levi

P. O. Box 241467

Anchorage, Alaska 99524

WANK

In Alaska, history is not recorded by days and months. It is not cataloged in years either. No one talks about last year or six years ago or the decade ago. Instead, time is recalled by events that are of significance to the residents. Old Timers, for instance, speak of time as BE and AE: Before and After the Earthquake while sourdoughs of a more recent vintage think of time in terms of BMc and AMc: Before and After McDonald’s. Newer comers consider time as BP and AP: Before and After the Pipeline while the most recent residents think only in terms LFU: the last freeze-up.

At an undisclosed, misty point in Alaskan history, AE and BMc, a pair of hippies drifted into Jaegersburg, one of the small pseudo-metropolitan communities in Alaska’s southeastern panhandle. Fleeing the ravages of drugs that had invaded their pristine haven in San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury, they had fled north to find the unspoiled wilderness of the Last Frontier. Driven more by their belief that such a paradise existed rather than through any personal knowledge thereof, they had been seduced by the dream that Alaska offered the last, best hope for an America ravaged by all three kinds of pigs and the ever-spreading ooze of mediocrity into which their college friends were succumbing. With sterling intentions, they were, alas, only able to flee as far north as their sterling would take them, which, in this case was Jaegersburg. They pushed their flowered Volkswagen van off the ferry because it had died enroute and entered the “City by the Strait,” as Jaegersburgers refer to their community, and spent the first day scrounging for spare auto parts and the part-time jobs to pay for them so they could continue their odyssey to places unknown further north.

Fortunately for their depleted wallets, they had come at the most propitious time of year: summer. In addition to the tourism work, the two were able to supplement their part-time income by scrapping hulls, varnishing tidewater pilings and selling newspaper advertising. Day by day they made enough to meet their modest expenses but never had enough to enhance their travel portfolio. Thus, by the end of the tourist season, they were still sleeping at the public camp ground in their Volkswagen van painted with red carnations and blue orchids and showering at the local Laundromat.

While this lifestyle may have been acceptable in many parts of California and, in Southern California, could have continued throughout the winter, in Alaska such a existence was necessarily limited by the weather. Though Jaegersburg receives little snow, it holds world records for rainfall. An inch of rain a day, for weeks at a time, is not uncommon. It is, on the other hand, rather common. In fact, rainfall in Jaegersburg is so common that, on sunny days, residents of this community claim they do not tan, they rust.

Thus it came to pass that as days grew shorter, the rain colder and cash reserves leaner, the couple realized that their moment of judgment was close at hand. When the last tourist boarded the last cruise ship headed south and the doors of the Alaskan knick-knack boutiques closed for the season, it was clear that the long-dreaded Alaskan winter was close at hand. With no money to leave and not enough to make it through the cold spell, the couple now faced a moment of ultimate truth. To survive they would have to do the unconventional, take a chance and do that which they would have to do to survive.

Desperately searching for a means of survival, the couple came across the answer in, of all places, the Berkeley Barb — the only luxury they still allowed themselves. There, in the Want Ads, wedged between earth shoes and mail-order granola, was a three-line advertisement for conducting a revival. Hardly for those pure at heart, rather, this advertisement was for those who were rich on ambition. The advertisement, for a mere $50, offered a complete package of miracle-working, from tips on renting halls to camera-ready sermons announcing the coming of the miracle of GOD’S WORD in the city of _________________, the “______________ “ left conveniently lengthy to include the spelling of any city in America — save that of communities with lengthy names like New Smyrna Beach, Saint Anne des Chenes or White Sulpher Springs.

What appealed to the couple was the simplicity of the enterprise. For a rope, sheet, hall and $25 in Xerox copies they could hold their revival, complete with the MIRACLES OF GOD’S HEALING MIGHT. Desperate for alternatives and finding none, the couple decided they had no choice but to bring GOD’S WORD to the heathen city of Jaegersburg, a den of sinners if ever there was one in Alaska.

Upon receiving their religious packet, the couple immediately went about securing the needed implements of salvation. While the newly-confirmed man of the cloth pawed through the Volkswagen bus for the rope and sheet, the newly-converted woman of the cloth rented the hall. Both, independently and incidentally, learned of God’s workings in mysterious ways. Unable to find a sheet, the newly-frocked Minister of the Gospel found that their two army blankets would serve the purpose of one sheet admirably. Sister Freedomia, as she called herself combining politics and religion, found the only hall that was rentable for the cash they had on hand was an ancient church of questionable sanctity that had once been a brothel and, after the church, had been converted into the back room of the local grocery store wherein the proprietor sold alcohol and tobacco products as well as the magazines and books whose morality incensed, in both senses of the word, the good people of Jaegersburg — and the others as well.

The proprietor of the establishment was, at first, unwilling to set aside his regular Thursday, Friday and Saturday night poker games which were strictly illegal as the Marshal who sat in and bet heavily continued to remind the gathered sportsmen. But, when he heard what the building was slated for, he relented. It was not that he had any particularly burning faith in GOD’S WORDS or repented any of the sins which he so frequently committed. Instead, he was interested in seeing what that “hippeee couple’s gonna do ’cause it might be worth a few laughs, har, har, har.” He did not, of course, mention this determining factor when he took $25 from Sister Freedomia but assured her that he would, indeed, be present at least on the third night when Brother Ethelred was going to heal some one or several someones in Jaegersburg of disease or other ailments from which they had suffered for years.

After plastering the city with Xeroxed notices that GOD’S WORD was, at last, going to make an appearance in the “City of Rain,” another local sobriquet, the pair retired to the confines of their church, both erstwhile and present, to await the coming of the rubes.

The first night turned out to be a smashing financial success. The newly-converted servants of God not only regained their initial investment but were able to pay for a badly needed tune-up on their carnation and orchid clunker. Thus were the wages of piety. While it could not be said that Jaegersburg was a community that had more than its fair share of nervous sinners, more appropriately it could be said that its denizens were interested in what the “hippie couple was gonna do next” and the residents were more than willing to cough up a few dollars each evening to watch what could only be called the epitome of California Guerrilla Theater.

The second night was just as financially rewarding as the first. Brother Ethelred, preaching enthusiastically from the crib sheets that had come with the do-it-yourself Evangelist kit, told of the coming end of the earth, fire and brimstone and the need to listen and heed GOD’S WORD. Sister Freedomia, meanwhile, moved through the crowd with a tambourine and offering plate, proffering whichever was appropriate. They held the crowd late enough for a third collection that evening and retired to their Volkswagen with enough good-gotten-gains for new tires.

They also celebrated that night, a vegetarian dinner in a restaurant rather than the usual meal out of tin cans at the campsite. There was even a bottle of wine — cheap and red but, nonetheless, satisfying. But it did not occur to the two people of God until Saturday morning that their most difficult task lay directly ahead. After two days of preliminaries, the night of healing the afflicted was now at hand. While reading GOD’S WORD from a script was one thing, making the crippled walk was something else. Thus, by noon on Saturday, the hippies were sweating square nails with only one small consolation: in Jaegersburg it was doubtful they would be faced with the healing of any lepers.

That night the church was packed. Every chair was filled and Jaegersburgers were even sitting on the warehouse boxes and crates. The pair had strung up the army blankets across the back of the stage to section off the “healing area” from the view of the flock and papered the painted-over windows, as per the instructions in the booklet, to give the penitents a feeling of privacy.

The sermon was mercilessly short and suddenly it was time for the miracles of GOD’S WORD to be performed. A hush fell over the crowd, a strange condition for Jaegersburgers, as Brother Ethelred called for anyone who wished to be healed to come forward. At first there were no takers. Brother Ethelred called again and then, slicing the silence like a crab scrounge through white water came a solitary acclamation. The crowd at the back of church parted like the Bering Sea and there, all five-foot-two of him, stood a man with twin leg braces. He moved painfully as he proceeded up the aisle, crutch-step by crutch-step slamming into the splintering floorboards. Crash by crash the figure moved forward, the entire congregation watching his progress.

When he arrived at the podium, Brother Ethelred could see that this man needed more help then just divine intervention with regard to his legs. He was as bald as a harbor seal and had a wart the size of a perch on the right side of his neck. He was eyebrowless yet had a scraggly beard on his lower chin and neck that disappeared into his oily, service station jumpsuit. One hand was missing a finger and, as if in balance, the foot on the other side of his body was wedged into a boot that indicated he had no toes on that extremity.

“What’s you name?” asked Brother Ethelred.

“Frank.”

“Well, Frank. We all know what you need. To walk! To Walk! Well, Frank, tonight, God, in his righteous might will help you walk, right here, on this stage!”

There was a chorus of weak and some humorous “Amen!” as Brother Ethelred parted the army blankets and allowed Frank to crash his way into the healing area.

“Is there anyone else?” There was a barely disguised tone of hopelessness in Brother Ethelred’s voice as it echoed strangely off the ceiling timbers. Once again there was an acclamation from the crowd. But this time, when the sea of Jaegersburgers parted, a strapping man, about 25, came forward all the way to the podium. He was built like a weight lifter, had soft blond hair and deep blue eyes. He moved like a dancer, placing each foot carefully as if he knew exactly where it was to be set. He was dressed in clean clothing and appeared more like a high school teacher on holiday than a man in need of God’s healing might.

Clearly unsure why this young man would be coming forward, Brother Ethelred asked him his name.

“Wob.”

“What?”

“Wob.”

“What?”

“Wob!”

“Oh,” the secret of the moment revealed, “You mean, BOB! Your name is BOB and you want the healing power of the LORD to cure you speech impediment!”

“Nhyes.”

“Are you READY for the healing power of God’s almighty word?!”

“NHYES!!”

“Do you believe in word of God and HIS power to heal?!”

“NHYES!”

“Then step behind the curtain with Frank, and the HEALING power of the LORD will set aside YOUR afflictions!”

Bob stepped behind the curtain as Brother Ethelred continued to preach, his enthusiasm mounting as he was hopeful that God would arrive at this, Brother Ethelred’s moment of need. The wailing of the audience added to the din and they all prayed together, loud, asking that GOD’S WORD should heal the Frank and Bob and cast their afflictions aside. They prayed as long as Brother Ethelred could hold them, he praying the most fervently, and then it came time for the proof of the preaching.

“FRANK,” Brother Ethelred cried over the blankets. “DO YOU BELIEVE IN THE HEALING POWER OF THE LORD?”

“OH, Yes!” came the enthusiastic reply from behind the army blankets.

“If you believe in the healing POWER OF THE LORD, then THROW a crutch over the blankets!”

In the next instant, a crutch came sailing out of the healing area. It took a single bounce on the timber floor in front of the podium and rolled to a stop against a side wall.

“If you believe in the HEALING POWER OF THE LORD, Frank, then THROW your other crutch over the blankets!”

The second crutch came sailing over the blanket and bounced on the hardwood floor of the church as Brother Ethelred continued his healing sermon.

“Now, Bob, if you believe in the HEALING power of the LORD, SPEAK!”

From behind the veil of khaki cotton came a plaintive voice: “Wank fall down.”

And thus it came to pass that in the annals of Jaegersburg, yet another acronym of time was recorded, this being BW and AW: Before and After Wank.

[Steven Levi’s mysteries can be found at www.authormasterminds.com. His other books are available from Kindle and ACX.]