Chapter One "Fifties Gal….........A Daughter Remembers" by Diane Krentel Hodge

I grew up in the fifties. One girl surrounded by three brothers. I had to learn how to climb a tree faster, hit back when necessary and out perform my brothers in order to survive. One of six children, right in the middle,  taking root in modern day suburbia.  Back then, children rode their bikes to school, ran barefoot all summer, and played outdoors… all around the neighborhood….right until the fireflies came out. It was an innocent carefree time to grow up. 

I was a “regular-plain-Jane” adorned with short bangs and two neat braids.  I embraced life with great enthusiasm and questioned very little. I was like a straight arrow…. never missing church…and rigorously following the teachings, instruction and models I was exposed to. I asked Jesus to come into my life at my Mother’s knee at five years old after attending many Bible Clubs and Sunday Schools faithfully.

As long as I could remember when anyone would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would say with great pride,… “A mom with five kids!” You know, I think most gals back then had their mindset towards homemaking dreams of grandeur.  Endless hours each day were spent, playing kitchen with plastic pots and pans, caring for baby dolls that cried real tears, wet diapers, or dressing up for a romantic ball with “Prince Charming.” If you really were spoilt and well off, you might even have your very own playhouse in the backyard, with real windows and doors…a place all your own to act out your dreams of homemaking. 

And who can say how much a new invention called the television impacted my young mind?  I remember with awe the day the small box was delivered to our small ranch in North Carolina.  We were totally captivated and sat down right in front of the screen taking in the magic.  It was an era after the war which focused on the family with shows like “Leave it to Beaver” or “Life with Father”. Warm. Inviting. An innocent world with little violence, immorality and heartaches. All shows seem to have a strong family theme.

Besides these inspiring role models and dreams of getting married when I grew up,  the only other professions girls dreamt of back then seemed to fall into two areas…the careers of nursing or teaching. The local library opened up a window into these careers for little girls as well. For back then, the public library was in a focal part of the community; sometimes right in your own neighborhood, easy enough to walk to after school. Each week you could select six special books to take home that counterbalanced your daily intake of television and play.   

Girls especially gravitated towards those light blue mystery books, the Nancy Drew series, and the other bright red covered fiction books, the Cherry Aims nurse series. Nursing became more viable as a career with each new red book I delved into. Soon I was setting my "dream sails” and tacking in that direction as well.   For me,  teaching was less glamorous, as “Our Miss Brooks” didn’t really inspire me to follow in her steps.  Clearly, I fancied myself dressed in a perfectly starched white uniform with a beautiful white coifed hat resting on my curly teased hairdo; glamorous, intelligent AND with no braces, short bangs, or pimples that desperately needed the miraculous pasty Clearasil. 

In the fifties, there always was always the exception to this career rule, ….the “horn-rimmed glasses” gal in your class.  She was the unpopular one that reached for the outer limits, sat up front in class and desired to become a doctor or even perhaps a lawyer!  But for most average girls, there were only three choices in the fifties, plain and simple……being a homemaker, nurse, or teacher. Boy, have times changed!

Life has a way of tinting and shading your naive experiences with a strong dose of reality.  Soon my outlook of innocence was shaken to the core.  One day at school in eighth grade, I was summoned to the  office where a friendly neighbor greeted me, and drove me home.  I was given no reason for this early dismissal but I was not worried at all. But when I opened the front door of our ranch house, I soon realized that life can take a turn that can’t be erased or rationalized. I stepped over the threshold into a heart rendering situation that imprinted on my mind forever.  My sister, Martha….at 5 months old, perfectly created, had died this beautiful sunny day.  Our family was jettisoned into a world of grief.  Aching arms stayed sadly empty. Hearts split wide open. Tears flowed.  Conversations went on way into the wee hours of the morning.  Crib death was the diagnosis but it all didn’t make sense to me.  At the funeral,  I remember vividly how I leaned down to give Martha a kiss goodbye in her small casket and experienced for the first time the coldness of death.  I was an impressional thirteen year old. Plainly she was gone and I was shaken deep into my inner being. I honestly can say that my Mother and Father bravely faced this horrible happening with the faith I had witnessed in them all my life. Our deep down faith was that nothing could separate us from GOD’S love: death can’t, life can’t, angels can’t, demons can’t, fears for today can’t,  worries for tomorrow can’t, powers of hell can’t. (Romans 8 )Nothing in creation can.  

Mother and I slowly packed up the nursery together, all but one pink and blue blanket, Martha’s favorite. Each piece of clothing was thoroughly smelled and hugged before we closed the trunk and wiped each other tears.  This Martha-lesson threw me into the trenches of life and colored how I would go through other tragedies. Formative years. This seemingly didn’t fit in with those innocent dreams I set when younger for sure.

Then two years later, my second sister, Melissa was born.  At first, we were all so excited as this baby would be loved doubly.  Our arms  just wanted to hold a baby once more.  I was fifteen then and reveled in the new birth.  But life had another lesson for me go through…one more baby to mourn for….another advanced course in life to learn from.  

Happiness soon vanished as we gradually learned that Melissa had a condition called Down Syndrome.  Little did we know back then about this condition but soon the doctors painted a clear picture of what her life would probably be like. And once again, I witnessed my parents resolve and faith as they waded through all the decisions they were faced with. Our family had to maneuver through this painstaking trial of placing our special treasure into a home for special children faraway in Ohio.  No trip home from the hospital for Melissa. My brothers and I stood in the driveway to say our sad farewells because if we held her or brought her inside…well, we just didn’t trust ourselves.  So we all watched her drive away with Mom and Dad for distant Ohio. For you see, doctors, pastors and friends, all advised us strongly that this was the right thing to do, given that there were four teenagers in the household. These “experts” and concerned friends,  underscored the negative affect of bringing a special needs child into a family, predicting that  the whole family would focus around her like cogs of a wheel. Dutifully, we obeyed and implemented this choice numbly.  

And a few weeks after, it was time for Mother and I, to pack up the trunk all the bits and pieces of what was going to be Melissa’s nursery. Our hearts literally ached once more. A second nursery put away and it didn’t get any easier the second time around.

However, the story doesn’t end here. After several months, we drove to Ohio to bring Melissa home for Christmas.  You probably can guess the rest.  We ignored all the advice of the “learned” and kept her all to ourselves!  Not caring if she had one more or one less chromosome! We almost felt like happy thieves as we watched her acclimate to her new surroundings, our home. Those months were completely joyful as our love was requited finally! 

This second-Melissa-test also led my parents to dream a rather life-changing dream.  It seems that as they had looked for a special place for Melissa to live in the beginning, they had seen many unhappy institutions for little ones with handicaps like Melissa.  This realization soon grew in their minds and they were determined providing care for children like Melissa could simply be done much better with God’s help! So they started a home called Melmark for Melissa. "Mel" for Melissa and "Mar" for Martha and "K" for Krentel.    The whole family was united to what this would mean to us. We indeed began to focus around Melissa and others like her, just like the experts had foretold. Like cogs in a wheel. I watched as my parents threw themselves into this project 200%….selling our family home….taking other children into our family….writing two books all about this opportunity for service (Melissa Comes Home and Melmark the Home that Love Built)…..networking with other charities…fund raising…dad giving up his job……inviting staff to live with us like new brothers and sisters…buying a mansion for the children to live in.…countless changes.  But this is another whole story. God makes no mistakes. There was a reason for the Martha-Melissa lesson I slowly began to understand. By this time, I was seventeen years.

Childhood has a way of tiptoeing by quickly in spite of rather large happenings like these.  It has been said that youth stays only long enough to strengthen our shoulders for the burdens ahead. 

College years were here before I knew it right around this time and with great flawed anticipatory zeal, I set my cap to live out the world of my old dreams. Before long,  I packed my suitcase and trunk, making sure I had plenty of knee-highs, mini skirts, tease combs, hairspray and my trusty girdle with seamed stockings. I was facing the world I created in my mind…and was determined it would innocently be just perfect. I had great faith.

And this new journey, I soon realized was in an arena much different than what I ever had imagined it to be.  The luggage I brought with me was not only the physical suitcases, packed to the brim, but a prior knowledge of life’s experiences that formed the scaffolding of who I was, how I would make decisions and face the ups and downs of life. For me, reality didn’t always match up with the fantasy world I had so believed in…..”so-right”, “ so-fair”, “so-exciting” and full of those things that I thought “ought-to-be” or “should-have-been “ . 

Rather it would soon take me into a voyage that no TV program or book would ever be tempted to glamorize. This journey of life was richer, engulfing not only the happy experiences of life  but those life happenings that dig down deeply into your spiritual reserve ,”the garden of your soul”…the seeds of which often are sown in those first innocent

years of life. 

Guard your heart above all else for it determines the course of your life.  Proverbs 4:23

A Barn Christmas by Diane Krentel Hodge

I heard Paul Harvey on the radio share a story that made a lasting impression on me.  Many years later, I searched high and low for it as it was so poignant and I wanted to share it with others.  But I could not find it anywhere. Disappointed,  I  decided to write down this story based on his broadcast, to bring it back to life for me and others.  Please enjoy and if you ever find the original, please let me know. Merry Christmas! Diane Krentel Hodge

A Barn Christmas by Diane Krentel Hodge

It was Christmas Eve. Joe poked at the sparkling fire before settling once again in his overstuffed chair. Upstairs he heard the children scurrying here and there in preparation for the annual Candlelight Service at the town church. He could hear the click of his wife's high heels accentuating each of her hurried steps. The sharp wind played a cold harmony outside.

"Much too cold to be making such a fuss this evening!" he thought, as he cushioned himself further down in his soft armchair. 

"The whole idea of celebrating Christmas was incredible anyway!”  Didn't make sense to a hard-working farmer like him! 

“Ridiculous, when you really ponder the whole story! God incarnate! How could anyone really believe that God’s Son would visit planet Earth? And for heaven sakes, why? “ Joe mused.

“Come on Dad, won't you please come with us…. just this time? “

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by his saucy youngest daughter  dressed in a bright red velvet dress.

He mumbled a low excuse and reached for the paper on the floor with much  purported urgency.  His wife came into the room wearing her best Sunday coat with a longing plea in her eyes, aimed right at Joe. Reluctant goodbyes were said and  the back door swung closed as the family left with a great gust of frigid air.

Joe heard the car crunching over the snow packed driveway. "Preposterous! "He thought again, "Going out on a night like this for any reason! “ 

The wind blew in seeming agreement, gusting down the chimney.  Joe watched the sparks burst in response. 

Looking out the large picture window, Joe could see the barn doors banging open and close in rebellious motion to the whirlwind outside. He grumbled an inaudible response and settled down to peace, alone with the sports section and the warm fireplace.

An uneventful half hour or more slipped by before Joe was interrupted by a sudden rap on the large picture window. He looked up briefly wondering at the oddity of the sound and the impact that the object had on the large glossy window. The wind whirled in proud delight at its own strength! 

Perplexed, he returned to his respite, only to hear more thumps, but this time in a more rapid succession. Jumping up to take a closer look, he saw the shadows of tiny sparrows lying directly beneath the window, gravely wounded and fluttering in the snow in distress. Other sparrows swept down in frantic attempts to help, flying wildly close to the window.

Watching the sad, urgent scene, Joe realized that the panicked birds were blindly groping for a safe haven of warmth and protection. He knew if he didn't do something fast, many of the sparrows would foolishly waste their lives striving to enter warmth through the cold, unforgiving window.

Outside Joe heard again the clatter of the barn doors and suddenly had an idea. Quickly he turned out all the lights in the living room . Donning his large winter coat, he went out the back door, scrambling his way towards the empty old barn.  With his great strength, he propped opened the two rattling barn doors. In the bitter cold dark, he fumbled for the light switch eagerly and the barn lit up in the cold night sky.

Standing in the brightened doorway, Joe began to flap his arms fiercely, trying to motion the wearied birds towards the opening. The more noise and movement he made, the more confused and scattered the dying birds appeared. Joe was beside himself, as more birds fell to the snow in exhaustion. Desperately Joe beckoned time and again to no avail. When he reached the ebb of frustration, he sighed loudly, "If I only I were a bird, then I could tell them which way to go! “

No sooner had he uttered those insightful words, the church bells rang out clearly “Joy to the World” in the wintry sky. Joe suddenly fell to his knees in humility, understanding for the first time the miraculous meaning of why Christ had to come to earth. His heart surged within him. 

“Blessed be the Lord God of Israel for He has visited us to shine upon those who sit in darkness to guide our feet into the way of peace!” Luke 1:79

By Diane Krentel Hodge

Chapter 20 We give to you, Melissa, our bright-eyed pathfinder—-MELMARK—to have and to hold for so long as you both shall live.

I heard Melissa cry this morning.

Her bedroom is right under our kitchen.  She cried for the longest time, and it was all I could do not to run down to comfort her.  I listened for some signs of lessening grief, but she kept on sobbing.  Finally, I got on the intercom and called down to Fran.

“Did Melissa fall and hurt herself?”

Fran knew immediately what I was asking. So often there was no need for words between us.

“I’ll go check, Mrs. K.  Call you right back.”

And I waited, straining every fiber of discipline within me.  I had battled this one out so many times before, and the victory seemed to come and go.  It is not always easy to be right on deck while someone else does all the mother things you want to be doing for your own child.  And I knew that many times it must not be easy for those who were caring for Melissa, with her mom and dad in the wings, especially when they could not know the confidence we had in them that helped us entrust our child to their care.  For we were on both sides of the fence at once—-hopelessly straddled.

Fran didn’t call back. She “ding-donged” at the apartment door and I yelled my usual “Come in!”

“Just thought you might have a second cup of coffee for me.”  She smiled.  “Melissa pushed Debbie, and Debbie cut her lip.  So Melissa got her hand spanked.”  

It was the only form of discipline that we permitted our child-care workers to use, spanking on the back of the hand.

“Thanks, Fran!”  I poured out two cups and it was hot and steaming and tasted good in my mouth.

********************

It happens so often, it really should not matter so much to me anymore.

In my coming and going at Melmark, my running up and down the stairs, I frequently see Melissa with five or six other toddlers.  I always stop to greet my small daughter, but I have noticed lately that an imperceptible change is taking place a small but hurtful change.

No longer am I the king pin in her life around which her meals and baths and fun times revolve.  Now, all these good things happen each and every day of her life, and she has discovered that I, her mother, do not even have to be on the scene at all.  So I have unwittingly assumed the role of an “extra.”  Now Melissa greets me with the enthusiasm and charm that she accords any casual passerby.

And, odd though it may sound, I cannot bring myself to single out Melissa from the rest of the group, granting her all of the special favors that my mother heart cries out to give to her.

Besides, even if I wanted to, there is no way—-no way! Whenever I walk into the Orange Room I am immediately covered with these adorable children—every one of which is talking at once, clamoring for attention, sitting on my lap, asking to go
Up, up Mommy Krentel?”

And I have pondered many times, should I say, “Melissa is my daughter and she is the only one who is allowed to go up on the third floor with me?”  No, I cannot do that!  So, most of the time, Melissa arrives with Amy, Charlie, Terry, Billy or Debbie in tow. 

*****************************

It is strange what flips-flops my silly heart will do when Melissa does bestow some great affection on me.  My heart turns to jelly as she ruffles my hair or sits in my lap gazing wide-eyed and comical into my eyes—-then screws her mouth into a clown’s face.  I am completely captivated! Then , just when I am swooning at all this enchanting display of personality and charm, she whizzes off my lap and drops down Indian-fashion within six inches of our TV set, and acts as though she doesn’t hear my mock crying. 

“Boo-hoo, Melissa, come see Mommy!”  But she doesn’t give a wiggle.

And that’s the way it is!

Whenever I am clear-headed and freed from maudlin self-pity and the millstones of vanity and pride which sometimes adorn my neck, I do believe that the legacy we have given our daughter is of far greater value than the “ministering unto” that my silly selfish heart sometimes  demands.

THEREFORE,

Being of sound mind and of sound body, we do hereby bequeath to one small daughter, Melissa, for as long as she shall live;

 MELMARK: so that the world into which you were born shall never reveal to you its heart of stone and feet of clay.

2.  MELMARK: where little people and big people will be your friends and playmates and will not ask of you more than your are capable of giving, yet will expect from you always your best.

3.  MELMARK: wherein the dignity of your own small life will be respected as you live in a special world which you yourself can handle with understanding.  

4. MELMARK;  a world which will——

challenge you ——through training and schooling when your own vision falls short of its goal;

comfort you——when you stumble over blocks that thoughtless hands let drop in your path; 

prompt you—-in order to keep you marching forward and arching upward;

protect you—-not from, but in a world that, at best, is “not shaped for the helpless.”

We give to you, Melissa, our bright-eyed pathfinder—-MELMARK—to have and to hold for so long as you both shall live.

With all our love,

Mommy and Daddy

EPILOGUE

Saturday, February 6, 1970 was a red-letter day in our young corporate history.  After an all-day meeting with our board of directors, it was voted unanimously to approve a $1.13 million building projects.  Plans were made to proceed full speed ahead with a gymnasium, a swimming pool; three cottage-type units to house forty-five more children, and two new staff residences.

For over five years, we had tried to keep pace with our populations explosion.  During the first year of operation, we enclosed two porches and remodeled five small rooms in which we had been housing resident staff.  That gave us room for fifteen more children!  In the second year, we added a brand-new nursery and a sunshine room for totally handicapped children.  This provided twenty-two more beds.  Our family grew to ninety-one, all residing in one thirty-five-room French chateau built in 1914.

We ate, in shifts; we played, taking turns in the big playroom.  We improvised at every turn, making classrooms where there were none and turning unused space into needed bathrooms.  It was mind-bolggling but challenging.

We had discovered that our Melmark family responded to a varied program of stimulating physical and educational activities.  Water therapy prove to be of great benefit to our physically handicapped children.  And that called for room!

During the summer months, it was easy.  We conducted swimming classes in our two outdoor pools and used our playground and tennis courts to their fullest.  But summer is short, and there were nine long months when the swimming pool was all covered up and the ground was cold, hard and uninviting. 

We realized that we would have to expand in order to stretch the horizons of the physical, mental and spiritual worlds of our limited children.  It was a giant step of faith and we did not take it lightly.  We stepped out with confidence and faith in our God.

On the afternoon of May 20 1971 the first three residents of Melmark—Melissa, Todd and Terry——grabbed the big handles of the gold-painted shovels and did their best to dig in the rocky earth.  It seemed fitting that these little ones who had tangled themselves up so completely in our hearts and lives should be the first ones to push the shovel into the ground.

It was our groundbreaking!

It was a simple ceremony.  The trees stood tall and proud where the new cottages would nestle; the sun shone brightly and the wind blew in playful little gusts.  We prayed, and even Melissa bowed her head.  We sang, and the people that had gathered there for this momentous occasion joined in.

Praise Him, Praise Him, all ye little children; God is Love, God is Love!

Soon the bulldozers arrived, and in the sloping hillside a nesting place was hollowed out for another outreach, another arm of the “home that Love built.”

After almost eleven months of dizzy, busy building activity, our dedication day was upon us.  I was so excited I couldn’t even pray for good weather.  I was positive it would rain and equally as certain we would never fill up that big empty gym with visitors.  “O ye of little faith!”

To begin with, the afternoon was delightful, and unseasonably warm April Sunday.

“Come and share in our happiness,” More than one thousand persons crowded the gymnasium-auditorium.  We were humble awestruck as they packed the aisles and crowded the doorways, straining their ears to catch the voices from the stage.

The dedicatory address was delivered by the Rev. Dr. James Boice, pastor of Philadelphia’s Tenth Presbyterian Church.  Then a simple program was presented by the students.  There were rhythmic interpretations by the kindergartners, and the first public performance of the Melmark Hand bell Ringers.  The audience lent enthusiastic applause punctuated with occasional indulgent laughter at the inevitable mixups of any childrens’ program.

Four year old Debbie struck a responsive chord with the crowd when she sang “Six Little Ducks” with appropriated impish actions.

Then, twelve year old Gary limped haltingly to the front of the stage and stood poised in front of the mike, holding his one twisted hand awkwardly with the other.  His brown eyes behind his tortoiseshell glasses were serious and unblinking.   He quietly waited for the piano introduction and sang, right on pitch in a clear soprano voice, “Only believe, only believe; All thing are possible.”  Each word came out clearly.  There was not a dry eye left in the audience. 

As the over flow crowd streamed out to tour the new facilities, Paul and I stood up at the front and shook hands.  I couldn’t believe this miracle was really happening!

It was a day never to be forgotten.  For it marked the beginning of a new expanded life for our children.

Our indomitable Scotch-Irish housemother, in her stocking feet and fully dressed, impulsively played the Pied Piper to four of our toddlers who were momentarily intimidated by our new pool.  Down the ramp she splashed, holding their hands tightly.  Into the water they romped with her and just like that their fright vanished.  why, the water was warm!  This was like summertime and it was fun.

Howie hippety-hopped down the long hall outside the gym like an agitated kangaroo, and string-bean Guilford asked timidly, “May I run?”  We watch him take off on the shiny gym floor, fleet-footed as a deer, running three times around the base line without stopping.

And that is kind of the way our exceedingly abundant God is never stopping halfway, never thinking that things need not be so special for these “lesser” children.  Our hearts are full to brimming.  

Always, it seems, we are asked the question, But, is it all paid for?

And we answer simply, no.  Not yet! There is a mortgage of $550,000 left.  But we do not worry. Would God, who “owns the cattle on a thousand hills” let us fall by the wayside now?Never! On, indeed it is an awesome responsibility. And sometimes we run scared.  but we are quietly expecting that He will remove this debt in the near future. As we wait and work, our hearts will go on praising.!

THE END

Take a look at where Melmark is today (See link below) and you will be amazed at God's goodness!  It's ever expanding facilities and programs keep mushrooming into a great home for our special ones.  Next week I will type some of Mother's second book on Melmark that was published when Melissa Comes Home went out of print.  Also look below to see some more pix.  Thanks for taking a peek.  Leave me a message how you liked the book, okay?  Stay tuned for more varied postings!  Diane Krentel Hodge

melmark.org

CHAPTER 19 And what can I say of the others—-those who come faithfully, day after day, working fiercely with every limb and muscle at a task ....

How often we hear this question: 

“Are you planning to hire only Christians to care for these helpless little ones?”

I find myself recoiling from the hushed tone that creeps into people’s voices when they refer to retarded children, almost as though they are a species set apart, not quite human, but created by God for some dark, mysterious purpose.

“Not if we can help it,” I interrupt before Paul can answer.

We sometimes wonder where in all this world we can scrounge up enough red-blooded Christians who will care for all these children, who often drool, frequently mess in their pants, many of whom can neither walk nor talk, and some who eat with their fingers.

But, strangely enough, the applicants keep coming; word of mouth, friend of a friend, or “just wonder if you need anyone to help”  type of approach.

We hire college dropouts, Peace Corps “disappointees,” runaways, young people who are homeless, those who prove aimless, graduate students asking for child care duties, housewives, grandmother, and volunteers from the Christian Service Corp.  College students desiring in service training in the area of their profession fill out our ranks during their three month off campus job experience. 

And many come and many go, but there are always those faithful one, with more heart than most, who prove to be the small thriving nucleus around which Melmark derives its strength and life.

*****************

Pretty, blonde haired Cyndie was a college dropout who after spending her first day observing the children and the rigorous routine at Melmark, decided that maybe after all she would return to college again.

Bright eyed and bubbling, she left on the train for Philadelphia College of Bible in downtown Philadelphia.  We sadly watched her go, for she had much to give us and much to offer our children.

That same evening, holding small Terry in her arms, her blue eyes reddened from weeping, Cyndie knocked on our apartment door.

“ I just couldn’t leave, Mrs. K,” she stammered. “I’m here to stay.” 

I made a few mental reservations.  Here, I thought , until some handsome youth comes dashing along on his white charger and discovers you. 

We welcomed her back with open arms, however. 

Now, almost five years later, Cyndie is still with us, proudly wearing her hard-earned L.P.N. pin on her crisp white uniform.  But suddenly the handsome youth on the white charger has appeared on the scene and stands ready to gallop off with her.

******************

“We sure live in a goldfish bowl!” Diane complained after the third person had hailed her on the intercom that Saturday to inform her that, “Ron is in the driveway.”

“Hey, Dee, Ron is here.  He’s parking his car.  Is it new?” And then a sing-song voice announcing, “Ron is on his way up to the apartment, DeeDee.”

Poor Ron!” He was hard put to it for a place to court Diane!

But life went on even though it was hard for us to adapt to our see-through way of life.  since the geographical location of our apartment is such that we must ascend or descend the carpeted steps leading from the third floor to the second, we had to pass right by their open bedroom doors.  Invariably the girls flocked out to the hallway to greet us.

“Where are you going, Mrs. Krentel?”  “What are we having for dinner?”  “You look pretty tonight.”  “When is Diane coming home?” ( Now that Diane was away in college most of the time, her visits home for holidays or vacation were gal events; she was like a movie star in their eyes.) 

Melissa in particular gave her big sister instant and fervent adoration.  ‘she followed in her wake like a dinghy at too close haul.  Much to my chagrin, Melissa said “Dee-Dee” long before “Mommy” was intelligible at all.  And “Daddy” was so easy for her, it slipped right out of her mouth.  I think she was planning to call me “Daddy “ too but I nipped that little scheme in the bud right from the start.

******************** 

That fall, our friend Charles from Dallas, Texas, visited us on his way to a speaking engagement in New York.  We traipsed him up and down and around the miracle of Melmark.  When he got outside in the walking garden, after viewing the splendor of the pool and surrounding countryside, he looked up at the arched linden trees and threw back his head and laughed.  “Only you Krentels would have thought of such a gigantic scheme to keep your Melissa home with you!”  And we laughed with him.

***************

Living as close as we do to so many of our staff we find that, along with their joys, we have acquired their personal problems.  Take Dot, for instance! 

Dot’s life had been so confused that she had run away from her fine Christian home in Ohio and was trying to make her way on her own.  Like the prodigal son, she had lived in the very septs and had partaken of all that the world had to offer. 

“ I’ve had it—-up to here!”  Dot said. “You give me a chance at Melmark, and I’ll prove to you that I’ve changed!”

Dot had many personality problems which made it difficult for her to keep the friends that she so quickly made.  Now there was a vacancy in one of our staff rooms which Dot wanted to move into.  But two of the three girls involved had just left my apartment, begging me to keep Dot from moving in with them.

“What did they say!?” Dot demanded, her eyes dripping black mascara down her cheeks, and filling with tears for herself over this new tragedy in her life.

“They don’t want you to move in with them.” Was there any other way to say it?

“I knew it.  I knew it, Mrs. K.!  I just don’t get it.  I try so hard to be nice and, beside, I didn’t even say I was going to move in yet or even wanted to.”

“Well, you must have given them some indication of it, Dot.”

“No, honest, I didn’t.  All I did was just knock on the door yesterday real friendly like and asked to see how big the closet was.”

I exploded with laughter.

“You’re as subtle as roquefort cheese.  Hang loose, we’ll think of something!” 

“Am I that awful?” she wailed. Her torn pocket on her bedraggled blue and white striped uniform was held together by a large blue diaper pin.  One stocking sported two large runs racing down her leg side by side.  She saw me surveying the situation and immediately began to make excuses.  I cut her short, for we had paraded her alibis many times.

“Look, Dot, just go downstairs and report for duty.  Here let me fix that pocket.”  I tore it neatly off , and began to pick at the threads.  “And don’t burden yourself with getting bitter.  Give the problem to God.  he surely can think of something better than we both can,”

A faint smile appeared——but only for a second.

I kept believing right until the very day that she left, that somehow Dot was going to make.

**********

When dark-haired, dark-eyed Mary joined our staff that very first fall, I wondered how long she would last.  For Mary was a quiet reserved girl of twenty-one.  she had written a beautiful letter, faultlessly penned, telling us of her desire to work with handicapped children.

I met her at the train station one early afternoon soon after Cyndie had joined our staff.  She climbed into the Volkswagen and placed her two suitcases on the back seat.  After I had exhausted the usual pleasantries about the health of her mother, the state of her father’s business, and “How was the train ride, anyway?”  We rode for a while in uneasy silence.  Finally I said, “Mary, what church did you attend?”

“It was just a little one.” She sounded apologetic.

“OH?” I waited for her to volunteer more information.”I used to be a Catholic.  But then I went to this little church with a friend of mine.  I heard something that I never knew before.  They said that all I had to do was to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ.”

She was breathless and seemed a bit embarrassed.  

And do you believe that too?” I asked, giving her no indication which theological position I favored.

“Yes, I do.”  She continued to look straight ahead.

I reached over and laid my hand on her folded hands resting quietly in her lap.

“Good for you!”  I smiled at her.  “So do I.”

It was a tremendously courageous thing for her to admit to a brand-new employer, and I secretly applauded her.

And Mary has proven to be another one of the small faithful nucleus who has served our children for the past five years.

*****************

And what can I say of the others—-those who come faithfully, day after day, working fiercely with every limb and muscle at a task that tomorrow will only have to be repeated all over again, where the successes are infinitely small and the monetary rewards insufficient of themselves—-to these keepers of the helpless, these leaders of the lame,  what shall I say?  Only Christ can say, “In as much as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

IT’S ALL IN A DAY’S WORK!

By Carole Schauermann

(Carole worked the 7:00-3:00 shift in the GreenRoom1)

I walk straight in at 7:00A.M.

And stand for a minute and look at them.

“Hello kids!” with a sigh, I will say,

For after all it’s the start of the day.

“TV please,” says Dave loud and clear.

The set better work, I think, with a fear.

I flick on the set and hope there will be 

A cartoon to keep David quiet for me.

I find one fast and fill with joy;

But Dave, with a freon says, “I wanna toy.”

With the toy in his hand, after not too long,

He throws it away and says, “Sing me a song.”

And after the song is nearly complete, 

He states very frankly, “I wanna eat!”

I throw up my hands and turn away,

There are other kids to take care of today.

Johnny is waiting and so is Toddy,

And off we go for a round at the potty.

I think these kids are quite confused,

For bowels are held tight when potties are used.

The banging I hear—-that comes from a bed.

I better burry’ they want to be fe.

Everyone wants to be first on the list.

And I take Jo off to the Gingerbread Room.

I feed them well and when they’re done,

I dress them neatly, one by one.

When the last one’s finished, I count to ten,

‘cause the first one needs to be changed again.

But quickly I move, no time to fool.  

Soon these kids will be late for school.

Down the steps, stumbling all the way,

“Hold on to the rail or you’ll fall!”  I say,

If I raise my voice, its sure to appall

The inevitable guest in the center hall.

Once in the playroom, our aim without mention

Is to give each child a little attention.

With Bubby, I’ll look at a book or so

While Andy is gurgling at David O.

David, in turn, tells him all his troubles,

Not in words, but in well-blown bubbles.

Play with them, teach them, one by one,

Making it interesting, making it fun.

Patience for this is a gift from Heaven

As on we go from nine till eleven.

Next, round them up in a nice little bunch

And take them up the steps  for lunch is due.

That breakfast, just finished, now lunch is due.

Two more have eaten, it’s drawing near noon,

And across the room comes a flying spoon.

A plate full of food goes down with a flop,

And someone is running to fetch the mop.

It’s time for those guest, that I spoke of before

To appear in the doorway and stare at the floor.

The mess once cleaned, the last one fed;

I potty and change them and put them to bed.

There’s sheets to get and diapers to fold;

I sadly regret there’s a sick child to hold.

Soon everything’s done and the room is all straight.

The carpet is clean and the bathroom looks great.

The socks are all sorted; I’ve answered their cries

And routinely cleaned up Jo’s daily surprise.

A whole two minutes will pass by and then

I’ll get them from bed and start over again.

And as I do, I cannot conceive,

The one baffling thing I find hard to believe;

They’re the only skids all over the map 

Who get dirty faces while taking a nap!

Chapter 18 Melmark is still so new and shining a miracle that our sense of indebtedness to these children whom we serve grows with the years.

Chapter 18

Melmark is still so new and shining a miracle that our sense of indebtedness to these children whom we serve grows with the years.

These children have altered me; they have, at times, given me far more than they themselves have gotten.  I feel much like the “old woman who lived in a shore” with my expanded family of ninety-one.  the population explosion that has occurred at Melmark during the past five years has to be seen to be believed.

And from each child I have relearned valuable lessons in humility, in honesty, and in humor.  And perhaps the most satisfying lesson of all, I have learned not to be swelled up by pity for them, but have learned to play, to laugh, and to cry with them!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Now that it is all over, I can laugh about Jimmy and his tub bath——or was it a shower?  Paul was at choir rehearsal.  I was stretched full length on the sofa—-shoes off—-a Doris Day movie on TV.

There was a knock at the door.

“Jimmy won’t take his shower.  He’s really high, kicking and yelling and won’t get off the floor.  Clyde’s on duty; he thought maybe you could——-“

I got to my feet, both knees touching each other.  I looked around me, but the apartment was just as empty of reinforcements as it was before.  I talked to myself en route to the boy’s wing.  So he’s sixteen——I’m forty-seven!  And I’m almost as tall as he is! And I’mm the boss’ wife!  And besides, I’m supposed to be smarter!  By the time I arrived at the hall of the boy’s wing I was fairly confident.

Jimmy was on the floor, head wrapped in his arms——a belligerent teenager.  

“You get off that floor this very minute!”  that was almost a full short!!! (I was really quite proud of myself.)

When he stood up in front of me, I swallowed a quick gulp of air.  I kind of shoved him into his bedroom, which took him by surprise, but he immediately plopped down on his bed and looked at me defiantly through half-opened slits of brown eyes.

“OK. Now you start to undress!”

His left arm was twisted and stiff, and he fumbled slowly and clumsily with his buttons while I drummed my fingers on the windowsill and stared outside.

He dropped his shirt on the floor and followed it with his shoes and socks and pants.  Brace buckles which held a corset like arrangement with a U-shaped device under both arms completely encased the top fall of his body.  I wanted to reach out and help him, but something in the way he kept staring at me prevented me from offering my services.  

He kept on talking——but not to me.  I had a feeling it was just as well I could not figure out what he was saying.

Suddenly he stood up in his underpants and T-shirt.  The braces klunked to the floor noisily.  He gave a jerk at the waist of his underpants.

“Wait just a minute!  Wait till we get to the bathroom.”

The hall was narrow and lined with nine other boys in pajamas, all showered and bathrobed. We ran the gauntlet of their self-righteous looks and arrived at the square little bathroom where the “Battle Of Armageddon” was about to begin. Clyde popped his head around the door.  His face had a look of undisguised admiration.

”If you need, I’m out here,” he hissed through the crack. 

I shut the door behind us.  The moment of truth had arrived.  If there were going to be any possibility of a defeat, I preferred it to be both personal and private.

I arranged the damp shower curtain inside the tub and adjusted the temperature,  When I turned around, he was squatting on the toilet—-underpants on the floor.  My face reddened.

You prig! I scolded myself.  You have been married twenty-seven years and raised three boys.

But when they got to be sixteen years old, I didn’t have to shower them, I protested weakly.

Time was slipping by.  He was putting me on!

“C’mon, stand up now, and I’ll help you off with your shirt.”

I grabbed at his arm.

“I’m having a bowel movement.”

“Well, keep seated then for heaven’s sake!”

The minutes sped by.  It was growing into a sit-down strike.  I herded him up by both of his arms and looked behind him.  The toilet bowl was as clean as a wash basin.  Ho-hum, my lad.

“Off with the undershirt,”  I said cheerily.  It peeled off without a tussle.

Jimmy peered through the shower curtain at the small stream of water.  His cocoa-brown eyes were circles of terror.

“Turn it down!”

It is as far down as it will go and still let some water out.  Now step up into the tub.”

“I had a shower last night——-“

I know, but here at Melmark we take one every night.  Why, even I take a bath every night.”

“You do?” Jimmy studied me with interest.  He gingerly put one foot over the edge of the tub, and then his other foot joined it while he seemed to be thinking about my hygienic habits.  Eyeing the stream of water, he cowered at the farthest end of the tub.  The warm clean water ran merrily down the drain, unshaped,——unsullied.

I reached in through the shower curtain and wet the washcloth, soaping it well.  He shrank as my hand approached, so I very calmly handed him the washcloth.  He rubbed his right arm halfheartedly.

“Good boy! Now step forward into the water and rinse the suds off.”

He didn’t budge.  His arm was slick as glass and after a few attempts to pull him, I reached through the other end of the shower curtain again and rinsed the washcloth.  I now had soaked the top half of my dress and neck pretty thoroughly.  But I grabbed the cloth and dribbled the clear water over his soapy arm.

It was going to rather a long, shower.  His right ear was closest , so I quickly swiped at it.  this he manage to dodge rather effectively,  I retrenched and let a few warm washcloths full of water roll down his back.  this seemed to be neutral territory.

By now his body was glistening—-whether from the shower or the sweat of fear, I did not know.  I decided that I had best declare an armistice while I was somewhat ahead in this seesaw battle.  Perhaps tomorrow I could change tactics and give him a tub bath.  ( if only I could find the plug for the drain.)

He stepped out on the bath mat, and I reached in and turned off the the drain.)

He stepped out on the bath mat, and I reached in and turned off the water. 

“Not so bad, was it?”  I asked a bit dubiously.

Jimmy just grinned at me and handed me the towel.

**************

And then there were those children who literally tore our hearts out, and whom we were not able to successfully reach.

*************

The familiar beep of the intercom summoned me.

“You’d better come down.  Bobby has started hitting himself again.  His face is a mass of purple bruises.  We’ve tried everything——threatening, loving—-nothing works!”

On the way down, I tried to think of a plan.  but I was just as fearful as my husband sounded on the intercom.

We met in the center foyer.  Paul was holding both of Bobby’s hands and taking soothingly to him.

“Daddy will come in the morning, Bobby.”

Bobby’s face was terrified, his unhappy blue eyes darted wildly every which way.  His thin face was already beginning to blotch and swell.  I reached for his hands but he jerked free of my grasp and struck himself with such a resounding thwack that he cried out in pain.  I did not turn away.  Instead I spoke to him very sternly.

“That was a very silly thing to do.”

Deliberately he stretched out his arm and stuck himself with all the strength he could muster.  It went through me like a shot.

I caught his two hands and held them in mine.

“Let’s go upstairs to the apartment, OK?”

Jabbering nonsense all the way, he walked up with me to the third floor.  While I opened the door, I had to free one of his hands.  Again the resounding smack made me wince.  Inside our apartment, I tried a new approach.

“Now, Bobby, I am going to let go of your hands and you and I will sit down and listen to the music.  You must not hit yourself , do you understand?”

His answer was a stony-eyed look and a forceful hit against his bruised temple.

“Go ahead, if you like the feeling of it.  Hit yourself all you want to.”  (His mother had used this approach once with success.)

He struck at his face again and again.  Then, just as quickly as he had started, he stopped and ran to the earphones on our stereo set,  He clamped them over his ears fiercely.  Throwing himself down on our chaise lunge, he began to rock back and forth.  The tension seemed to ooze out of him.  I lifted one earphone away from his ear and whispered,

“ I love you, Bobby.”

He threw me a quick bunny like emil.  I popped a peppermint between his puffy lips.  He leaned forward and pecked me very carefully on both cheeks.  My knees were like jello as I turned my back and dusted the dining table, watching him as nonchalantly as possible.

His worried eyes followed me wherever I moved.  Then his eyelids fluttered and drooped.  Between his forefinger and thumb he rolled two wadded balls of paper.  Just as Bobby nodded off, his tense body gave a convulsive jerk.  Terror-stricken, he dug between the crevices in the pillow.  A contented smile suffused his bruised countenance when he found them.

Suddenly he whipped off the earphone, put them down, and announced quite matter-of-factly, “Go to the bathroom now.”

I watched in mounting concern as he left to walk to the bathroom.  He handled his problem with a haste that almost amounted to panic.

Once his “musical helmet” was securely in place again, he smiled at me angelically.  I sighed deeply.

It wasn’t long before Bobby dropped off to a shallow slumber dotted with jerks and twitchings.  I studied his shattered features—at rest at last—and thought, How long——how long will this combination work?  For I was not rolling myself.  This was working for now, but what of the next time—and then the next?  who—what could keep him from destroying himself? For the Bobbys there must be a reason too, God.  Is it so that we throw ourselves with more abandon into Your arms. for help? So that we no longer trust in “ horses and men” but in Your knowing what is best for our special children?  Those who drain us and empty us until there is nothing left but a simple childlike reaching out to find where You are?

**************************

But for every seeming failure, there are this successes that buoy us up.

Five-year-old Markie’s IQ was 66 when he was admitted.  It amazed me that he was not classified “educable” for he was exceedingly verbal’ but I was told professionally that his attention span was immeasurably brief and his retention faculties virtually nonexistent. 

But Markie was a delight, full of pop-eyed curiosity, and a charming chatterbox.  He added humor to many otherwise routine happenings.  Like the day when he involve himself in our fund-raising efforts. 

It was a Sunday afternoon that we loaded the station wagon with some toddlers and drove to Swarthmore to pick up our Jewish friend, Mrs. T. she had tele[honed earlier that week and expressed a desire to see the new developments at Melmark and in particular how the elevator construction was coming.  It was her foundation that had given us $10,000 toward the insulation seven months before.  

On the way over, inquisitive Markie asked where we were going.”To pick up Mrs. T.”

“Who is she?”

“Mrs. T is the kind lady who gave Melmark the money to buy our new elevator.”

He received this astounding piece of information in complete silence.  And we rode quietly along. 

When we had seated Mrs. T. in the front seat with Paul and myself and beaming introductions had been made to all the toddlers, we three in the front seat began to converse together.  But Mark interrupted as though he had been primed and duly automated.

“Thank you, Mrs. T.’ for the money you gave to Melmark for the alley-vator!”

It was so stilted, I almost gagged.  She turned around to look at him in surprise.

“why, isn’t he the smart one!” she enthused, “ Now, how in the world did he ever know about that?”

I felt a little chagrined. “I told him who you were as we drove over here.”

My explanation seemed to please her.  She devoted the next five miles to chitchat with young Mark.  Mark blossomed, and by the time that we pulled around Melmark’s driveway, he was self-appointed tour guide for our visitor, a comic situation over which I had no control.  He talked as rapidly as a toy machine gun.

“This is Mrs. T.!  Say hello to her!  Mrs. T., this is the toddler’s dining room where the kids eat who don’t know how to.” 

“And this is the occupational therapy room, Mrs. T.”  it looked as though we had rehearsed him for weeks.  Finally our tour was over. I had not been able to turn him off.

The final touch came, however, when we sent him down stairs for his evening meal.  He reached up on tiptoe to kiss her good-bye on her rouged cheek and then he spoke up pertly, “Don’t forget to give Mr. Krentel the money, Mrs. T.”

I thought Paul was going to clobber him.  Instead, he turned beet-red.

“If he isn’t the most adorable child!”  Mrs. T. said, patting Mark on the head.

But I had to straighten him out.

“Mark, Mrs. T. has already given the money to Melmark for the elevator.  And the elevator was just delivered yesterday.  so all the contractor has to do is to put it in place.  So you should say thank you. Besides, it’s not nice to ask for money!”

He was adamant. “But, maybe she has more money,” he piped up happily.

I pushed him, none too gently, toward the door, praying that he wouldn’t open his mouth again.  We were all laughing heartily.  She, even more than the rest of us.

“Tell me,” she said, “ is he Jewish!”

We said no, matter of fact, he was not.

“Well, whatever you do, don’t ever let that child go.  Why he’s the best fund-raiser you have.”

But in ten short months Markie’s IQ had jumped eleven points and he was now ready for transfer to another school.  while we hated to see our little solicitor leave us, we were elated over our first graduate.  

****************

“Loud as a whisper.”

She smiled, she responded to our every command, but not one audible word was spoken.  She wrote sentences clearly and legibly but only shuffled nervously and awkwardly when prodded to answer us.

Nan, a twenty-year-old girl with a diagnosis of “Chronic Brain Syndrome evidenced by mutism, motor retardation and below-average intelligence” had been living at Melmark for almost three years before the big breakthrough. 

Nan’s  failure to communicate verbally was obviously another symptom of her very submissive personality.  He shoulders were stooped, her head hung low, and her steps were slow and halting.  When required to speak, she would raise her head almost painfully and squeak out a one-word answer.  Each word was accompanied by an upward jerking of aNan’s head and shoulders.

Speech therapy was continued, using the Loudness Monitor, a tape recorder, a self-hearing device called Tok Back, picture cards, conversation techniques, and the guarded optimism of our well qualified speech therapist, Drick.

In his own words he reports,

“All of Nan’s progress was solely in therapy.  There was no transfer into the hustle-bustle world of Melmark.  Nan was still merely lowering her head and submissively plodding through life.  

“It was then that I began to realize that Nan viewed speech therapy as a short respite from her confrontations with the world. It was a brief moment to relax.  Every day we would work on some phase of improving communication; every day Nan would do fairly well in this highly structured environment, and every day she would leave Classroom Six without the tools necessary to relate to other.  This pattern was becoming deeply imprinted on Nan’s personality.

I decided that formal therapy was useless.

“From that point on, I began a relationship with Nan that might help her in many varied situations.  We were as brother and sister.  We arm-wrestled and ran races.  I tickled her until she was forced to yell, ‘Stop it!’ No longer was she the fragile doll, not to be touched for fear of breaking.

“We utilized play-acting.  She was the victim of ‘Chou-Pan,’ a merciless Oriental who delighted in the use of the famed Chinese water torture ( several drops of water dripped from a straw onto Nan’s head).   Nan became the teacher trying to help me overcome my shyness; Nan assumed the role of boxer attempting to work with her trainer for an upcoming fight.

 As the weeks passed, Nan fell into the spirit of the game.  She told Chou-Pan in no uncertain terms that she did not  (with inflection, no less) like either him or his torture.  She got angry at my slow progress in overcoming my shyness.  She became determined to win the hypothetical boxing match, and her practice punches into my hand held new force.  As the punches became stronger, so Nan’s personality strengthened.

“I then attempted to put Nan into a position where her newfound emotions would cause her to speak.  I told her that she was going to have a special supper that night.  It was to consist of fried ants, fly soup, a tossed caterpillar salad, and boiled mouse tails.  She was obviously revolted. 

“‘What then,’ I queried, “do you want instead?”

“ I was amazed at the menu this young lady produced. How long, I wondered, had she wanted to tell someone about her favorite dishes? 

“Nan and I planned jokes on her classmates.  I would wrap Nan’s head in gauze and smear red food coloring onto the bandages.  Then Nan would calmly walk back to class.  When she arrive, all eyes were on her.  She was the center of attention.’’

“As her classmates fired questions at her, Nan would firmly reply that she had just been given a little beating by the teacher because she mispronounced a word.”

Nan continued to use her newfound tools of communication in her bedroom, the laundry, and throughout all of Melmark.  It is a brighter, happier Nan that walks through the halls today.  Hearing her speak is like a voice from the dead.  We only see it as yet another of the miracles at Melmark.